Ok, let me preface this by saying I've never considered myself a writer of horror stories. I can think up some pretty twisted stuff, but short stories themselves usually elude me so this was a sure test of will to get this together. It really made me stretch and think, and it's not been reviewed by anyone but me so if there are some editing errors it's because I'm half blind and without coffee at this point.
In any case, I hope you enjoy. I also hope you watch carefully next time someone is cooking something special for you. ;)
A Supper Dish
By Donna Sabatine
Copyright © 2010
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Samantha brushed a brunette lock away from her face as she stirred the pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove. The mixture bubbled happily, and she hoped she’d added enough spice this time. The TV was playing an old black and white romance in the background and the muted sounds of storyline, mixed perfectly with the roaring fireplace and the smell of supper cooking. She tasted the sauce careful not to burn her lips and added another pinch of oregano just to be sure. The sauce was her grandmother’s own recipe and she wanted it to be perfect for her husband.
Tom worked hard at the local mill but had a problem with drinking after work. She knew he was handsome and had the ladies attention and though she loved her husband, she resented the lonely nights at home when he was with his friends and far away from her. Lately those nights seemed to be more often than not and her protests that he needed to be home more fell on deaf ears. He would laugh and make some rude joke about her being an old maid stuck all alone with the wind at night. Samantha bristled at the memory of how Tammy Sue Jones had ogled him in the local department store while standing at the perfume counter. That was the last time he had grudgingly taken Samantha to town and she tried to ignore the fact that Tom had given Tammy the once over as well when he thought she wasn’t looking. Samantha made a mental note to ask him about her; perhaps after supper. He should be on his way home by now, as the time had come and passed for his usual drinking spree with his buddies before staggering home. She smiled as she straightened the table cloth and set her grandmother’s china on the worn kitchen table. She had planned a special night together and she hoped he wasn’t too tired from the previous day’s activities.
Samantha had been raised in this house and called it home since her parents were killed in a car accident when she was seven. Her grandfather had died some time earlier, in this very kitchen coincidentally, and Grandmother Elsa spoke of him little except to say that he was very handsome and a favorite with the ladies. She would tell the story of his death with a strange smile tugging at her mouth, and as odd as this would seem to many, Samantha would listen enraptured as the details came forth.
Grandmother Elsa’s signature look was a long black dress with the high neck and long sleeves, out of date for the times, and she always wore a cameo brooch at the throat given to her by her own grandmother. She was a familiar fixture wherever a man had gone astray whether it was domestic abuse or plain old cheating on his wife, or for that matter a wife that had started running around on her husband, leaving her children at home alone. Grandmother Elsa was always there to lend a hand to the family and show support. She would arrive with her grey hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her neck as Samantha helped her carry a covered dish supper to the offending family member, always a big platter of her famous spaghetti. Strangely enough whatever trouble was brewing always disappeared once Grandmother Elsa had paid a visit. It was from this that Samantha learned that good cooking can solve most problems in life. She studied diligently and spent many hours with her grandmother in the kitchen. “One day Samantha, perhaps you will need to cook for your husband. Make sure you listen and watch the ingredients I use.” She remembered her grandmother preaching more than once, she only hoped now she would be up to Grandmother Elsa’s standards. She felt pretty confident about this particular supper and lifted the lid once more to check on the sauce.
Samantha turned her head slightly as she heard Tom’s car pull in the driveway and turning the fire down on the stove, she allowed the sauce to simmer slowly until it was time to serve. “Hi Honey! I’m home!” Tom said loudly from the front foyer as the door swung shut behind him. He walked into the kitchen where she was slowly stirring the sauce, stopping to lean against the doorframe for a moment as his bleary eyes took in his wife at the stove. Then, wrapping his arms around her he pressed his lips to her neck. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and clothes as he squeezed her tight, and even though she was repulsed, her only reaction was to continue to slowly stir the pot. “What? No love for your good looking man?” Tom said and laughed as he belched loudly in her ear.
“Of course dear” Samantha said as she turned and allowed him to lean onto her. “Anything for my husband.” Along with the alcohol was another, more familiar scent. A woman’s perfume perhaps and possibly sold at a local department store. She stored this information away as most women do, making a mental note to purchase some for herself at some point. “Sit down now and have some supper before it gets cold.” Samantha was careful not to give away her grandmothers final, last secret ingredient for the special sauce she was making, as she dropped a healthy measure of it into the mixture.
Tom staggered over to the chair and flopped down, taking in the nicely set table and roaring fire in the fireplace. “So what’s the special occasion?” He asked as he took in his wife’s dress while she handed him a plate of spaghetti and laid a napkin in his lap. He shoved a huge bite of into his mouth and said with a sneer “And what’s up with that dress?” as spaghetti sauce ran down his stubbled chin and onto his shirt.
Samantha tugged down the black skirt and admired her long sleeves as she sunk the 8” butcher knife between his shoulder blades, burying it to the hilt and leaving it protruding from his back as she turned back to the stove to begin cleanup on the supper she had worked so hard to prepare. “You mean this old thing? It’s just something my Grandmother Elsa left me.” She reached up to lovingly straighten the cameo brooch on the dress’s high neck. She heard him sputter and choke, gasping his final breath as his body slid from the chair into the floor and laid there, wracked with spasms. The last words Tom would hear before the world went black, cold and still was his wife saying in a soft voice, “She had as good a taste in clothes as she did recipes you know.” A log popped in the fire as the credits for the movie rolled across the television screen.
Taking her first taste of the sauce, she let the spices roll around her mouth as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the full flavor, then she filled a large bowl and set aside in the refrigerator. She contemplated what to bring with it tomorrow when she went to visit Tammy and ask her what kind of perfume she could recommend.
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