Mermaid Pirate Dispatch

The clatter of silverware on Corelle faded as grandma rounded the corner from the kitchen into the dining room carrying a covered casserole dish with two large oven mitts. Her long medieval style farmer’s table had been covered with her nicest white embroidered tablecloth before being laden with a feast fit for a castle. Somehow the cloth was just as white as it had been last year despite the dozens of grandchildren and great grandchildren smearing their greasy fingers all over everything, spilling their juice across the table, and using the edges of the covering to wipe their grubby faces.

Grandma had kept the house just as her late husband had left it, adorned with suits of armor, medieval tapestries on the walls, swords and shields mounted next to framed pages from medieval codices. Grandpa had loved studying the late medieval period, and had filled his house with as many relics and artifacts as he could legally acquire.

I glanced over at grandpa’s empty place setting at the head of the table and a prickle of iciness ran down my spine. In the years since his passing grandma had insisted on holding these annual gatherings in a way that nobody dared oppose her. One year she had glared at my cousin Mike when he suggested she had set out one too many plates. She had barked at my mother when she suggested great uncle Peter sit at the head of the table. Last year when my sister suggested that it might be time to move on, grandma had dragged her into the other room and we all listened to what sounded like a rabid dog fighting over the last scraps of food. So after fifteen years most of us knew not to say anything.

This year the seats closest to grandpa’s empty chair, which looked like a simple medieval throne, were filled by my aunt Debbie and her young family. The youngest, a little four-year-old named Amy, was seated right on the end and it unnerved me to see her constantly looking over at the empty space next to her where nobody was. She would look up and down at the air there and make faces like an otter looking into a mirror. Of course, I had never seen an otter look into a mirror, but Amy’s expressions were both full of an otter-like mischief and yet missing the kind of understanding that a more self-aware animal would have when looking into a mirror.

Grandma set the hot casserole dish on the table and smiled, her eyes running up and down the long table filled with family. “Thank you all for coming,” she said warmly. “I’m especially glad Debbie’s family could finally make it this year.”

Aunt Debbie shrugged, grinning awkwardly. “Thanks for having us. Sorry we live so far away.” Her eyes glanced to the side at the empty spot. I knew mom and uncle Bob had pulled Debbie and her husband aside to warn her not to say anything about grandpa’s place setting, but the way she eyed the seat made me wonder if she would try to say anything. For her sake, I hoped she wouldn’t.

Grandma dropped the oven mitts off in the kitchen then came back in patting down the front of her dress. “Alright, let’s say grace and eat. I’m starving!”

Her eldest son, my uncle Henry, said a quick word to God with a bowed head, then the table erupted into commotion. People leaned forward until their butts were hovering over their chairs. Some people stood, and kids got up and ran around the table assessing the selection. Some dishes were being passed around where possible while other times people were sending their plates off on an adventure to see what would amass before the plate found its way back home.

I leaned back and folded my hands in my lap, waiting for the chaos to settle. I let my eyes wander the room, taking in the medieval knick knacks and artifacts. Every now and then little Amy drew my eye the way she peacefully watched the empty seat. Little conversations began to spring up, calling for my ear with family gossip and bits of drama. Soon I was engrossed in a scandalous account of an affair which led to some bad business choices. I thought I was just about to finally hear who they were talking about when the corner of my eye realized that Amy was talking to the empty seat. I turned my head to focus on her, but in that moment Amy’s eyes locked with mine and her lips clamped shut. Her eyes went wide and she grimaced, then tried to smile, then reached across the table to get her mother’s attention, probably complaining that she didn’t have any food yet.

I squinted at the little girl and the empty throne by her side for a moment before trying to tune back into the torrid gossip channel but it had been reduced to a simmering bit of standard talk about, “and what is he studying at college?” and “is he dating anyone?” I sighed and decided to start gathering food. I managed to grab a chicken leg without getting up, but realized I’d have to stand to reach the mashed potatoes. When I scooted my wooden chair away from the table it let out a long, ripe rumble like an elephant breaking wind. The sound made everyone turn their heads. I chuckled politely and half stood to reach for the potatoes. In that lull we all clearly heard little Amy’s voice sing out, “but mom, why isn’t great grandpa eating anything?”

There was a collective gasp and every head turned to face the vacant head of the table. I broke from the flow and scanned the other faces. Grandma’s jaw was tight, her eyes wide. A few jaws were slack. Uncle Bob was blinking something in morse code with his mouth dramatically agape. I leaned forward to get a better look at aunt Debbie, who was looking around aghast. “Oh honey,” she gasped. She quickly got up and made a non-verbal apology to the room, moving to her daughter’s side and hiding behind grandpa’s empty high-back chair. We all heard her trying to whisper tactfully, “it’s because grandpa isn’t with us anymore.”

“Yes he is,” Amy objected. “He’s sitting right next to me but he’s not eating anything. I offered him some of my peas but he said I should eat them and I don’t want to.”

Uncle Bob gasped and knocked the table as he stood, his chair groaning quickly along the floor like mine had.

Aunt Debbie laughed uncomfortably. “You know, I don’t think we washed up before dinner.” She stood and we finally saw the utter dread on her pale face. She grabbed Amy’s plump hand and dragged her away to the restroom.

The still air around me slowly began to churn with whispers and murmurs. A fork was dropped onto a plate. A lid was set gently on a dish. Someone reached for their cup and took a drink. But I watched grandma, who stared straight across the length of the table at grandpa’s empty seat, her eyes locked and unblinking.

My heart was pounding, though I wasn’t sure why. Uncle Bob gently lowered himself into his seat, patting his forehead with a cloth napkin while his friend put an arm around him and began whispering with wide eyes.

For a moment I thought the room might return to normal, but off to my right someone slammed their fists on the table, rattling every plate, fork, and knife. He stood abruptly, shouting, “fine! I’ll say it. It’s crazy! I know you all want to believe that dear old grandpa still joins us for these cute little annual family gatherings, but he’s gone, alright? Gone. That’s what happens when people die, they pass on, and so should we.” I thought it might be aunt Debbie’s husband, but I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t get a good look before he stormed off to a chorus of gasps. Someone nearly stood to follow him but I saw a hand reach out and pull and then the person was sitting again.

The room was silent. Most people looked down at their laps. A chill ran up my spine and I felt the skin on my arms pull into bumps. Then I shivered and gasped when a puff of my own breath showed up clearly in front of my face. I looked around and saw that everyone’s eyes were bulging as their own exhaled air clouds slowly rose and dissipated.

The lights flickered. One of aunt Debbie’s kids began to whimper. We all turned toward the bathroom when we heard the door unlatch. Aunt Debbie and Amy emerged and immediately grabbed their exposed arms. “Woah,” my aunt said, “it got cold fast, huh? Should I turn on the heat?” She looked at the table expectantly, but everyone’s eyes were on Amy.

Amy had wandered away from her mother and was standing by grandpa’s empty wooden throne, facing it. She looked up, but not at where his face would be if he were sitting in the chair, she was looking up almost to the ceiling. “How did you get up there?” she asked. “Come down, great grandpa. Come eat with me.”

Nobody breathed. We all just watched Amy craning her neck. Then, startled, she took a step back.

“No!” she cried. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s scary!” She covered her face and ran back to her mother, burying her face in her mother’s thigh. Her muffled voice was shaking and full of terror. “He’s being scary,” she sobbed.

The shivers seized control of my body and I froze. The lights dimmed and an electric buzzing filled the air briefly before everything went dark.

At least two kids began to cry, and possibly a few adults. A teenage girl screamed. My scalp crawled and I blinked, but I couldn’t tell when my eyes were open or closed. A man yelled, “my phone won’t turn on!” and I heard a few people scrambling away from the table, knocking into walls, tripping over each other to find a way out.

Grandma’s voice cried out above the mess. “Quiet!”

A child was still sobbing. A door knob was rattling, someone desperately trying to get it open.

“Qui-et!” Grandma commanded again. I couldn’t see her, but I pictured her standing triumphantly on the table, her chest puffed out and her arms back in powerful fists, her hair blowing back for dramatic effect.

The room went silent.

In the stillness her voice came again, this time gentle and calm. “Harold, dear, please don’t be upset. For fifteen years we’ve set a plate for you every year. All this time we’ve honored your presence with us with these family gatherings. We love you. Please don’t be angry with us all for one foolish man’s delusion.”

After a dreadful eternity in the black void, the lights flickered on and the air gradually returned to a comfortable temperature. The disarray around the table was comical, with chairs toppled over and people in little twisted piles of bruises and shame. I caught a waft of the unmistakable fragrance of warm urine and someone behind me scrambled to their feet and dashed to the restroom.

A collective sigh accompanied the room’s recomposure. Grandma was not standing on the table, but she did give a wry smile before smoothing out her dress and sitting down to eat again. Aunt Debbie sat Amy back down at her seat, nervously glancing at the empty throne with wide eyes. A few quiet whispers ushered in the return of conversation, though it would take a few minutes before it could grow to a din again.

“Where’s my husband?” Debbie asked after a moment.

My heart jumped and I found myself quickly getting to my feet. “I’ll go check on him,” I said suddenly. I smiled at aunt Debbie with a confused but earnest look.

She looked around at her kids and nodded. “Thanks.”

I slid around my chair and slipped out of the room where I had seen her husband retreat after his outburst. I walked out into the living room and looked around. Then on a hunch I checked the nearby drawing room and my heart stopped. My blood turned to ice. Aunt Debbie’s husband was lying in a pool of blood, impaled by a replica medieval arming sword. A look of pure horror was permanently burned into his entire face, his mouth open wide in an eternal, silent scream.

[Reddit Post]