Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: the Eldritch Abomination in the Room
Takes place after Consequences and Microwave but before Basic Household Maintenance.
Written for this week's Sunday Challenge prompt, Takeout.
There's a hole in the fabric of the universe in their kitchen, and they don't talk about it.
Marshall isn't talking about it because when it first opened, amidst the exploding metal and flying sparks and billowing flame, something the colour of madness and shaped like a lifetime cemented into the Crazy Bucket in the mental health wing at Eerie General fell through the gap, hit the kitchen floor with a thud and a groan, and resolved itself into the cute girl who used to read newspapers at the World o' Stuff while he pretended to study at the ice-cream counter. Their first encounter in over a decade had not gone well. Marshall had screamed. Andrea had screamed. There had been a lot of screaming. It was unpleasant for everyone.
Simon doesn't talk about it because, in his mind, the whole mess could have been avoided if he hadn't fallen asleep the second they got home. The somewhat-tarnished two-slice toaster on the kitchen counter only works for Simon, because the ill-tempered ghost of an unsuccessful bank robber failed to appreciate the way the two other people in the house made light of both his storied career of failure, and his untimely demise. If he'd stayed awake that night, he and Marshall could have eaten cheese sandwiches grilled to perfection courtesy of Grungey Bill, who might have enjoyed a longer and happier life if he had taken up the culinary arts while he was still breathing.
Dash doesn't talk about it because he was banned from joining the original leprechaun hunt after suggesting they capture the tiny shamrock-sprouting pixies and use fairy gold to pay all their bills. While Mars and Simon bargained for their lives with cottage cheese and gold-top milk, Dash played videogames, saved over all of Marshall's progress files, and went to bed early. The first he knew of the night's events was when he woke the next morning, stumbled bleary-eyed down the stairs, and saw grasping tentacles dragging the entire contents of their refrigerator into a portal that flickered and pulsed with a light that wasn't supposed to exist in this reality.
The portal is blocked off with the cardboard box that once housed their enormous flat-screen TV (which the tentacles also acquired) and sealed with roll after roll of duct-tape, and the three boys adopt a careful policy of not mentioning it by name, at least until the day a Gorgon turns them all to stone as they're eating takeout around the kitchen table. By the time the spell wears off, she's eaten all the prawn toast, the roast duck, and most of the chow mein.
Later, when they're sweeping up tufts of black fur left behind by Cerberus's litter of three-headed, fire-breathing, still strangely adorable puppies, Marshall steps on a discarded fortune cookie, which crumbles under his sneakers.
The little slip of paper inside reads, "Fix your home so your deliveryman doesn't have to fight through eldritch abominations to bring you egg rolls."
Written for this week's Sunday Challenge prompt, Takeout.
There's a hole in the fabric of the universe in their kitchen, and they don't talk about it.
Marshall isn't talking about it because when it first opened, amidst the exploding metal and flying sparks and billowing flame, something the colour of madness and shaped like a lifetime cemented into the Crazy Bucket in the mental health wing at Eerie General fell through the gap, hit the kitchen floor with a thud and a groan, and resolved itself into the cute girl who used to read newspapers at the World o' Stuff while he pretended to study at the ice-cream counter. Their first encounter in over a decade had not gone well. Marshall had screamed. Andrea had screamed. There had been a lot of screaming. It was unpleasant for everyone.
Simon doesn't talk about it because, in his mind, the whole mess could have been avoided if he hadn't fallen asleep the second they got home. The somewhat-tarnished two-slice toaster on the kitchen counter only works for Simon, because the ill-tempered ghost of an unsuccessful bank robber failed to appreciate the way the two other people in the house made light of both his storied career of failure, and his untimely demise. If he'd stayed awake that night, he and Marshall could have eaten cheese sandwiches grilled to perfection courtesy of Grungey Bill, who might have enjoyed a longer and happier life if he had taken up the culinary arts while he was still breathing.
Dash doesn't talk about it because he was banned from joining the original leprechaun hunt after suggesting they capture the tiny shamrock-sprouting pixies and use fairy gold to pay all their bills. While Mars and Simon bargained for their lives with cottage cheese and gold-top milk, Dash played videogames, saved over all of Marshall's progress files, and went to bed early. The first he knew of the night's events was when he woke the next morning, stumbled bleary-eyed down the stairs, and saw grasping tentacles dragging the entire contents of their refrigerator into a portal that flickered and pulsed with a light that wasn't supposed to exist in this reality.
The portal is blocked off with the cardboard box that once housed their enormous flat-screen TV (which the tentacles also acquired) and sealed with roll after roll of duct-tape, and the three boys adopt a careful policy of not mentioning it by name, at least until the day a Gorgon turns them all to stone as they're eating takeout around the kitchen table. By the time the spell wears off, she's eaten all the prawn toast, the roast duck, and most of the chow mein.
Later, when they're sweeping up tufts of black fur left behind by Cerberus's litter of three-headed, fire-breathing, still strangely adorable puppies, Marshall steps on a discarded fortune cookie, which crumbles under his sneakers.
The little slip of paper inside reads, "Fix your home so your deliveryman doesn't have to fight through eldritch abominations to bring you egg rolls."