A Short Story from Existential Fred

  Fred wasn’t against family dinners.

  In theory, they were a great idea—warm, wholesome bonding ood food.

  In practice, they were a test of his endurance as a human being.

  Because family dinner, for Fred, didn’t just mean sitting down with his boyfriend’s loving, Mormon parents. It meant sitting down with his boyfriend’s loving, Mormon parents while eldritch horrors lurked in the periphery, misinterpreting human s and trying to participate.

  But Ben wao go, and Fred actually liked his in-ws, so here he was.

  Suffering.

  Ben pulled into the driveway of Andrew and Andrea Milrd’s suburban Beaverton home, and Fred immediately felt the shift in atmosphere.

  It was so aggressively normal.

  The air smelled like fresh-cut grass and apple pie. There were wind chimes on the porch, softly jingling in the breeze. A doormat with "Wele, We Hope You Like Dogs!" greeted them.

  Fred inhaled deeply. “I am in a sit.”

  Ben g him. “You good?”

  Fred exhaled. “Yep. Just brag myself for your m to feed me until I explode.”

  Ben grinned. “She’s been talking about how she’s worried you’re ing enough.”

  Fred narrowed his eyes. “I have literally never skipped a meal in my life.”

  Ben shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. She’s a mom.”

  Before Fred could respond, the door swung open.

  “Bennie! Freddie!”

  Andrea Milrd was a short, soft woman with the energy of a golderiever and the persistence of a tank.

  Fred barely had time to blink before she ed him in a hug.

  “Freddie, dear! It’s so good to see you! You’re thihan st time—are you eating enough?”

  Fred, suffog slightly in a cloud of vender perfume: “I am literally the same weight.”

  Andrea ignored him, patting his cheeks affeately. “I made extra mashed potatoes, just in case.”

  Fred sighed. “Of course you did.”

  Ben, watg with mild amusement, got his own equally aggressive hug.

  “Mom, I was literally here st week,” Ben ughed.

  “Shhh, let me love you,” Andrea said, squeezing him.

  Behind her, Andrew Milrd appeared, tall and gray-haired, wearing a tucked-in polo like the perfect suburban dad.

  “Ben. Fred. Good to see you boys,” he greeted warmly.

  Fred shook his hand, and Andrew cpped him on the shoulder like Fred was already part of the family.

  Ben sighed. “Please don’t tell any jokes at dinner.”

  Andrew smiled. "No promises."

  Fred grihis was why he liked the Milrds.

  They went ihe warmth of the home almost oppressive in its ess. Family photos lihe walls—Ben as a kid, Ben at graduation, a framed photo of Ben and Fred together at a holiday party.

  Fred paused at that ohe fact that the Milrds had framed a photo of them, without hesitation, made something in his chest tighten.

  Ben caught him looking and squeezed his hand. Fred cleared his throat a walking.

  At the dining table, Andrea fussed over the food while Fred aook their seats.

  Everything erfect.

  Everything eaceful.

  Which meant, iably, that something was about to ruin it.

  Fred saw the first entity appear just as Andrea assing the mashed potatoes.

  It was slim, too tall, with elongated limbs that folded wrong. A thin, shadowy thing with no face, but a mouth too wide ah too white.

  It slid behind Andrea’s chair and leaned over her shoulder.

  It whispered.

  “So much warmth. So much love.”

  Fred shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth and stared directly at his pte.

  Ben was talking to his dad about work. Andrea was chatting happily about the neighbors.

  No oiced the Whispering Guest, murmuring about love aion.

  Fred did not react.

  A sed entity appeared at the head of the table.

  It had too many limbs.

  It cpped excitedly every time someone used their utensils properly.

  Fred watched as Ben took a sip of water.

  The entity burst into appuse.

  Ben paused mid-drink, frowning slightly. “Weird echo in here?”

  Fred, ftly: “Yeah. Weird.”

  Thehird entity appeared.

  This one was shifting, fluid, with no defined form.

  It took one look at the dinner spread and immediately began chittering iement.

  Fred had a horrible realization.

  It thought family dinner meant something else.

  Fred stared directly at it.

  It stared directly back.

  A terrible, silent uanding passed between them.

  Oh no.

  It slowly turoward Ben’s parents.

  Fred, without looking away from it, quietly nudged Ben’s leg uhe table.

  Ben blinked. “What?”

  Fred took a slow breath. “I need you to trust me when I say—whatever happe, do not react.”

  Ben frowned. “Babe, what—”

  And then the shiftiy lunged.

  Fred moved fast, casually knog over his own drink just as the entity reached for Andrea.

  “Oh no,” Fred said ftly. “Clumsy me. I’ll get a towel.”

  The entity reeled back, fused, its attaterrupted.

  Ben stared at Fred, narrowing his eyes.

  Fred casually stood and walked to the kit.

  The entity slunk bato the shadows.

  Dinner tinued.

  After ahirty minutes of absolute chaos, Fred finally excused himself to the bathroom.

  He stepped inside, closed the door, and exhaled.

  The lights flickered.

  The mirror ed, stretg unnaturally, as if reality itself was recoiling from what was about to emerge.

  Then, the air vibrated with something a, something wrong.

  A deep, earth-shaking voice rumbled from the walls.

  "FREDERICK DAMIAN RIBEAUT."

  Fred did not react.

  He turo the mirror, utterly dead inside.

  KALARGH was waiting.

  His t, monstrous form loomed impossibly within the gss, despite the mirror being far too small to tain him. His scarlet, armored hide glistened like molteal, cracked in pces where jagged, bone-like protrusions jutted out.

  His massive, cwed hands could have crushed mountains, each fiipped with curved, obsidian talons that shimmered like bck voids. His two serrated tails twitched, dripping something smoking and corrosive onto an unseen surface beyond the refle.

  And his eyes.

  Twin orbs of pure annihition, burning with the rage of dying stars.

  He did not blink.

  He did not o.

  The walls shuddered in his presence.

  Fred simply sighed.

  “Hey, Kargh.”

  The walls vibrated with fury.

  "IT IS KALARGH, THE ETERNAL SCE OF WORLDS."

  Fred turned on the sink.

  “Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

  KALARGH seethed, his massive, world-destroying form expanding within the mirror, shifting like a supernova about to detonate.

  "YOU WILL ADDRESS ME BY MY FULL TITLE, OR YOU WILL FACE—"

  Fred grabbed a hand towel.

  "Kargh. I am at dinner. Either kill me or let me pee in peace."

  There was a long, tense silence.

  The burning pits of KALARGH’s gaze bore into Fred.

  The mirror hummed with restrained ic destru.

  Fred stared bnkly.

  Finally, KALARGH let out a low, reverberating growl that shook the bathroom mirror.

  "…VERY WELL. BUT THIS IS NOT OVER."

  Fred dried his hands. “Looking forward to it.”

  He stepped out, sat back down at the diable, and picked up his fork.

  Ben watched him suspiciously.

  “…Good bathroom break?”

  Fred did not look up.

  “Totally normal.”

  Ben squinted.

  Andrea smiled. “Who wants dessert?”

  Fred immediately perked up. “Oh, me.”

  Ben sighed deeply.

  Dinner tinued.