Based on the writing prompt “Write a story where a meal or dinner goes horribly wrong” from Reedsy.com
“Down in the west Texas town of El Paso, I fell in love with a Mexican girl,” I sang out as I used my board scraper to dump the chopped onions into the pan full of browned ground beef.
Megan smiled as I sang, her deft fingers strumming at the guitar. Our daughters – four year old twins who thankfully take after their mother – love Tuesdays. After all, Tuesday is taco night, and they love tacos, as everyone should. They also love the part where we have to sing while cooking. Yeah, have to.
Sorry, Tristran here. You may remember me from some years back when I posted about the haunted gas station I worked at, with that list of rules we had to follow to survive. Well, let me tell you, that list was the junior league compared to our new gig. You remember Megan, my trainee? Well, we got married after a bit, and we both made it through our night shifts. She quit when the girls were born, since the money we were making was more than enough to cover our expenses on only one of our checks.
One day, Jerry came to us with an opportunity. There was a house that needed someone to live in it and take care of it, or the things in the house would break free and wreak havoc upon the town. He said it was a fairly easy job, mostly some light janitorial work and some rules following. We’d be paid fairly good money and live in an amazing house – twelve bedrooms and ALL the modern amenities.
Of course, there were some rules. A lot of rules, actually, as the spirit that acts as the keystone of the entire haunting was one of those people that thinks every day should have a theme. Also, he used to play one of those MMOs, so all the rules assume that the start of the week is on Tuesdays at ten in the morning local time.
For the sake of brevity, I’ll talk about the rules applying to every day, then the ones applying specifically to Tuesday, since that’s what today was. Let’s start with the general rules.
- Attached is a list of cleaning chores for the week, broken up by day. While you do not have to do them necessarily on the specific day, failure to do any of the chores is a bad idea, so we suggest you follow the list to a T.
- Someone needs to sleep in the home every night. If you will not be home, please call the number at the top of the list and let us know so someone can be sent. Please let us know before noon on that day if at all possible.
- Close all windows before you leave any room on the ground floor. This applies to any computers running Windows, as well, which must at least be put to sleep excepting when a videogame is open, in which case you may leave to answer the door, grab a snack or take a restroom break with no problem. Just don’t forget your game for too long.
- The spirit of the house hates a number of television shows. Please do not watch anything on the list of disapproved television, unless you want to spend money to replace your TV.
- All shoes must be removed when entering the house. House slippers may be worn, but if they are ever worn outside, they are no longer allowed indoors. Make use of the mudrooms at each entrance, as the house will tolerate shoes in those. Furniture and appliance delivery crews are excepted, but you must clean where they walk immediately after they leave.
- The room with the samurai armor must never be entered after six at night, unless there is an intruder in the home. If you need to enlist the armor’s protection, open the door, ask for forgiveness for the intrusion, bow deeply, and state the following. “Samurai-dono, intruders have breached the gates and threaten the family within. Please grant us your aid.” Try not to get in its way as it deals with the intruders. Call the number on the top of the rules for body disposal.
- Every night, before bed, cook one of the TV dinners from the approved list and place on the counter with a fork and thank the house for its hard work.
Honestly, those aren’t too bad. Even the cleaning isn’t bad. And the house comes with a groundskeeper that handles everything outside. We just have to worry about the indoors. Between us, we were making six figures to do it, too. Best part is that the house is pretty forgiving of kids. I suspect the old owner was a shut in who died of loneliness and just wants to be respected.
As I said, though, there are rules that apply to days of the week. So here are the ones for Tuesdays.
- Tuesdays are Taco Tuesdays. At least one meal eaten at the home on Tuesday must involve tacos in some form. If dinner is eaten at home, it MUST be tacos. Takeout or delivery tacos are acceptable. Any pizza that can be reasonably described as “Taco Pizza” is also allowed.
- If dinner is cooked at home, one of the songs from the approved western themed list must be sung while dinner is being prepared. You may substitute a different song of the right theme, but for your safety, we suggest sticking to the list.
- During your singing, the banditos will arrive outside. No one outside will see them. Do not let them distract you. Finish the song and they’ll ride off into the sunset. We suggest planning the cooking of dinner for before sunset on Tuesdays.
- If at any point in the day there is a knock at the front door, try to answer reasonably quickly. If the man there has a big iron on his hip, answer his questions politely. He is an Arizona Ranger looking for a fugitive. He will not have a warrant, so do not let him enter, as he will refuse to remove his shoes and will have stepped in a cow pie on the way to the door.
- If you open the front door and the man dressed like a Ranger is three feet tall, punt him immediately and close the door. He will walk in the door without permission otherwise and will have a shootout with a Minotaur desperado if he’s allowed in, and we make no guarantee about the safety of anyone caught in the crossfire.
- It is Tuesday, which is the start of the week. Please place a case of energy drinks next to the TV dinner and wish the house luck with this week’s raids.
The girls enjoy the banditos and really love the singing. All in all, Tuesdays are generally the least dangerous day of the week as long as you follow the rules. But that’s made up for by the fact that any repercussions from missed cleaning the week before happen on Tuesday, and those can get fairly bad. We once forgot to run ice cubes through the garbage disposal and were forced to slay a rotting vegetable monster that came up through use of a cleaver and a meat tenderizer.
Now, like I said, normally the groundskeeper keeps the outside chores taken care of. But it turns out that he forgot something this week. And that started a whole hell of a thing.
“What in hell is that?” Megan asked, suddenly stopping her playing.
“What’s what?” I asked, looking where she was pointing.
I kid you not, our topiaries had come to life and were rampaging through the banditos. The banditos, for their part, were firing on the topiaries. Kaitlyn thought it was great fun and was cheering on the dragons.
Phoebe was ominously quiet. But I didn’t notice that for several moments, focused on the mayhem outside as I was. “Get the girls away from the windows,” I said. Normally, the mayhem from the grounds stayed outside, so we’d be okay as long as the doors were shut. But I wasn’t taking any chances.
That’s when I spotted the look on Phoebe’s face. You know that look, if you’re a parent. That look of sheer, evil amusement kids get when they’ve done something naughty. Megan noticed my look of alarm, and looked at our daughter. “Baby, what did you do?” she asked.
“Not telling, Mama.”
“Phoebe, tell me this instant or you won’t get any flan for dessert.” Our daughter got a look of wild-eyed panic. She then pointed down the hallway.
I looked at where she was pointing. “Oh no,” I said.
Halfway down the hallway was a small man. A Minotaur desperado stood at the other end of the hall, his poncho flapping in the breeze. He was chewing something, then spit. A ball of cud hit the ground with a wet splat. A tumbleweed blew in through the open door, between the two. I’m not joking.
It seemed like slow motion when they reached for their guns, time seeming to slow around me. I could feel my heart in my chest, each beat taking what felt like a full five seconds.
Without thinking I dashed in between my family and the hall, holding my arms in front me in an X and making my body as big as I could to provide as much cover as possible. I think Megan called my name, but I couldn’t hear her over the pounding in my ears.
I flinched, closing my eyes as I reached my spot. And to my surprise, a few seconds later, I was still alive.
The shooting had stopped before I opened my eyes, and as I did, I noticed a weight to my arm, as if it was heavier than I expected. Then I saw it. I was holding a large metal shield. Well, “holding” isn’t quite right. It was strapped to my arm, and I had a firm grip on a handle.
Also, I was wearing metal armor. It looked like steel, but it was lighter, despite appearing quite bulky. I heard a voice in my ear. “Well, now, my boy, that was unexpected. But since it’s out, don’t hold back.”
“Jerry?” I asked.
“Focus, my boy.”
I nodded and charged the desperado, who had won the fight. I leaped through the air – far further than I should have – and slammed into him with my shield, sending him flying. “RULES OF NATURE!” a voice roared in triumph. I glanced to my right, spotting the ghostly image of a fat nerd standing there. He was wearing a t-shirt that proudly proclaimed his allegiance to one of the factions in his video game.
I heard spurs in the doorway, which Phoebe had apparently left open. One of the banditos was fleeing a plant dragon and trying to come inside. I slammed him aside with my shield and faced the dragon.
Instinctively, I reached for a sword on my belt, and to my surprise, found war hammer hanging there. There was no point worrying about it, though. I swung the hammer, and it connected solidly with the dragon’s head.
The other dragon whipped its tail, sending me flying. In the wild firing of the banditos, I took a stray bullet in one of the openings of my armor, the bullet penetrating my chest, but luckily seeming not to hit anything vital.
I rose through some strange, sheer willpower and faced the other dragon. I deflected its claw with my shield and swung my hammer, yielding a glancing blow. Then I dodged again and slammed my hammer into the joint on the back of its foreleg, sending splinters everywhere.
The dragon roared and reared back to unleash its breath weapon, but it was cut short as the ghost of the fat nerd flew through the air. He was wearing the samurai armor and yelled “Banzai!” as he did so, and he slashed with that big sword of his. I think it’s called a nodachi? Whatever it’s called, it cleaved the head off of the dragon.
That left only the banditos. They trained their guns on me. “Finish the song!” Megan shouted from the door, blasting a bandito with our shotgun.
I had almost been done, so there wasn’t any reason not to try it. Still, my chest hurt while I sang. Maybe the wound was worse than I thought. It was kinda hard to breathe. Nonetheless, I sang. “Cradled by two loving arms that I’ll die for. One little kiss and Felina, good-bye…”
The banditos disappeared without much fanfare.
“Well fought, Sir Tristran!” the fat nerd congratulated.
“Same to you, Simon-dono.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know my name?”
“It wasn’t hard to find the records at the county office.”
“You’re pretty smart, for a normie. Say, while we’re chatting, think I could get you to leave me some of the purple energy drinks next time?”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to get them in time for tonight,” I said. “Since we already bought the white ones. But I promise you’ll have them next week.”
“Cool. You should probably get that wound looked at or you’ll be joining me in haunting this place. Probably.”
“Shit,” Megan said upon hearing this. She rushed to my side and caught me as I collapsed. Thankfully, my armor disappeared before she did. Still, we tumbled to the ground.
She pulled out the knife she usually had around her neck and cut off my shirt. “How bad is it?” I asked.
“You’re going to be okay,” she lied, tears in her eyes. She began praying, but not to God or anything. She’d had this whole Wiccan thing during her goth phase, so she knew some kind of prayer to the Earth spirit or whatever. And she began speaking it.
As she did, her hands glowed. I could feel pain in my chest as the bullet made its way out of my body, but once it was out, the pain was gone. All of it. I looked up at my wife, now, instead of her black heavy metal t-shirt, she was wearing a flattering and pristine white robe.
The nerd scoffed from the door, where he was keeping my kids back, holding them by the backs of their shirts. “First a knight in shining armor, and now a white mage? And I thought the house was only weird because I was haunting it and my presence woke up some ghosts from the old graveyard down the road.”
Another voice answered from the motor court. “You don’t know the half of it, my boy,” Jerry said, the crew of cleaners behind him unloading their equipment to make it like nothing weird had happened.
“Uncle Jerry!” the girls squealed in delight, breaking free from Simon and running and grabbing Jerry’s legs.
“What brings you here, Jerry?” Megan asked, her clothes back to normal.
“Seems we have a bit to talk about. Shall we head inside, or you two planning on hanging out on the lawn all night?”
“Kitchen’s on fire,” Simon interjected.
“Shit!” I yelled, getting up and running into the house to grab an extinguisher.
“Don’t worry about dinner!” Simon called after me. “I’ll put in an order for some taco pizzas from Pizza Pueblo!”
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