Guess Who’s Coming for Dinner

πŸ“… Published on November 8, 2021

β€œGuess Who’s Coming for Dinner”

Written by N.M. Brown
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME β€” 6 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 2 votes.
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Growing up, my wife Rhea’s best friend in life was her brother Evan. Even with the age and gender difference, they were kindred spirits. Out of millions of genetic possibilities, somehow, they were born with the same mental framework. He taught her how to ride a bike, stood up to bullies for her, even taught her how to throw her first punch when she said she was ready to handle things independently.

Evan died when my wife was fifteen. Her family assumed the person driving was under the influence of alcohol, not that they could be sure. Police said it was a classic hit and run. According to bits and pieces, she’s told me, their family all grieved in different ways. My mother-in-law turned to the bottle while my supposed father-in-law turned to the comforts of other women. As for Rhea, she decided to get married and leave that hellhole town as soon as legally possible. That’s just what she did.

We first met when I was seventeen years old. I was blowing off steam after work at the local pool hall. She looked my way and hasn’t looked in any other direction since. We got married, moved far away, and soon after, had our daughter Eva. Neither one of us had much experience with babies but, that little angel was made for us. She taught us how much love our hearts were capable of, while we taught her how to be the best little person that she could be.

The years and milestones flew by. Before long, she had bloomed into a spunky eight-year-old kid. We had just bought a house, packed everything up and moved two states away for better work opportunities. Eva was so young that there was a chance she wouldn’t remember much, but we were still worried about how she’d transition into a new home in a new state. We had weighed all of the pros and cons for weeks beforehand and ultimately decided that moving was best for us.

Things were business as usual until Eva came into the living room with big news one day.

She bounced into the living room, the knees of her khakis blackened with dirt. “Hi, Mom! Hi Dad!” She beamed through a smile riddled with discarded baby teeth.

“What have you been doing out there, boo-bear?” Rhea asked. “Your pants are filthy. You’ll need a bath, later on, don’t forget.”

“Ugh, I just took one last night,” Eva whined, pulling an orange autumn leaf from her wild hair. “I was outside planting flower seeds. I snuck some in the cart with Dad the other day at the hardware store.” She interrupts me before I have time to speak. “The good news is, I made a new friend today!”

“Hmmm… that’s nice.” My wife said dismissively, her face once again buried in her phone.

“Flower seeds? This time of year?” I interjected. “Oh, sweetheart…the last thing I want to do in life is hurt your feelings. But it’s just the wrong time of year for that. Thanksgiving is almost here, and the ground will likely be frozen by then, my love.”

“Hey,” Rhea snapped. “That’s enough out of you, sir.” She turned back to her phone, softening her tone while addressing our daughter. “Daddy is silly. They will grow when the ground thaws. Tell me about your new friend, sweetheart.”

“His name is Mr. Evans, and he’s really, really nice. He showed me how to make the rows straight for our flowers to grow.”

Rhea’s head shot up at hearing the new name. “Evans, you said?” Her eyes misted over briefly before she turned away and wiped at them.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Our little girl asked with mounting concern etched on her face.

I decided to handle the question so my wife wouldn’t have to. “Mommy had an older brother named Evan sweetheart. She just misses him, is all. She’ll be ok.” Rhea straightens up once I say this, walking over and giving Eva a massive hug before leaving the room to make grilled cheese and tomato soup for our lunch.

* * * * * *

A week had gone by, and by that time Eva had talked about Mr. Evans quite a bit. She couldn’t tell us how old he was, and she never left the front yard. After the third time she mentioned him, I decided to watch her through the window during playtime. I never saw anyone else in the yard, just Eva, talking to herself and picking up rocks. After seeing that, I assumed Mr. Evans was an imaginary friend, conjured by our daughter to ease the pain of leaving her friends behind back home.

My wife, however, wasn’t so sure. Rhea rushed up to me, eyes alight with excitement. “It’s Evan! My brother’s been watching over us this whole time!” I looked at her incredulously as she paused to catch her breath. “Eva was outside, singing a song that we made up as kids. When I asked her where she heard it, she said Mr. Evans told her to ask her Mom.” Grateful tears began streaming down her face.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her my opinion on the matter. We had been sleeping strictly back to back for weeks as it was. I hadn’t seen her that happy since before the move. Still, though, I had to flirt with the issue. “Hunny, are you sure it’s not just an imaginary friend she’s made for herself? This Mr. Evans didn’t show up until after we moved after she was forced to adjust to new surroundings in a new life.”

My wife’s eye bulged in disbelief just before she whipped her head away as if slapped. After a few moments, she returned her gaze to me, cold as stone. Her jaw was clenched in bitter anger as the grit in her voice traveled through our living room. “Why?!? You’re asking why? What does it matter? He’s here now. You think I’m crazy, don’t you? Well, I’m telling you there is no way she could have learned that song without someone teaching it to her.”

I raised my hands in defeat, not wanting to press it and further upset her. “Alright, Rhea, alright.” I conceded. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Just… keep an eye out ok? This whole thing makes me nervous. We should get some sleep. It’s a big day tomorrow- lots to do.”

The next afternoon, Rhea ran to our kitchen table, handing me a dirtied Polly Pocket figurine. “I lost this the year that Evan died! Eva was playing with it by the garden.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she smiled towards the ceiling. “It’s a sign. There’s no denying it now.”

Just then, we were interrupted by happy squeals from the front yard. The front door banged against the wall behind it, making us both jump as our daughter burst into the kitchen. “Mommy, Mr. Evans wants to come to dinner tonight! It is Thanksgiving, after all. Can you set an extra plate?” My wife giggled with astonishment and nodded eagerly.

I gently grabbed her elbow, a terrible feeling in my gut. “Rhea…” The look she gave me stopped me cold in my tracks, the hatred in her eyes stealing the words from my tongue.

We prepared dinner together that night. We stood side by side in the kitchen as a family, but no one spoke but Eva. You’d never be able to tell that my wife was mad by the way she flitted about the kitchen, preparing everything with extra care. There was a moment where we shared a laugh. Eva was shucking corn cobs unsuccessfully, continuously fumbling them as they slipped through her tiny hands. We almost reverted to our usual selves, but it was infinitesimally fleeting.

Eva set the table for four, just as expected. We sat down around a steaming, roasted turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, rolls and an array of vegetables. I reached out for a drumstick as Eva wailed in protest. “NO, DADDY! We have to say grace first. Dear God, thank you for our food, kitty, mommy and daddy… oh, and Mr. Evans too! And-“

Before she could finish her prayer, the doorbell rang. My wife and I froze in foreboding confusion as Eva rushed to the door. “Ghosts can’t ring doorbells, Rhea.” I snapped at my wife. Horror shone in her eyes as she mumbled a lame response. “Maybe it’s someone else.” I didn’t bother to answer, only rushed towards the front door. God knows who could have met Eva at the other side of that door.

I was too late, however. Moments later, to my horror, she appeared back in the dining room, holding the hand of a dirtied, older man. We both stood up from the table, Rhea rushing over to Eva and grabbing her away from the strange man. I reached in the waistband of my pants, only to remember I’d taken my gun and holster off when I’d gotten home that evening.

The man straightened up, brushed layers of filth off of his sleeves and began to speak. “Good evening, Tom, Rhea. My name is Charles Evans.” He turned to Eva sharply. “Hunny, I’m gonna need you to go on up to your room for a moment. I’ll call you down when it’s time for ice cream.” He smiled at her through grimy teeth.

Normally I would never condone a strange person telling my child what to do, but at that moment, her room seemed like the safest option. I nodded my head towards her, and she skipped off to her room, humming an unknown melody.

My wife sobbed into her dinner napkin, a myriad of negative emotions consuming her mind and spirit. “You’re not my Evan. Wh- What do you want from us?” She stammered through sobs.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear.” He cooed towards Rhea. “I’m just an old friend, part of the family if you think about it a certain way.” The man strode to my wife’s side of the table, wiping away her tears with dirt-smudged hands. “Don’t worry, darlin’. You got to be one of the lucky ones. I left a whole life for you to live. I spent a lot of my life watching you and your brother when you were young. After he died and the town went into a frenzy for justice, I thought it was best to lay low for a while.”

He stooped over and slowly inhaled my wife’s hair. “Mmmm. You smell just like him. I made a mistake; I took him too young. But you ya see, you’re older now. You’ve had more of a life to live, and now… I’m ready to complete the set.”

Rating: 10.00/10. From 2 votes.
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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available


Written by N.M. Brown
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

πŸ”” More stories from author: N.M. Brown


Publisher's Notes: N/A

Author's Notes: N/A

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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

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Maxx
Maxx
5 days ago

Omg this story got twisted, I thought it was going to be her brother

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