Party Foul

The Kelleys’ holiday party took place like clockwork every year, and, like clockwork, it was as predictable and mindlessly boring as Mrs. Pope’s small talk in the churchyard after Sunday services. 

So, understandably, Merriam did not want to go. Not a bit. She pleaded with her parents: “Just say I’m sick!” “We said that when you missed the Halloween party.” “Well, then I’ve relapsed, or whatever! I don’t care what you have to say, just let me go to Kyle’s party instead!” “No.”

And that was that, as far as Mr. and Mrs. Brook thought. So what if their 16-year-old daughter glares at them for a week — what else is new? And, Mrs. Brook thought quietly to herself, a nice, simple, albeit older, party would do Merry some good. She’s been much too locked up in her room these past few weeks. Nothing good can come from lying in her bed, scrolling on her phone all hours of the day and night, her mother thought. But maybe I’m just old-fashioned, Mrs. Brook amended.

That’s how the Brooks came to be standing outside the Kelleys’ perfectly power-washed white brick home on the Saturday before Christmas, all of them muttering under their breath for very different reasons: “Oh, you know, I would go and forget to bring that overpriced bottle of red wine. Idiot.” “Damn, I think I forgot my reading glasses. Hope they don’t make us all do a dramatic reading of A Christmas Carol again like last year.” “Ugh, Mom, look! Sara is begging me to come to this party with her because she’s so nervous about talking to Jordan. If I left now, I could still—”

The Brooks all stopped their self-absorbed muttering at once, because the front door had flown open quite of its own accord, it seemed, as they could see no one standing there to welcome them inside.

“Hello?” called Mrs. Brook tentatively, shrugging off her coat and peaking around the back of the door. “Merry Christmas… Jesus Christ!” Standing behind the door inside was not the Kelleys nor any of their five moronic children, nor was it, in fact, Jesus Christ, but a tall person in a black hoodie that covered their face, who had taken poor Mrs. Brook quite by surprise, especially as she was so inwardly occupied with her forgotten wine bottle. 

The stranger made no movement or sound in response to this less-than-warm greeting, and was either extremely shy or extremely bad-postured, for they had their head bent down as if in prayer.

“Er, excuse me, ma’am… sir… miss… you,” jumbled Mr. Brook, reaching around the quiet stranger in an attempt to hang up all three of their coats on the rack behind the door, all while trying not to misgender this unknown guest (Merry had given him quite enough lectures on the importance of pronouns, and he didn’t need a Yuletide version, thank you very much). He gave up after the figure refused to move, whether out of awkwardness or rudeness, Mr. Brook didn’t know.

Merriam, perhaps for the better as she hated meeting anyone new, was completely unaware of the situation and the new member of the conversation, so taken as she was with getting a play-by-play of Kyle’s party from his Instagram Live.

“Well, I guess we’ll go find our hosts and say hello,” Mrs. Brook offered uneasily to no one in particular, still a bit unsure what to make of this reticent and gangly new guest. 

The tree-like personage offered them nothing, so Mrs. Brook and Mr. Brook, who was still clutching their coats at arms-length like an unexploded bomb, moved into the living room after their daughter, who had intuitively wandered out of the hall in search of a place to sit so as to stay connected to the online world in comfort. 

“Helen! David!” called a voice from the adjoining kitchen. “What a surprise!” 

Anne Kelley came bursting into the living room, blonde hair bouncing jauntily, seeming, as always, to take up much more space than warranted a woman of such small stature. 

Mrs. Brook received her welcoming hug with a half-laugh. “Surprise? Anne, you do know you’re hosting a party tonight?” 

“Oh dearie, of course I know we’re supposed to be hosting a party, but with everything going on, I hadn’t thought you and your lovely family would make it. I was telling Arthur just an hour ago, ‘If so much as one guest shows up in the front hall tonight, I promise I’ll actually buy you that ridiculous cross-country ski kit you go on and on about every Christmas.’ Well, looks like I’m going to be overnighting a special Amazon present for Art after all!”

“Er, we’re the only guests here?” Mr. Brook clarified.

“Why, yes, it seemed everyone else has come down with this awful flu thingy, you know, David, the one Mrs. Pope was telling you about after church last weekend?”

Mr. Brook nodded politely, inwardly wondering if he had ever taken in a word Mrs. Pope had ever said to him.

Merriam, who, of course, just happened to tune into the conversation to catch the part about everyone calling in sick, gave her mother a look that would be politely described as “withering.”

Mrs. Brook recovered quickly, taking a seat next to her husband on the couch and steering the subject into less dangerous territory. “Well, isn’t that terrible. I really hope they can all get well soon and enjoy Christmas in a few days. Now, Anne, what’s on the table for us tonight? I’m sure whatever it is will be absolutely delicious as usual! And there’ll be plenty of it, of course, with no one to share it with,” she said with an attempt at humor, her small chuckle landing flatly in the quiet room.

With the awkward pause in conversation, Mrs. Brook noticed for the first time that there was no music blaring through the Kelley house as usual. She was grateful, since her hosts only played Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” on repeat every year, but it was strange. With no music, the room, with its red and gold garlands sparkling in every corner, felt more garish. The lack of the usual crowd added to the uncomfortable atmosphere, as if the very walls were reprimanding the Brooks for disturbing their unexpected peace and quiet.

“... for dinner?” Mrs. Kelley was saying, snapping Mrs. Brook out of her reverie. An odd sort of look had settled onto the hostess’s face, like she was reciting lines she had rehearsed for this moment. 

“No, no, after everyone called in sick last night, we decided not to go to the trouble,” she said, bringing the corners of her mouth up into a smile that Mrs. Brook thought seemed rather forced. “So, we’ll have to make do with what we have, I’m sorry to say! Maybe some of that frozen chili we have, Arthur dear?” Mrs. Kelley called into the kitchen.

There was no reply, so Mrs. Kelley gave her guests an apologetic grimace and hurried into the kitchen. 

With their hostess gone for a moment, Mr. Brook shifted in his seat and leaned into his wife, “Helen, we should ask her who that fellow, er, I mean, person, is who was out in the hall. Surely, it’s not one of their kids, right? I don’t remember any of them being that tall,” he said.

“No, of course it’s not one of their children,” Mrs. Brook snapped, surprising herself at her tone. She was starting to feel deeply uneasy about something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. 

“Mum, how long are we going to be here for? And where’s the punch you promised I could have?” Merriam inserted, looking up from her phone long enough to notice she was rather thirsty.

“I never promised you anything of the sort, Merry. Besides, one sip of the Kelleys’ punch would have you in bed for a week. Whether Anne intentionally mixes vodka, tequila, and gin, I’ll never know. Maybe that’s her typical nightcap, and no wonder considering the late-night texts I get from her sometimes, I swear—”

The sound of Mrs. Kelley’s clipped heels approaching on the hardwood floor made the three Brooks jump in their seats. Mr. Brook hastily and loudly spoke over his wife before she said anything more about the drinking habits of Mrs. Kelley.

“Anne, quick question, who is that person who, um, greeted us at the front door? A new friend of yours?”

Mrs. Kelley had her back to Mr. Brook as he asked the question, since she had spotted some tinsel that needed adjusting on the mantel opposite the couch. 

“Who?” Her back straightened slightly as she answered. “Oh, yes, them. We only just met last night, I think,” she said as she turned towards the Brooks. Again that odd look came over her face, as if she was listening to someone in her ear telling her what to say. “A complete stranger, actually. But they seemed to need a place to rest for a bit, and you know, it is Christmas and all that. What would Jesus do?” She ended her speech there, as if that question resolved everything. 

Merriam, curled up in the corner of the couch, laughed, but neither of her parents could tell if she was laughing at the heavy-handed reference to Christian charity from a woman who once refused to tip her waiter because he “looked like a drug addict,” or at something on her screen. 

“Right, right,” Mr. Brook said helpfully, glancing over at his wife to take in her reaction.

Mrs. Brook, for once, had nothing to say to save the discussion from the puzzling turn it was taking. Then, seemingly in response to her own silence, her phone started ringing. 

“Ah, sorry all, I know it’s rude to be on your phone, at least if you’re over the age of 20, but let me just see who it is…” Mrs. Brook said, rumaging around in her purse, and feeling grateful for the phone call which provided an escape from Mrs. Kelley’s increasingly off-putting conversation. 

Looking at the screen, her whole body clenched up painfully, as if she had just missed a step coming downstairs. “Oh, Anne, how weird,” Mrs. Brook said softly. Her husband vaguely registered her change in tone, concern starting to take root in his gut. “Your phone is calling me right now.”

The sparkling room seemed even more menacing at that moment, with so few people in it and only the blaring tones of Mrs. Brook’s ringing phone filling it up. Mrs. Kelley stood as still as her guest had in the front hall, her eyes fixed on the door to the kitchen, while Mrs. Brook answered.

“Huh, it’s just someone breathing,” Mrs. Brook said. “Hello? Hello?” She hung up suddenly. “Anne, I think you’ve been hacked or something.”

(“Mum, don’t use the word hacked, you don’t even know what that means.”)

Mrs. Kelley’s gaze suddenly jerked towards the Brooks. “Strange,” she whispered, as if to herself. “I can’t remember where I saw my phone last. Maybe the car, or something…” she trailed off, her eyes glazing over slightly.

“Well, anyway, how about some chili?” Mrs. Kelley’s voice became surprisingly bright and chipper, all quiet confusion gone. 

Mr. Brook, like his wife, was becoming increasingly wary of her demeanor, and the sudden changes in tone were giving him whiplash. 

“Anne, are you feeling alright?” Mr. Brook tried tentatively. “And where’s Arthur and the kids? You know how much we’d love to see them.” This wasn’t strictly true, since the Kelley children, all under 15 years old, were to a person rude and rather mean, but Mr. Brook was hoping the presence of her family might stabilize whatever emotional turmoil was happening inside Mrs. Kelley. 

Quite the opposite. As quickly as it came, the cheerfulness vanished from her countenance, and Mrs. Kelley wordlessly left the room to go back into the kitchen, as if she hadn’t heard a single thing Mr. Brook said.

Bemused, Mr. Brook looked between his daughter and wife, both of whom were deeply focused on their phones, for two very different reasons. 

“God, this party sucks,” Merriam muttered, slinking deeper into the cushions. “Dad, just look at how much fun I could be having over at Kyle’s,” she said, holding out her screen for her father to watch a jumble of videos and comments coming from an account called “kyles_worlddddd.” 

“Er, wow, yeah… that looks really fun, honey,” Mr. Brook said uncertainly, momentarily distracted and baffled by his daughter’s obsession with what looked like a cross between a zoo and a frat house party.  

Mrs. Brook, meanwhile, was very still, her typically flushed complexion rather blotchy. She was reading a text she had just received from her friend Kate moments earlier. 

K: Helen, how about you come over and we can drink and talk about everything?

H: But Kate I thought you were sick? Isn’t that why you’re not here?

K: Sick? Where are you? Call me now.

The dread that had been encroaching on her ever since she stepped into the Kelleys’ house that night was reaching a breaking point, making her breathing shallow. 

“Um, David, Merry, I’m starting to feel really ill.” Her voice sounded wonderfully normal, thank God. “Probably that flu thing. I think we should head back and let the Kelleys have a quiet night in.” 

Merriam and her father had both become lost in the online world of Kyle’s party, but Mr. Brook snapped his head up when he heard he would get to leave this weird little gathering early.

“Of course, honey, of course. No need to push yourself if you’re sick. Let’s go,” he said, and stood up eagerly, handing their coats back to Merriam and Mrs. Brook and stepping towards the kitchen.

“Er, Anne? Anne?” he called out. “We’re heading out. Don’t want to take advantage of your wonderful hospitality any longer.” 

“Drive safe on the roads, dear,” came a reply from behind the kitchen door, so faint Mr. Brook almost thought he had imagined it.

Hustling to the hall, Mr. Brook found Merriam and Mrs. Brook, who had that same glazed look on her face as Mrs. Kelley had had minutes earlier. They both seemed unaware that the tall, hooded stranger was back (or had they ever left?), holding the front door open for them. 

“Thank you, er, and nice to meet you,” Mr. Brook said, corralling his wife and daughter out the door and avoiding looking at the person’s covered head directly, unsure why the figure felt so cold and cruel without having uttered a word to him all night. 

—

Later, Mrs. Brook would hardly remember how she got from the Christmas party back through her own front door. Walking out of the Kelleys’ house, driving home— all of it was a blur. But she would remember a phone call she made immediately when she got home, rushing to lock herself in the bathroom. In fact, she’ll think of very little else for months. 

“Kate? It’s Helen. So you’re not actually sick, huh? You know, when you all plan to pull a stay-home-and-fake-sick thing, at least clue me and David in! The nerve of you…” Mrs. Brook’s words felt like someone else’s, someone who didn’t suspect the dreadful thing she had half-realized after getting that text from Kate at the Kelleys’.

“Helen, what do you mean? What’s going on? No one’s sick. Are you talking about the flu thing Mrs. Pope was rambling about last Sunday? God, that woman will make gossip out of anything. You sneeze once in front of her and suddenly the plague is in town.”

“But, the Kelleys… she said…” Mrs. Brook tried to form a coherent thought in the face of this information, but trailed off as Kate’s commanding voice overtook hers. 

“Well, yes, the Kelleys, Helen, that’s what I wanted to talk about. The horrible news last night. You did get the email from Arthur's sister, didn't you? I can barely believe it… all of them dead like that… drunk driving, I bet. I saw a photo of their car on TV... looked like a crushed tin can. I mean, you hear about these things on the news, but you never think it’ll be someone you know. And they were just out shopping for the party! What a waste. And, well, I shouldn’t say all of them are dead… poor Mrs. Kelley is still alive I guess, if you can call it that. Worse off than her family, in my opinion. Stuck in the hospital in a coma, frozen between life and death? No, thank you. I’d rather just be gone, wouldn’t you? I can hardly believe it…”

And Kate rambled on and on, as she often did, unaware her friend on the other side of the call had dropped her phone on the cold tile floor, the screen cracking like an eggshell.