There was a kind of horror in growing old.

  The gradual insidiousness with which flesh failed as time weakened it was the perfect metaphor for how the tension bled out of the room as seven extremely elderly men and women shuffled in. For being in their seventies, they looked to be decently preserved in their khakis, cardigans, and polos. One man had a lush head of stark white hair while his two bald companions had polished their naked pates to a shine. Beside them, three carefully coiffed updos were juxtaposed with a single cotton ball perm on the side of the four women. Each of them wore a pin on their lapel, showing a many-tentacled monster with a shark's maw. Perhaps the only strange thing about all of them was the lack of eyes.

  It took ten minutes to reach their seats, canes gently thumping on the floor as aged legs took one shuffling step at a time. Waiters swarmed around them, all clad in the same uniform, all bearing the same wounds. All lacking eyes. Brom was really starting to worry about where all these eyes had gone.

  The man at the end, still wearing his elegant silver rimmed glasses with the bisected oval lenses, stared at all of them. His face twisted into a big, bright smile. "Hello! Welcome to our little party to celebrate the rebirth of our lord Yacht Sothoth!"

  "All hail!" The other six intoned as one.

  "I'm Benjamin Ruddle, President of this association, and I'm pleased you could join us. I see you had a little trouble finding the place." There was a rumble, a snap, and a hiss from outside as what was left of the immolated pier collapsed into the waves and was finally swallowed up out of sight. A bit of sooty breeze carried a curl of smoke through the open door hole.

  Brom shrugged. "What can I say, I don't get out much."

  Benjamin's smile didn't waver a hair. "Well, we'll just have to change that. You see, the CHYC has been looking for new members for ages, and your names are all on a very short list of candidates. We were hoping to take this time to show you all the benefits of what it would mean for you to serve our lord Yacht Sothoth."

  "All hail!"

  "And in the generous spirit of our Lord, we decided the best way to do so would be with a meal!" He lifted his hands, the sleeve of his cardigan pulling back with the motion and revealing the glint of a gold watch. The liver-spotted appendages finished rising, and he clapped briskly, summoning the eyeless waiters.

  They arrived carrying tiny little plates, the kind a single roll would be placed on, each covered by a small silver dome. Some followed with carafes that poured sparkling cider into the glasses of Brom and the teens. This opening course should be the light amuse-bouche, the snack that gets them ready for the meal to come. Sure enough, when the covers were lifted with a flourish, they revealed something far more horrifying than the eyeballs and entrails Maxine had been worried about.

  Seated on what appeared to be a small round cut from a slice of sourdough bread was a dollop of pear compote with blue cheese crumbles and a caramel drizzle.

  It reminded Brom of goblin blood. Maybe it was the blue cheese notes. Maybe blue cheese was just forever ruined for him. Thankfully, this little bastard was bite-sized, easily picked up and eaten in a single suffering mouthful. The teens accomplished it as well, although they looked a little green around the edges. If this was the opening salvo... how much worse was it going to get?

  They didn't have to wait long to find out, the mini plates were scooped up, and bowls of some virulently green soup were settled in front of them. Brom knew the smell of asparagus when it wafted to his nose. The green liquid was on the thicker side for a soup, swirled with cream in an almost hypnotic spiral pattern. Like if you spun the bowl and stared into it, you might become susceptible to suggestion. Or sea sick.

  "For our soup course tonight, we will be enjoying a chilled cream of asparagus soup. The asparagus was juiced, the steamed tips have been added for texture, and a swirl of fresh cream and lemon juice has been stirred through to create the stunning design. Please enjoy." Stephen, now standing by them with a towel folded over his arm, had been appointed to announce the courses, it seemed.

  "Don't be shy, there are plenty of courses to come. Now, why don't you fine folks tell us about yourselves? Are you local to Cold Bay, young man?" Benjamin's eyeless sockets fixed squarely on Alex, who blanched, flinching at the attention.

  It took Alex a while to find his words, mouth opening and closing, body shaking with unnamed emotion. "Ah, no, sir. I moved here about ten years ago. Better education opportunities than where I came from." The blonde's words were bereft of his usual bright energy, his cheer fading as he engaged in conversation with Benjamin. "I suppose you're local to the area, sir?" Smoothly, he managed to turn the conversation back to their host, disengaging like a seasoned pro.

  "Of course, born and raised here!" Benjamin paused, unnervingly guiding that spoon into his mouth and yet never disturbing his smile. "My family owns several businesses in town. It keeps me busy but not so busy I don't have time for our lord Yacht Sothoth."

  "All hail!"

  The courses slowly got worse as they traveled through the seven hells of vintage food recipes. There was the king crab salad, an aspic filled with sad chunks of shredded crab and topped with whipped lemon butter mousse. Pickled eels in creamy dill sauce with capers. A boiled calf's head that the servers carved and plated with new potatoes for them. And for dessert, blancmange made with real chicken! Their stomachs rolled, the dishes of yesteryear and the varied preparations not agreeing with any of them in the least.

  Say what you will about the modern American diet, the foods of yore were just as awful in their own ways.

  It didn't help that throughout the whole thing, Benjamin continued to extoll the benefits of joining the cult. There was access to the clubhouse, bingo night with fabulous prizes, the weekly luncheon, and a monthly dinner where they could enjoy even finer feasts than this one! Plenty of outings on the fine fetid waters of the harbor and an exclusive slip to moor their yachts at, provided they were sailing vessels, of course. But the crown jewel of joining the club was, of course, the opportunity for eternal service in his grand dark design and the ecstasy of feeding your soul to lord Yacht Sothoth.

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  All hail.

  As the dinner progressed, things didn't go entirely smoothly. TJ's cuff dragged over the soup. Rudy picked up a meat fork for the eels. Alex shook so hard his silverware rattled and squeaked on the dishes twice. Brom put one of his damn elbows on the table. Thankfully, the mistakes were individual, not a group total, or they'd have been absolutely done for. While each mistake was noted by a tightening of the features or noise of displeasure from one of the six mostly silent members of the cult, Benjamin seemed undeterred. He was a great host and a consummate pitchman, almost making the cult sound charming in a way.

  'You know, Benjamin, that all sounds very nice, but I think I'll need to take your offer back to these kids' parents'. I'm not allowed to sign them up for anything like this, and I'd check if your bylaws even allow teenage enrollment in the CHYC."

  Benjamin's face instantly fell. "Ah, the bylaws. You're right, they'd need to come with their parents. What a pity. A true pity. But it is what it is."

  Brom nodded along with him in mock sympathy. The dessert was eaten, the dishes were cleared, and the meal was clearly over. Yet the quest hadn't progressed in his sight.

  [Quest Stage Two: Enjoy dinner with your hosts!]

  [Mistakes: 1/3]

  "As much as we've all enjoyed the experience, I think I should probably be returning them home as well. Wouldn't want them staying out too late now, would we?" He glanced at the teens, hoping that they'd all catch his drift.

  TJ was the first one to clue in. "Yeah, thank you, I enjoyed this unique experience."

  Maxine nodded, then looked a little green as if the motion was too much. "Yeah, like, I enjoyed dinner?"

  "Enjoyed it completely, five of five stars!" Rudy's grin was a little too plastic, and his eyes screamed that if he could leave zero stars, he would.

  Alex took the longest, his expression thoughtful, both fists now clenched under the table. "I really enjoyed dinner and getting to spend time with you, Benjamin."

  [Quest Stage Two: Enjoy dinner with your hosts!]

  [Mistakes: 1/3. Complete!]

  Benjamin stared at Alex thoughtfully, as if touched, or maybe considering something. Then he twitched as if he'd been forcibly returned to the programmed task at hand. "Ah, yes, it's been wonderfully enjoyable having all of you here, too." He raised his wrinkled hands and clapped again, the watch on his wrist glinting in the dim light. "Here, a little something to remember the evening by."

  The waiters with the covered trays returned one more time, and everyone at the table braced for a doggy bag approved by Cerberus himself. Instead, the four servers put the plates in front of the teens and, with the most involved flourish they'd seen yet tonight, each pulled back the covers to reveal a single silver coin. On the front was stamped the anchor symbol of the good old CHYC, the Cold Harbor Yacht Club. On the back, the horrifying sigil of the CHYC, the Cold Harbor Yacht Sothoth Cult.

  "Good for one free pass into the belly of lord Yacht Sothoth-!"

  "All hail!"

  "- and safely back! Just in case you want to take a look around and realize just what you're missing!"

  The waiters carried the dishes back, and Stephen handed his towel off to one of them, smiling that professional smile of his. "If the young lady and gentlemen would follow me, I will now show you to the exit." A few others of the wait staff helped with chairs, moving as smoothly as they had all evening with their plastic grins and wet red eye sockets.

  Brom went to stand up only to find two waiters instantly putting their hands on his shoulders, firmly but gently encouraging him to sit back down. Come to think of it, nobody had given him one of the fancy 'free pass' tokens. He looked to the teens who were being shepherded away by Stephen, and then back to Benjamin, whose smile now seemed somewhat more menacing. A cold sensation began to twist in his gut and spread outward.

  "You made a very valid point about the youths, Mister Jones." Benjamin's voice was now softer, less friendly and warm, and more down to business.

  Oh. Well, there went taking the easy way out. Guess the Cult hadn't bought the line about him chaperoning the kids home.

  The hands on his shoulders became iron clamps, pushing down against him as if to pin him in his seat. The withered figures on the opposite end began to rise and shuffle toward him, their canes tapping the floor in unison. Synchronized, the evil elderly began to march on him, like a slow-speed crash you couldn't look away from.

  - Paralysis

  - Pinned

  "Uncle Brom?" TJ seemed to have just realized that Brom wasn't with them, wasn't being guided to safety. He turned, but Stephen's arm shot out, wrapping around his waist and pulling the teen like an inexorable tide. More waiters surrounded them, herding them toward the exit doors despite any protests, getting further and further away. TJ flailed, frantic and helpless, unable to get his hands around to take his bow off his back. "Uncle Brom!" His last panicked shout sharply echoed off the walls as the waiters gave one last push.

  The doors banged shut.

  Benjamin slowly rose, adjusting his cuffs, his smile downright malicious now. He moved, his steps quicker and more sure than those of his cane-wielding companions, drawing closer and closer as his shadow flickered menacingly behind him. "Now, Mister Jones, that the youths have been sent back to acquire permission, we will be needing your answer. You'll join us here at the CHYC, won't you?" A server stepped up next to Benjamin and uncovered a tray to reveal a blood-crusted melon scooper. "Like all of us, you'll come to the Lord blind, but don't worry, Mister Jones, you don't need eyes to see his glory!"

  Oh! Brom had seen this movie!

  Fuck this movie.

  [Quest Stage Three: Escape the Clubhouse! 0/1]