What a dinner bash

The sun was still high in the sky when Diana started the preparations for the dinner party that night. 

It was the first time in many years she had a place of her own and people she could invite for such an event, but she was nervous, insanely so. Her all-consuming doubts and self-loathing were difficult to manage. People’s judgment and deceitfulness, their unreal expectations, and her pain, hate and guilt had birthed monstrous debilitating thoughts even if for some time now, she had been able to keep them at bay in the past years. But, they were always lurking about.

Even now while cooking she kept glancing around her open floor house through the large windows searching the vast forest outside for glimpses of those torments, as if they would come through the trees to catch her unaware, and at the same time imagining the mighty paladins of her tales ready to slash any that might appear. Of course, there was nothing around besides open fields and trees, and then farther down, impossible to gaze from her house, the farm of the sweet young hippie couple that had helped her move, and in front of it the small cottage where Marge, the witch doctor as she called herself, lived. They were three of the guests for dinner.

Diana focused on the task ahead, forgetting about doubts and fears. The citric flavor of the chicken she was cooking wafted through the air giving the house a homey smell. Her shoulders and jaw relaxed, and she let herself feel glad about the prospect of her first dinner bash.

*

It was darker than usual outside, the shadows of the looming tall pine trees obscuring the little light from the waning moon. 

A screeching sounded inside her small car and woke her. Pinkpaws was meowing insistently. Was the screeching sound that arose her coming from her little friend? It didn’t seem so. But, the furry animal was frenzied, leaping from the back to the front seats, scratching at the windows, until it finally jumped on top of her, asking to be nestled with her beneath the thin cover she used as a blanket at night. She let it without opening her eyes and felt the little one curl behind her bent knees. There wasn’t much space for her to stretch on the back seat, but she didn’t mind sleeping sideways. 

She had been deep asleep before, but the sound and the frantic cat had woken her from the deepness of unconsciousness. She scrubbed at her eyes, trying to grasp reality. Was she already awake? No, it all seemed too haunting, the light too nebulous, and there was one of her monsters seating on top of her chest. She struggled for breath, scratching at the air, but there was no more strength in her, she couldn’t push it away. She tried to conjure one of her own fantasy heroes, but none came to her aid.

If she had been awake, she was no longer. Oblivion pulled her down.

“No, no” Diana screamed, jumping awake. 

Her heart pounded a million miles an hour. 

She had fallen asleep in her large beige chaise long after setting up the table, and now she rose in a panic, memories of that fateful night many years ago permeating her dreams like vivid nightmares.

Diana slid her feet to the floor and wiped her eyes. She glanced around checking if everything was as it should be, and there was no one and nothing around. She practiced her breathing exercises trying to get settled, trying to relax. 

Turning to the hoven’s digital clock, she noticed it was getting late but there was still time before her guests arrived. Before Paul arrived.

It was hard thinking of him without recalling her past and what had led her to that place where her nightmares had become real. Maybe it was his presence tonight which had brought the memory forth, after all, he had been the one to find her in her car nearly dead the next day. 

There had been blood on her mouth, her nails had been torn, bruises marred her neck and chest, and Pinkpaws had laid dead on her lap. The little one hurt and with blood in its mouth, signs of struggling with something, but it had been a broken neck that took it from Diana. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen it. No, it had been Paul who had told her so when she awoke in the hospital two days later, and she was grateful for not having that image imprinted in her mind. 

He had shared with her that the police suspected she had been attacked, and that whoever had done it had killed her pet. Though, they had been puzzled by the locked doors and had only managed to get to her by breaking one of the car’s windows.

Paul had stayed with her the whole time she was at the hospital. He was a part-time writer, he told her later, and had been engrossed reading the pages he’d found on the car next to her. Since then they had stayed friends, despite her refusal to meet in person after those days. He was the one she always acknowledged in her books. It was thanks to him she became a published author after all. But, she liked to keep private, the company of people always brought about her traumas, thus none of her fans and not even her agent have met her or knew her face, just her alias, Diana Prince. 

Even with her loss and suffering, that night, ten years ago, had led to a future she could not have foreseen and better than she could ever have imagined after that.

Diana was wealthy now. Not overly so, but enough to currently live on the neck of the woods in a modern and secluded house. 

But, it hadn’t always been so. 

After the ordeal of that nightmarish night she had stayed on the road, living in clean pet-friendly motels (she had two new furry companions Whitespot and Doriangrey), still afraid of what might come after her. Unlike Paul, she did not believe the story of an attacker. But, another haunting like that one had never come to pass again. Thus, she eventually decided it was time to risk a permanent location, she just had to find the perfect place.

It happened by accident but once she saw the isolated almost glasshouse where she could see all around and once she had checked there was no previous history of haunting in the area she did not hesitate.

And, there she was now.

Finally feeling calmer, she peeked at the clock again and knew it was time get ready. 

Doriangrey and Whitespot seeing her up and about zigzagged between her legs meowing for food, almost making her fall.

“Babies, c’mon, I need to go get dressed. I will feed you later.”

Already putting behind her the past and the nightmares, Diana went upstairs to dress up.

*

The sun fell behind the lush trees, the twilight glow bathing her open floor space in orange hues when her guests started arriving. The first ones were Paul and her agent, Tricia, they had arranged to meet at the closest airport and drive there together. His blond hair had grown, along with his beard. He looked, as the young ones called a lumberjack, and with a man bun no less. She smiled openly and hugged him tightly as she opened the door. 

Tricia was a large tall woman, her chocolate skin shinned like waxed floor, her teeth were perfectly straight, and her smirk welcoming. She tried for a hug, but Diana dodged it delicately and took her hands in hers instead, thanking her for all she had done for her.

They sat on her huge beige couch, which matched the chaise long, trying the nachos and guacamole and sipping the margaritas Diana had freshly prepared. She had placed it all on the coffee table as an appetizer, while her almond and orange chicken settled.

Next, came the couple, Schuyler and Tom, and the old lady Marge, their colorful outfits clashing with her monochrome decor, and their cheerful voices bringing life to the modern house. She led them to meet Paul and Tricia, explaining how they had come to know each other and finally revealing her job as an author. Everyone was excited, laughter and enthusiastic arguments about their country and books erupted. Soon the margarita pitcher was empty.

They moved to the dinner table next. Diana brought in the chicken and roasted potatoes, and they dived in with gusto. She had also opened a bottle of Argentinian Malbec red wine, and the conversation poured along with it.

Diana had never felt this at ease, albeit letting the talk circumvent her, as she always did since she hated revealing anything about herself. Still, she felt included and embraced by those people. 

“Your place is so comfortable and open, dear. I think it’s only missing one thing, ” Marge stated raising her brows.

“And, what is that?” She smiled.

“A blessing with sage, dear. You must let me come one day and do it to cast away the shadows looming.”

Diana coughed in her wine, barely managing to swallow it.

“What?” She muttered.

The others laughed, indulging the older companion, clearly thinking her eccentric. Not Diana, though. It seemed a bit too on the nose. 

Shadows, monsters, things only her writing had ever been able to purge.

That practice, she had found, was the only escape from her tumultuous past. A past filled with disillusionment, hopping between failed degrees trying to escape teacher’s judgment, colleague’s betrayals, and the rigidity of a system that seemed unable to include her. After years of being found lacking by all, including herself, after years of building up debt and resentment, after her parents shut her off, disgruntled at her nonconformity, and after her guilt and sorrow grew to insurmountable levels making her see shadows of her self-made demons everywhere Diana ran. Leaving everything behind, even her true name. 

It had been on that runaway voyage she had reconnected with that long-lost love for books and writing. She had always been drawn to their escape and entertainment, to the words that could conjure dreams and evoke feelings. Thus she had returned to words remembering how she had loved to write poems as a teen and even had attempted later on at what was now her daily bready, fantasy novels. She recalled she had given up on it like she had given up on the rest. Leaving dreams behind because she did not believe in herself, because no one did. But after leaving everything in her rearview mirror, those doubts seemed to vanish, and so she wrote. Diana conjured fantastical heroes that conquered her fears and pushed away the terrors of her awake and dream moments. Paladins that exiled her doubt-resentment-shame-guilt-born monsters into other realms where they could no longer hurt her.

Until that night… that frightful night. 

The money had run out, Diana had had no fuel, no food, only the company of Pinkpaws and the forest around. She grew thin and tired, so tired she could not conjure the strength to hold her pen and write. And, then the lack of energy to write had put her in harm’s way, or so she believed. 

“Deary, are you with us?” Marge asked, snapping her fingers in Diana’s face waking her from her thoughts.

“Sorry, I was just remembering something.” She faked a shrug as if it was unimportant, but she didn’t seem to deceive the old lady since she was glaring at her with perceptive eyes.

“Uhm. I see”

“I want to be here for it, that’s for sure.” Schuyler said with a lopsided smile and winked at Diana. Likely trying to put her at ease. 

“I don’t think I will need the sage and all that ritual“

“I know what I need.” She muttered to herself. 

Diana understood now that only getting back to her writing would protect her, that underestimating the power of her writing in purging her fears was a mistake. Still, what harm could it do? 

“But I welcome any help in making this home a safe place for all.” She concluded.

“Indeed, dear.” Marge replied knowingly.

The topic of conversation had made her uncomfortable. That talk of shadows. Her memories were trying to get the better of her. She needed to get a hold of herself.

“I am going upstairs to freshen up. I’m not used to drinking this much.” Diana excused herself as she got up from her seat and moved to leave.

“Hopefully you will finally share a bit of yourself when you get back. Or we will make you drink more of this wonderful wine you chose to see if that does it.” Tricia said with a smirk.

Diana glanced back.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Paul concurred with a toothy smile aimed at her.

She couldn’t hold herself from smiling back.

“Okay. I promise I will.” She agreed before leaving the room.

Composed and refreshed, Diana was going back down when she overheard something that made her stop and obliviated the pleasantness of the whole evening.

“I always found her story odd. But, she’s not one to share.” Tricia whispered. “But, I always suspected it had been a nervous breakdown, some kind of episode. You were there, what did the police say?”

“There were those who suspected that she had done it to herself, that she had murdered her own pet, but it was inconclusive as some of her injuries couldn’t be self-inflicted.”

Diana started to tremble, her ears rang. Balance lost, she held herself to the wall and slid down to a sitting position, knees bent, head resting atop of them. She couldn’t even manage to hear the rest of Paul’s speech. 

She had already made up her mind. As always, people disliked and distrusted her, thought the worst of her, faking friendliness just to throw it in her face, and use her for it. 

“You didn’t think we were truly gone, did you, Felicia?” An eerie, hair-raising voice whispered in her ear. 

Tears welled in her eyes as the lights brightened and dimmed in rapid succession. Her vision grew foggy as if she was underwater looking out.

“No.” She whispered

Before she could rationalize or even grasp what had just happened she heard a crash followed by the noise of shattering glass and broken wood. She stood just as the first screams of pain echoed from downstairs, along with a familiar screeching sound.

Diana ran down, almost tumbling from the first step in her hurry. But, just as suddenly, she felt detached from herself like in a dream. Her speed halted, and as much as she tried to rush, her feet seemed to be stuck in molasses. She struggled, trying her best to get to her guests, to understand what was happening. 

Bloodcurdling noises reached her ears. A familiar screeching sound resounded through the house.

It was happening again.

Diana made another effort to get free, to move.

“Oh, Felicia.”

“Stop it.” She cried, but no sound came out. Diana, or correctly, Felicia didn’t know what was happening. 

The lights flickered one last time, and darkness fell. It was a nebulous dark, a blackness made of shadows that moved and clouded the vision.

She heard gurgling noises and then silence, frightening and ominous.

Felicia’s feet finally released from whatever was sticking them in place, and she rushed down. 

As soon as she landed on the floor she saw it. 

Ebony dark and viscous, claws and teeth glistening with crimson liquid. Her monster.

It loomedover her guests’s bloodied bodies, its head touching the ceiling, its razor-sharp nails scratching at the walls and glass windows. 

Agape and eyes bulging Felicia slowly approached the first body. She kneeled and turned it over. It was Tricia, her eyes protruding and glazed, her throat in tatters, blood splattered all around, clumps of hair sticking to the floor, and behind her Marge in similar condition. 

Below the broken table was the cute couple. He had died on top of her, one last attempt to protect his eviscerated and now very dead wife. His back was shredded, spine showing in parts. 

Felicia swallowed the rising bile trying to be silent. Crawling over the blood-wet carpet she looked for Paul while closing her eyes to the gruesome spectacle and writing with her mind, calling forth the only aid she knew off, her valiant fantasy heroes.

“Oh, no no no, Felicia. I want to play. All the enemies are vanquished and there’s no hero to save you now.” The eerie voice bellowed through the room coming from nowhere and everywhere. 

She did not want to open her eyes and face it, she did not want it to find her. But, hadn’t it already?

Felicia was going by touch alone, trying desperately to find Paul. And, there he was, his muscled legs unmistakable.

“Paul” She whispered, praying her friend was still alive, even if he had betrayed her.

His blood pooling around them. She felt for wounds but had yet to find any when she heard it: 

“Diana.” A whisper. Blood gurgled in Paul’s throat as he tried to speak.

Her heart leaped hopefully.

“I…” He tried. “I always believed…”

He was too late, too far gone to conclude its thought. 

She felt a stabbing pain in her calf and was pulled away from her dying friend. The claw in her leg ripping it apart as it dragged her. Felicia screamed. Terror seized her just as much as the terrible monster did. 

“I missed you, tormented little one.”

“No, leave me, please. Leave us.” She cried.

It made a rasping awkward sound, almost like laughter, before it revealed its ugly truth. “You should know I can’t... mother.”

As she had suspected. 

Felicia was alone. 

Again. 

Alone with her doubt-resentment-shame-guilt-born monster.