The Johnsons really were a delightful family – each with their own peccadilloes, gathered together now to enjoy yet another Christmas. Every year Enid, just turned 45 and dressed in her Christmas finery, presided over the “roast beast” ( as they jokingly called the roast beef that always accompanied the traditional turkey) while her husband Morty, 47, sat back pontificating on everything in general and nothing in particular.
Their 22 year-old identical twin sons Malcolm and Stanley were there, of course, with their massive appetites at the ready as was their 24 year-old married daughter Jennifer and her new husband Pat, a fine strapping young man with an appetite to match.
Also in attendance as usual were her younger sisters Abigail and Natalie, along with Natalie’s husband Hubert and ten year-old son William.
Wandering in and out as well were an assortment of cats and dogs that only the Johnsons could keep track of by name and disposition who waited patiently for anything in the way of scraps that hit the floor.
After the pleasantries were dispensed with, they all sat down to enjoy what they were really thee for, the partaking of the Christmas feast that Enid had become known for.
Before them stretched an almost endless array of meat and vegetables consisting of turkey, roast beef, baked and sweet potatoes, turnips, corn, creamed cauliflower and stuffing with two kinds of gravy, pickles and cranberries.
No bowl or platter was left untouched in the quest to fill their stomachs with more than they should rightfully hold and get away with without returning it to the platter from whence it had come a little the worse for wear.
When the main course had been attacked with the fervor that it deserved and everyone had had their fill, the plates were removed to the kitchen, followed by the serving dishes to make room for the crowing touch – the traditional Yule log dessert accompanied by an assortment of fruit pies and mince tarts.
As everyone stretched and did what they had to do to make room for hat was to come, Enid announced that she had a surprise for them.
“It’s called DEATH BY CHOCOLATE, and you have to taste it to believe it. I got the recipe from my girlfriend Molly and it’s so easy to make. Wait till you see it,” she finished, disappearing down the stairs.
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Returning a few minutes later, she placed in front of them the most unusual dish that any one of them had ever seen. It was in a crystal punch bowl and consisted (so Enid said) of layers of chocolate cake, whipped cream, chocolate mousse, and topped with crumbled SKOR chocolate bars with fancy toothpicks sticking out of the top like sparklers. And, of yes, a drop or two of Kahlua liqueur that the cake had been marinated in overnight.
Picking up a kitchen utensil-sized spoon, Enid proceeded to snow them how it should be served. Placing a spoonful on her plate, she initiated orgy that followed. The punch bowl circulated around the table with no one passing up an opportunity to take a scoopful (not even Natalie’s son William, who was usually a light eater). Biting into it, the look on each face and the oohhs and aahhs that ensued spoke volumes about how good the dessert was.
Enid watched as the bowl quickly emptied as it circulated around the table a second time with her brother-in-law Hubert taking the dare to finish it.
Everyone watched as Hubert gorged himself on the mound of dessert he had piled on his plate, and while no one doubted that he could finish it, they still couldn’t believe their eyes as they watched him do it.
No one noticed that Enid wasn’t really eating, but rather she was playing with he plate as she watched the others stuff themselves with her creation. Discretely, she removed her plate to the kitchen as she announced that the tea and coffee were ready.
Bringing out the tea and coffee after checking who wanted what, she kept her eye on Hubert as he continued to demolish what was on his plate and secretly contemplated a piece of pie.
A round of applause greeted Hubert as he scooped up the last bite of the dessert, and he decided not to try for the piece of pie after all. Passing up both the tea and coffee, he washed down his last mouthful with another glass of clamato juice. Enid smiled as she heard him say that he’d pass on the wine since he was driving.
They sat for awhile in the livingroom, those who didn’t have to do the cleanup detail that is, and chatted about what had happened over the past year while the younger members and Enid cleared away the wreckage of another successful Christmas meal.
Once the dishwashing was underway, Enid joined the others in the livingroom and watched unobtrusively as waistband were still being adjusted as they tried to get comfortable.
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It won’t be long, she thought to herself, but outwardly only smiled as she listened to the others compete with her husband for the best story of the year.
Getting up after a whispered conversation with Natalie, Hubert announced that regretfully it was time for them to go home. A round of hugging ensued at the front door once they had recovered their coats from the hall closet. Not surprisingly, Enid had a tear in her eye as she hugged and kissed her sisters, her nephew and then Hubert goodbye.
Both she and Morty waved in the doorway as Hubert’s car rolled slowly down the driveway and out onto the road.
“Just sentimental, I guess,” she replied, heading back into the depths of the house. Looking around her as if for the first time, she took in everything with a renewed interest, soaking it up like a dry sponge.
“Anything I can do?,” asked Morty, watching her.
“No, everything’s taken care of, I think,” she replied, gazing thoughtfully at the now gleaming punch bowl sitting on the sideboard.
Smiling wistfully, she mentally reflected on how appropriate the name DEATH BY CHOCOLATE had been, given the one ingredient she had failed to mention earlier. She wondered too how long it would be before it actually too effect and whether everyone would make it home before it did.
Knowing full well what tomorrow would bring, she took one last look around before heading up to bed.
“Oh well,” she sighed, turning out the light as she reached the top of the stairs, “tomorrow’s another day.”
Moonlight streamed through the livingroom windows reflecting off the crystal punch bowl in eerie affirmation of what was to come.
Ooooooo, weeeee! No she didn't!
Yes, she did! Death by Chocolate!
I was drooling over that
concoction! I want to make it!
Without the poison! You're a good
writer! I'll be checking out more
of your works! Great effective story!
WEIRD RHODY is a short story collection featuring five strange tales all set in Rhode Island and written by five Rhode Island authors. The anthology is a tribute to H.P. Lovecraft, the Ocean State's famed author of pulp horror.
