Friedrich and Marina exchanged glances. Friedrich’s was of utter confusion, while Marina’s was asking him to turn back and leave so they didn’t need to find out why so many people were gathered around a dinner table.

The strange folks sitting in the clearing were of many races from Mercians to Wood Elves, all wearing very proper and colourful clothes. They wouldn’t have looked in the least bit out of place at a nobleman’s party.

“Ah!” called a man at the head of the table. “I see that we have more esteemed guests in our midst. Please, everyone, will you all budge up and make some space for these two strangers.”

Friedrich and Marina stood in stunned silence, but the man beckoned them over. His hair was curly and black with a wispy moustache, nothing too unusual around these parts, but his choice of attire was bizarre. He wore a red justacorps that was patterned with golden loaves of bread. Friedrich thought he was mistaken, but he squinted and was certain that it was bread on the man’s coat.

“Come now, come now. Bring yourselves over and tell us your names.”

“Where are we?” called Friedrich, suddenly getting the disturbing feeling that Marina was right and he had been too eager once again.

“Why you are at The Dinner Party!” called the man.

“I gathered that we’re at a dinner part, but—”

“No, no. You are not at a dinner party, but The Dinner Party. What a lucky treat for you this will be my newfound friends, what a treat. Quickly now, come.”

Friedrich walked over to the table with Marina clutching her staff tightly behind. She would not lower her guard for a second.

“Your names? I must check you off guest list,” said the man.

“Flint and Martha,” said Friedrich, reluctant to trust this man.

“No…that can’t be right,” said the man, pulling out a scroll of parchment and unrolling it. “It says here that we’re expecting a Friedrich and Marina. That wouldn’t happen to be the pair of you, would it?”

Friedrich and Marina’s hearts stopped for a moment. How could that parchment possibly have said their names.

“Let me see that,” said Friedrich, moving to the man. He turned the parchment around and showed Friedrich that their names were indeed there.

“All who heed the call of The Dinner Party are added to the list, my friends. You do not need to give false names for this place knows exactly who you are. Sit with us and we shall begin the feast.”

“I think it’s best that we leave,” said Friedrich, walking backwards without taking his eyes off the guests.

“Suit yourselves,” said the man with a shrug. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Friedrich and Marina hurried back over to the cave and walked inside, looking over their shoulders the entire way. To the pair’s horror, all they could find was a flat surface where they expected the door to be.

“It was here,” said Marina, looking terrified. “Where are we, Friedrich?”

“I…I don’t know,” said Friedrich, feeling an immense amount of guilt for dragging Marina into this mess—especially for a measly sixty-five kupons.

The two walked back into the clearing and the man at the head of the table was smiling at them. “Is there a problem, my friends? Can’t find the door?”

“What did you do?” asked Friedrich angrily. “Release us at once!”

“Oh no, this is not my doing,” said the man. “This realm that we find ourselves in is removed from Eradrel. You chose to walk through the portal, and it sealed itself to you. Perhaps once we have had dinner, the door will reappear?”

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Friedrich drew his sword. “And I suppose I’m supposed to just let you eat us?”

The host and the guests looked at each other and began laughing hysterically. They laughed so hard that they teared up.

“Oh, you are a hoot, Friedrich,” said the host. “Why in the many planes of existence would we want to eat a pair of Mercian children?”

Friedrich chose not to react to being called a child this time. “So…we are not the meal?”

The host laughed again. “Goodness gracious, no. You are going to eat too, so why would we feed you to yourselves? Now…sit.”

Friedrich and Marina reluctantly walked over to the table and sat down. They were going to play along for now, feeling that they had no choice, but to say that they trusted the host and his guests would have been egregiously untrue.

“Now, introductions,” said the host. “My name is The Head of the Table. Please, tell me your names officially.”

“Friedrich.”

“Marina.”

“You do not have family names?” asked The Head of the Table, cocking his head to the side. “That is most unusual.”

“Is that important?” asked Friedrich.

“No, I suppose not. At least I have something to address you by,” The Head of the Table suddenly clapped his hands. “Let our first course be served!”

He held his hands out to the table, then twisted and coiled his fingers as though weaving some kind of spell. Before the eyes of the guests, a feathered woman appeared on the table; her arms were almost wing-like. She cried and writhed in terror as her limbs were bound with ropes, tying her to the table.

“A harpy to settle your stomachs,” said The Head of the Table, stretching out his arms in mirth. Now, please, raise your knives and forks.”

All of the guests except for Friedrich and Marina did as they were asked. The Head of the Table shot them an irked look as though he was growing tired of their reluctance to take part in his party. The pair shakily picked up their knives and forks, locking eyes with each other and silently agreeing that they would not eat the struggling harpy.

“Enjoy the poultry, my friends,” said The Head of the Table, but his voice was no longer merry. His voice was gruff and warbled as though three men had spoken at the same time.

As the guests stabbed and cut the harpy, she screeched horrifically. They avoided her head, chest and neck, determined to ensure that she lived through as much of the meal as they could. The guests put the chunks they cut from her on their plates and ate it raw, gulping and slurping everything down from flesh to feathers.

Friedrich and Marina looked at The Head of the Table who was smiling menacingly at them. He licked his lips and suddenly his face contorted and twisted. His skin turned ash-grey and his eyes became red. His brow ridge thickened as his hair retreated into his scalp. As his hair vanished, two sharp, curled horns sprouted from his forehead and his teeth grew long and sharp. The Head of the Table was a demon. All that remained of his former appearance was the red overcoat patterned with the golden bread.

“Where are we?” demanded Friedrich, standing up and knocking his chair away.

“You are at The Dinner Party,” said The Head of the Table.

“No,” said Friedrich, drawing his sword and raising his shield. “Tell me the truth, where did the door take us?”

The Head of the Table let out a booming laugh; it was much more sinister than his former, jovial laugh. This laughter filled Friedrich and Marina with dread. “You find yourselves in The Infernal Kitchen,” said the demon. “Will you eat with us?”

“Never,” said Friedrich, taking a step backwards as Marina stood up and moved close to him with her staff raised.

“We would rather die,” she said.

“That is such a shame,” said The Head of the Table, “but that can be arranged.”

Friedrich and Marina sprinted back towards the cave, not sure what they were expecting to find, but the door was still missing. Friedrich slammed on the rock with his shield, hoping that the door had simply turned invisible, but it had not.

“What do we do?” asked Marina.

“I don’t know,” said Friedrich, turning around, but he said nothing else as he looked back. The light from the clearing had turned red.

The duo walked back to the clearing, their weapons raised and ready. The clearing, which had once seemed bright and pleasant, had darkened. The sky was red, twisted and filled with black clouds, while the grass as now replaced with soil that looked like it had been bathed in the blood of thousands. The trees surrounding the clearing were now gnarled and twisted with leaves as sharp as razorblades.

“Where’s the table?” cried Marina, seeing the clearing now devoid of The Dinner Party.

“More importantly, where’s The Head of the Table,” said Friedrich, looking around.

Suddenly, the demon’s voice boomed throughout the clearing. “My esteemed guests, we will now move onto the next phase of the event. Seeing as our two newcomers chose not to join us, their lives are now forfeit. Who would like to play a game with them?”

The guests all cheered, their voices coming from within the trees.

“Excellent! We shall give them sixty seconds to hide in the forest. Whoever kills them, gets to enjoy them for dessert. If they kill all of you, then we shall let them go free. Those sound like fair terms to me, do they to you?”

The guests cheered once again.

“How about you, Friedrich and Marina?”

“I agree to your terms!” shouted Friedrich in fury. “And I’m coming for every last one of you. You will all die by my hand.”

The Head of the Table roared with laughter. “We have a bold one! Very well, Friedrich. Your time begins…now.”

Friedrich and Marina ran through the clearing and to the trees at the far side. They did not know what was waiting for them in the darkness of the forest ahead, but they knew that standing out here in the open would mean certain death for them.