HOW TO RUIN A POOL PARTY IN ONE, LONG NIGHT

I was a little unsure about going to the annual “Great and Terrible Zathog Swimming Jamboree,” to be honest, but I said yes anyways.

This was way before that thing at the strip club happened – in case you wanted to know – and, if you’re gonna be a stickler about it, I’ll come right out and say it – I didn’t want to go the pool party because I thought I looked fat in my new swimsuit. Laugh all you want, I know it’s a girly concern, but I had put on some pounds over the summer and, being in a new neighborhood and all, I just wanted to make all the right impressions on the local soccer moms.

Anyways, I had only just moved into the neighborhood about a week previous, and I was setting up my new rental house still, trying to connect my PS3 to my TV so I could watch my new 5-film BluRay set of the Scream movies, when my doorbell rang. Frustrated with the fact that I couldn’t find my HDMI cable, I growled and wiped my brow, giving up and heading to the door. When I swung it open, I was greeted by two figures, both swathed in black cloaks. I cleared my throat nervously: “Um… hello?”

“THE BLACK LORD OF WHIRLING VORTICES DEMANDS YOUR PRESENCE THIS EVENING!” they howled in unison.

The shorter of the two figures jabbed a pale, closed fist out – a crumpled piece of paper clenched within. I carefully reached out, plucked the page from its hand, and unraveled it.

In big, bright orange WordArt letters at the top, it announced the “Nth Annual Great and Terrible Zathog Swimming Jamboree.” Below was an image of a black circle with lines stretching out, flanked by little clipart images of hotdogs, hamburgers and red solo cups. At the bottom of the page, a time and place was printed – the address revealing that the party was being held only a couple of blocks down the street at one of the larger homes in the neighborhood. I grimaced: “Gee, I don’t know…” I glanced at myself in the mirror that hung near the door. I did have a bit of a paunch going on.

“IT IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE. WHAT THE BLACK LORD WANTS, THE BLACK LORD RECEIVES.”

I winced, “No need to yell. I guess I can come. Am I expected to bring a dish?”

The cloaked figures hazarded a quizzical glance at each other, muttering a handful of layered, archaic-sounding phrases, then turned back toward me:

“A BEAN DIP WOULD BE NICE.” They quickly turned on their heels and disappeared – like, literally faded into nothingness. I glanced down at the flyer and shrugged. I could do a bean dip.

---

I had decided that, to make the best impression on the locals, I would reveal my incredible culinary prowess by whipping up Betty Crocker’s famous Seven-Layer Bean Dip. After printing the secret recipe off of a webpage I found pretty easily on Google, I headed to the closest supermarket – a little mom-and-pop thing about a mile away.

I entered to find that it was entirely devoid of life, save for a young-looking cashier girl and an incredibly talkative bag-boy. I passed them on my way in, nodding to the cashier who gave me a look of pure terror, seemingly pleading for me to rescue her from the bag-boy’s unending drivel. I couldn’t focus on that just yet – I had a bean dip that I had to make. So, ignoring the two employees, I delved into the store unhindered.

It only took about fifteen minutes to get everything that I needed. As I approached the cash register, I realized that the bag-boy now had the cashier verbally pinned to the corner of her station as he continued to drone on and on – something about how Mountain Dew and video games were the new definition of manhood and that, if Doritos ever got involved, then everyone should just bow down and worship the newly-arrived deity that he’d be. I planted my items on the belt. The cashier girl turned quickly, ignoring the bag-boy, and leapt to my aid.

“How are you today, sir?”

“I’m fine. Just getting some food for a party later is all.”

“Ooooh! What kind of party?”

“A pool party.”

Her eyes flared suddenly. “A pool party! I love pool parties!”

I couldn’t tell if she was being facetious or not. The intonation was that weird middle-line between genuine excitement and absolute condemnation. I shrugged, “Yeah?”

“Absolutely!” She smirked. “What time are we going?”

I paused to fumble with my wallet, my throat suddenly dry. “Uhm… we?”

She smiled, “Yeah, don’t be silly. I have a new swimsuit I want to show off! You should take me with you.” She winked.

I suddenly felt violated. This cashier-girl – probably in her late teens or early twenties – was trying to pick me up. On top of that, I was already self-conscious enough as it was, debating if I was even going to bring my suit or if I was going to “accidentally forget” it. If I said no, I was an idiot – if I said yes, I’d be opening myself up to a whole new world of potential criticism. I sighed.

“It’s at seven tonight.”

“Perfect! Pick me up at my house! I’ll be waiting!” The girl winked at me. For the first time since I’d come into the store, the idiotic bag-boy had stopped his yammering and was gawking, wide-eyed at what he had just witnessed. After my receipt printed, the cashier-girl scrawled a curly address onto the back of it, just above a printout that claimed I could win up to $1000 dollars if I took a few short minutes to do an online survey about their customer service. I debated in my head which one was more intriguing. I left the store without another word.

---

The doorbell to the McMansion down the street from my new rental house sounded like a bronze gong. Here I was, a platter of bean dip in one hand, a girl far too young for me hooked on the other. I wondered if I was going to be sending conflicting messages to the soccer moms.

The door eased open as if of its own accord and I shrugged and led the way in. There didn’t seem to be anybody around. The home was brightly decorated and lit, but there were next to no furnishings, save for a couple of massive book cases in what I assumed was the living room – each holding dozens of musty-looking tomes. Some of the decorations were a little odd. They looked a lot like Halloween decorations – strings of bones, weird symbols and paintings, lots of cobwebs – which was odd because Halloween wasn’t for another two months. Once again, I felt as though I had missed out on some special part of the evening. Perhaps it was a themed pool party. I hoped that the cashier-girl wouldn’t mind.

We made our way through the living room and out a pair of double-doors which led onto a wooden deck. As we rounded the hedges, the light of a dozen blazing torches illuminating the partially-paved expanse of the backyard. I gasped in horror, nearly casting my bean dip to the ground.

There, only about twenty yards away, was an exact replica of my dish.

I cursed violently. My date withdrew her hand, grimacing angrily at me. “That’s no way to speak with a lady around.”

“Some bitch beat me to it!”

“To what?”

“My bean dip! Now I’m not only going to be the fattest one here – I’m going to the fattest one here, without a costume, and the one who brought a repeat dish.”

Cashier-girl grumbled, “You’re ruining this for me already. You know what, I’m going to get in the pool. How about you keep your distance for the rest of the night?” She expertly shed her clothes as she stalked away from me.

“Good luck getting home, then!”

I made my way toward the table so I could set down my useless dish.

As I placed the platter down, I accidentally bumped into a man who had been standing there, perusing the various dishes that had already been set out. I turned to apologize to him, only to find that I wasn’t entirely sure where his eyes were. I mean, he was shaped like a man – he moved like a man – but his skin was so dark that I couldn’t make out any features. Not wanting to be insensitive to his condition, I struggled for something to say so that my staring might be validated. “Hey uh… sorry man. I didn’t see you there. By the way, I really dig the, uh… the Pharaoh costume you’ve got going on. Looks pretty rad.” Before he could reply, I turned and moved in the opposite direction.

There were a few people around, just sort of meandering, but none I had ever seen before. A lot of them looked a little strange, to be honest. One guy was wearing a suit, but his skin looked all patchy and bright, almost like a lizard or something. Another guy, in just a pair of swimming trunks and carrying what I assumed to be a mimosa, was really hairy and his eyes were mismatched in color. I did my best to avoid all of them.

My date, well, ex-date, had stricken up conversation with a number of pale-looking fellows, all of which seemed to have far too many scars and a lot of stitches – a gaggle of Frankenstein wannabes. I was kind of happy to be rid of her though. Her laugh was really nasally – kind of irritating, too.

I turned back toward the table now that the Pharaoh had moved along and decided to load up a plate with food. After portioning out a generous helping of spaghetti, grabbing a hotdog, and taking some of my own bean dip, which had yet to be touched by anyone else, I searched for a seat as far apart from everyone as possible. I was still wearing my shirt and sandals. I didn’t want to jump in the pool. I even figured that, if someone tried to force me to, I could use that whole “can’t swim for at least an hour after eating” thing. With my head down, I began to shovel food into my mouth.

Half-way through my hotdog, I realized that the din of chatter had died down. Cautiously, I threw a glance over my shoulder. Everyone was missing. I shrugged and took another bite.

Slowly, I began to hear voices approaching, rising and falling in unison in some strange language. I paused again and turned to see the presumed hosts – the black cloaked figures – emerging from the house. One was holding a torch that was far brighter than the others that were lit. The other was carrying a huge metal container on a chain, swinging it back and forth. The scent of leaves burning filled the air.

But they weren’t the last. Behind them, a seemingly endless line of similarly-dressed figures slowly proceeded, their pale hands folded at their breasts, their heads dipped low. I swallowed my mouthful of hotdog. Dinner and a show? Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

The two lines of cloaked figures split and flanked the pool, crowding around its sides. The hosts made their way to the deep end, taking their places at either side of the diving board. Their chant reached its climax and everything fell silent for a few moments.

“WE REACH OUT TO YOU, OH ZARR!” The hosts cried in unison. “WE REACH OUT TO YOU AND ASK, THROUGH TIME AND SPACE, THROUGH THE STRANGE EONS OF THE INFINITE COSMOS, BRING FORTH THE BLACK LORD OF WHIRLING VORTICES, SO THAT WE MIGHT OFFER UNTO HIM THIS VIRGIN IN THANKS!”

“Bring forth!” The other cloaked figures howled. “Bring forth!”

I took another sip of my beer and then raised it, “Yeah, bring it on!”

There was silence again and I shoveled a heap of spaghetti into my mouth. Then, almost as abruptly as the first time, the hosts cried out again. “WE REACH OUT TO YOU, OH ZARR! WE ASK, THROUGH TIME AND SPACE, THROUGH THE STRANGE EONS OF THE INFINITE COSMOS, AWAKEN THAT WHICH SLUMBERS UNDER THE XENTILX GALAXY! BRING FORTH THE BLACK LORD OF WHIRLING VORTICES, SO THAT WE MIGHT OFFER UNTO HIM THIS VIRGIN IN PRAISE!”

“Bring forth!” They cried again. “Bring forth!”

All of a sudden, the pool began to bubble. As it churned, a mist began to form above it. The torches stationed all around the pool area began to flicker and then were snuffed. The only light came from the torch of the hosts’. I pushed my plate to the middle of the table and cautiously stood up. This was too good to miss. This was one hell of a show.

“WE REACH OUT TO YOU, OH ZARR! HEARKEN! WE CALL UNTO YOU, THROUGH THE STRANGE EONS OF THE INFINITE COSMOS, BRING FORTH THE BLACK LORD OF WHIRLING VORTICES. BRING FORTH ZATHOG!”

“Bring forth Zathog!” The chant began. “Bring forth Zathog!”

At once, a rumbling began. I covered my head, thinking it was an earthquake. The cloaked figures began to howl and dance, to scream and yelp and hoot and holler. Above it all, I heard a nasally scream. “I’m NOT a virgin! Put me down! Put me DOWN!”

Two more cloaked figures came striding out of the house quickly, my ex-date on their shoulders. I clapped. How wonderful that she’d decided to be a part of the festivities! I reached back with a hand, grabbed a chip covered in bean dip, and continued to stare at the events unfolding.

The figures carried my ex-date to the diving board and planted her at its very edge, just above the pool. The pool looked as if it was boiling now. She was yelling at them, screaming that it “wasn’t funny” and that they should “untie her this instant.” Her acting needed a little work, but I shrugged. Slim pickings, I guess.

The torch went out.

The howls reached their pinnacle and then, in the darkness, they shifted to screams. I heard glass break across the expanse of the pool area. Another scream and someone came crashing into one of the food tables, spaghetti flying all over the cement. Something passed by my face at a blinding speed. The hosts were laughing.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw them stretch out their arms. My ex-date was crying. Something didn’t seem right anymore. They pushed her.

“CASHIER-GIRL! NO!”

She fell but there was no splash. Instead, she seemed suspended for a moment in the air, before she was thrown incredibly high up. She came down like an arrow, head-first, directly into the middle of the pool. Some horrifying, guttural growl emanated in response.

The cloaked figures darted back and forth. One of the hosts was gripped by an invisible hook and reeled, still laughing hysterically, into the churning abysm of the pool. Other figures were snatched and thrown, some clear over the privacy fence. I felt panic rising in my chest. I decided to make a run for it.

I turned to my left, but the Pharaoh was there, his hands high in the air. I turned to my right and saw something thick and black tear through a crowd of cloaked figures like a hot knife through butter. I contemplated trying to scale the fence but then remembered how out-of-shape I was. I decided to go right.

I leapt over the bodies of the fallen cloaked figures, darting around their still-grasping limbs expertly. With each step, I felt as though I were infinitely closer to the door – to safety and order and sanity. Another tendril came whistling through the air and I ducked, feeling it brush by. I rose and saw another, coming right for my feet. I jumped, but it caught me at the base of my shins. I pitched forward to the cement and everything went black.

---

The summer afternoon greeted me with the searing pain of sunburn. I rolled over and brought my hand up to my head with a groan. As my eyes scanned the edges of the pool area, I saw nothing aside from food, wine glasses and beer cans strewn about. The pool itself was placid – blue and clear.

I rose to my feet, my back and legs aching in protest. There were two red welts at the bases of my shins. When I took a step, I almost howled in pain. Dropping back to my hands and knees, I made my way over to the only food table that was still standing and grabbed my bean dip. Only one small piece was missing – the piece that I had taken. The other bean dip was gone. Figured.

Using my one hand and my knees, I slowly made my way back through the house, out the front door, and to my car. I climbed in and looped around at the end of the block, heading back toward home.

---

Two days later, I was working on my PS3 again when my doorbell rang. I got up, went to the door, exhaled slowly and opened it, only to find no one. My mailbox was open, an envelope jutting out. I grabbed it and slowly opened it up.

There was a small card with “Thank You” printed on the front. I folded it open.

We hope you enjoyed the Nth Annual Great and Terrible Zathog Swimming Jamboree!

Enclosed is an invitation to next year’s festivities. Please return it in the envelope provided.

I grabbed the piece of paper and stared at it for a moment. I produced a pen.

“Will you be attending?”

“Yes.”

Maybe the turnout next time would be a little better. In the very least, I wouldn’t bring a date. I marked a few more boxes before I came to the final question and paused.

“Will you be bringing a dish?”

I glanced over at the remains of my bean dip.

“No.”