[Short Story & Choose Your Own Adventure!] The Party
Note: The text-to-adventure balance and mood of this story are quite different from those of my first two. For a more action-packed Choose Your Own Adventure, go here. For a fantasy one, go here.
CAUTION! Do not read this story through from beginning to end!
If you've never read one before, a Choose Your Own Adventure is a story where you get to decide what happens. Traditionally, this would be something like, "To go into the cavern, turn to page 56." But in this case, please use ctrl+f or command+f to find the numbers that you choose.
The objective of a Choose Your Own Adventure is usually to make the right choices the first read through and not die. Let’s practice:
11: Don't this story.
12: Read it.
A meteor streams out of the sky and smashes into your preconceptions, biases, and memories, restoring your brain to factory settings. Per typical factory default human brain advice, your mind seems to be urging you to read 12.
Face white and vacant, she sat with her elbow resting on the window ledge, continually running the tips of her fingers over her thumb in sequence. She was not looking out the window, nor anywhere: her thoughts were faraway. Guests should begin arriving soon, but she did not wish to see them. She longed to be transported to Heaven without a moment’s hesitation. She longed to offer the guests her still and lifeless body, perhaps hunched in this very chair, not quite fallen to the floor, wearing this gingham dress worn soft over many years.
“There is no helping it,” she murmured at length, rising and moving to the door, which whined pitifully as it opened. Looking down the long, narrow flight of stairs, she paused to question herself exactly why she had gone to the attic in the first place, and what she had been doing there, and for how long; but receiving no answer from the recesses of her mind, she sighed and began her careful descent.
A chicken was roasting in the oven. She had entirely forgotten, but now the savory scent reminded her as she walked over the bright linoleum of the kitchen. Mashed potatoes with rosemary, green bean casserole, and other dishes were arrayed on the counter. She had told her guests not to bring food — not because she wanted to do all of this herself, but because young people couldn’t be relied upon to cook for a party. She had learned long ago that if she wanted to enjoy a full, proper meal with her family, she would have to cook it herself.
A jingling at her feet alerted her to the presence of her tabby cat. “Hello Toby,” she cooed, leaning down to pet me. I stood on my hind legs to meet her hand, saving her the effort.
After checking the chicken in the oven, she got out the cat food and carefully scooped a cup into my bowl. I ran over and began chomping it down. She used to feed me on a fixed schedule, but she didn’t have a very good sense of time anymore. It worked out, though, because now she fed me whenever it seemed right to her, and often that meant getting twice the meals.
She was in the dining room when I finished. She moved carefully around the table, adjusting the plates and dinnerware until they reached perfection of setting. “A final touch, “she murmured, slipping on her shoes to step through the porch and grab her clippers. In the backyard, she snipped off an array of stargazer lilies, red and white roses, and lavender.
A jumping grasshopper distracted me. “Come on, Toby,” she called, waiting with the porch door open. I couldn’t come yet. I was focused. I was on the hunt. I settled deep into the grass, wiggled my haunches in preparation, then pounced! “Oh, leave the little bug alone.” I munched it happily.
“Mraow,” I replied, running past her into the porch.
She arranged the flowers in a vase on the table. A glance at the clock sent a cloud of worry over her face. “They should be here by now. Why, they should have been here thirty minutes ago.” She turned the oven low, placed all of the dishes inside it to keep them warm.
She sunk into her squishy armchair and clicked on the TV. I waited a minute or two to let her know I didn’t need to be where she was, then jumped into her lap purring. She petted me, but her heart didn’t seem in it. I settled down and drifted off to sleep.
“Up, Toby.” Her voice awakened me along with a gentle patting on my back. “Wake up. I have to get up now.” The light outside had dimmed somewhat. She started to sit up, so I leapt off, immediately licking my fur with great focus and energy.
She wandered into the kitchen. “They didn’t come.” She turned off the stove, leaned over it with tears in her eyes. “They didn’t come!” Her hands slid away, dropped, pulled the oven door open. She set everything on the counter and stove, took out some aluminum foil to cover them with. But as she drew the foil over the magnificent roast chicken, she paused. She was thinking of something childish and silly, even a little crazy. “It’s alright if they don’t come,” she said aloud. “We’ll have our party all the same.”
She completed the table setting with the dishes she had worked so hard to prepare, topping it off with two bottles of champagne. But instead of sitting down to eat, she jumped suddenly, as though she had heard a knock at the door. “That must be Archibald.” She rushed to open the door. It was he, indeed, standing proud in his regiment uniform, smoothing back his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Agnes!” he cried. “It’s such a delight to see you.” Agnes leaned out to hug him.
I watched in confusion as she caressed the empty air.
After she led Archibald to his seat at the foot of the table, the guests arrived in rapid succession. Lady Windermere, fanning herself with a peacock feather fan. Martina and her two adorable children. Ferdinand, cracking jokes as usual. The Clarksdale twins and their charming bichon frise. They all sat down with much animation, ooing and aahing over the table spread. Although the head of the table stood vacant, they decided to begin. “After all, you’ve waited long enough!” the Clarksdale sister insisted.
So the dishes were passed around the table, ensuring that everyone got some of the green bean casserole, potatoes, corn, rolls, deviled eggs, and salad, while Archibald kindly offered to carve the chicken. “Thank you, Archibald. And Clarissa, Clark, your dog is being so nice to Toby,” Agnes said. I glanced at her upon hearing my name. She was moving around the table again, this time putting some of each dish onto every plate for the empty chairs before them. She had a strange energy to her that put me on edge.
“Now that we’re all ready to eat, let’s break open this champagne!” Ferdinand grasped a bottle and the corkscrew beside it. With a merry pop and cheer, he began pouring it into every glass. He opened another, and preparations were complete.
Everyone raised their glass. “Here’s to Agnes,” Ferdinand said. “The most beautiful woman around, whose voice is a wonderful sound. Her smile is so bright, her charms such a delight, she’d sit less than a day at the pound!” At this, as if on cue, the bichon frise let forth a solemn howl, causing everyone to break into merry laughter before taking a sip of their champagne.
After dinner was over, they moved into the living room for dancing. I watched her put on a record of waltzes, step forward, and say, “Me? Why thank you.” Arms outstretched to nothing, she began spinning about the room. Her cheeks were flushed, and she seemed happier than I had seen her in a long time, but something about it seemed almost feverish, as well.
After Archibald danced with her, Ferdinand asked her hand next. But while she was dancing with Clark, another knock came at the door. Her arms fell. Her expression grew serious. “Could it be…”
Everyone smiled at her. “Better get that,” Ferdinand said. She turned, dreamlike, and walked to the door.
When it opened, Hank stood before her, handsome and strong as the day they got married. “Hello, Agnes,” he said. There were tears in her eyes. The music was still playing. He stepped inside, shut the door. “May I have this dance?” She nodded wordlessly, choked with joy, and took his arms.
Everyone cleared the floor for them. There was nothing in the world but herself and Hank. “I missed you,” she sobbed. “So much. It’s so hard without you.”
He held her closer. “I’m sorry for leaving you, Agnes. You know I would have stayed if it were my choice.”
After their dance, Martina put on something with a quicker beat and danced for them with her children. Everyone clapped in time. Then Lady Windermere recited Yeats, and Archibald sang an operatic song. It was all so much fun, but at long last, with the moon bright in the sky, the guests said it was time to go. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said to each in turn as they walked out the door. “Yes, please let’s do it again another time.”
Seeing the door open again and thrown off by her strange behavior, I ran to the doorway and paused, sniffing the outdoors. “Oh, Sir Toby! You never can decide whether you want to stay or go,” she joked. She turned away suddenly. “Hank…you’re not leaving, are you?”
He smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Agnes. I can’t stay. You know why.”
“But…”
“Tell you what. I have a cabin out in the woods. You could come stay with me tonight, if you like.”
I meowed loudly, but she paid me no heed, so I streamed down the steps into the grass. “I would love to,” I heard her saying. “I would love to.”
My confusion over her behavior continued as she began walking toward the woods at this time of night, which I had never seen her do before. She had her elbow out to the side in a strange position, as if something was holding it there. I followed her across the lawn, across the field, and into the woods.
“My cabin’s just a little further,” Hank said. “I’ll go before you and turn the lights on, set things up.” He released her arm. Her smile faltered, but she continued to walk straight ahead.
A birthday cake, candles aflame, was resting on a plate on the ground. “Oh—!” She fell to her knees, admiring the decoration. HAPPY 88th BIRTHDAY AGNES, the blue icing read. “So you remembered…somebody remembered.” Tears were in her eyes again. “Thank you.” She blew out the candles in one go. Having no knife, she broke a bit of cake off with her fingers.
Humans eat very strange things. I couldn’t imagine why she would come all the way out here just for this. But there she sat, smiling and laughing, picking purple berries and pouring them into her mouth by the handful. Her long grey hair had been pulled out of its bun during the dancing and walk, so that wisps surrounded her head and fell over her face, and her lips were stained purple as she sat in the moonlight. And fell.
Disturbed by her strange behavior, I reached out and swatted her leg, drawing faint lines of blood across her shin.
“Ow! Toby!” She tsked at me. “I’m sorry, Hank, I…Hank?”
She looked around as if broken from a spell, sighed, shut the door, and returned to the dining room. Slowly she put away the dishes. Slowly she put away the records, then turned off lights until she was standing in the dim kitchen by the small oven light, staring at the wall with a forlorn expression.
She was thinking of the day Hank passed, how sudden and cruel it had been. Leaning over the body, begging for him to keep calm and hang on until the ambulance arrived. But by the time it had arrived, it had been too late. She had been over the memory so many times that it was only the memory of a memory of a memory at this point. She couldn’t recall how his face had looked. She knew he had told her that he loved her. But not how his voice had sounded.
She envied him. He had never been alone like this.
I leapt onto the kitchen counter, knocking papers by the phone aside. “Toby, you’re being very mischievous tonight,” she scolded. As she put the papers back in order, one of them caught her eye, and she held it up.
It was the number of an acquaintance she had met at the town Gardeners’ Association. The woman had always been kind and friendly, but she barely knew her. She glanced at the oven clock. It was 11:57. Pursing her lips in indecision, Agnes suddenly snapped up the phone.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end was sleepy.
“Hello, Kathy? This is Agnes…from the Gardeners’ Association. I’m so sorry, did I wake you?”
“It’s OK, Agnes. What’s going on?” Her voice was filled with concern.
“To be honest, Kathy, I…there isn’t an emergency, nothing like that. I just…well you see, it’s my birthday today.”
“Oh, happy birthday,” the sleepy voice replied.
“And I know you’re in bed and everything, but I was wondering if you might come over, for a little while. Well…I just made all this food, I don’t know why I did it. But it would…it would be nice. To have someone here on my birthday.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Sure,” the voice came back. “Let’s have a midnight meal of it!”
Agnes conveyed her address, then took the food out all over again. But this time, she filled two plates with food, then put the dishes away. She began boiling water for tea.
I heard the knock at the door too, this time. Agnes bustled to it and opened it on a smiling middle-aged woman in a t-shirt and jeans. “Happy birthday,” she said, holding out a cake. It wasn’t a birthday cake, just a little coconut cake sold at the 24-hour mart in town.
“Thank you,” said Agnes. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem,” Kathy replied, stepping in.
They sat at the dining room table with the lights low, talking of life and random things. Kathy admired the bouquet that Agnes had made, praised her cooking. “So Agnes,” she ventured, when her plate was nearly empty, “Wasn’t there anybody in your family to spend the day with you today?”
Agnes shook her head. “The truth is, Hank and I never had children…and neither did my brother, Bill, who passed on a few years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“That’s alright. So my only family are quite distant, in both meanings of the word. Hank’s sister in Florida, things like that.”
“Well,” said Kathy. “You can ask me to come by anytime. I can bring the kids, too, if you want. We live in town, so I think they would enjoy the land you have here.”
Agnes smiled. “Thank you. That’s — very meaningful.”
Kathy took the plastic lid off the cake. “Do you have any candles? I couldn’t find any, strange enough.”
“Oh, I think I might.” Agnes poured black tea for them both, then dug into a drawer of knicks and knacks in the kitchen until she found a package with four candles remaining. She grabbed a matchbook and came back in. “Well, I’m 88 today, but I suppose four’s near the same.” They laughed. I wound around her ankles, then flopped down under her chair with a mild purr.
Kathy set the candles in the cake and lit them. “Happy birthday, Agnes.”
Taking a deep breath, Agnes blew them out.
I rubbed her leg, then ran past her and down the hall. “Yes, it’s time to sleep,” she agreed. She clicked off the oven light and followed me. After putting on her nightgown, she went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water, then took her pills for the night. But something must have changed, because this time she just kept taking them and taking them. And choked on water, and cried, and then kept taking them and taking them…
Thank you for reading! Don't forget to check out my first two Choose Your Own Adventures as linked at the top, and follow me for more to come! I'm planning to write many different kinds of stories.
If you have any suggestions or story ideas, please let me know, and I might work them in.
Once I get enough followers for it to make sense, I will implement an "audience chooses what happens next" feature. (Thanks to @churdtzu for suggesting that future crowd-choosing version.)
I love how different the theme here is from a traditional Choose Your Own Adventure. And what a cool surprise to get to make my choices from the cat's point of view! I'm having a lot of fun reading these. Thank you!
Thanks a lot! This is kind of my exploration as a new writer so I'm glad it's not just me having fun. ;P
I enjoyed your writing! I got to one of the sad endings, but then i found the happy one. Very well written; I applaud your skills!