The Promise

She watched him from across table as he sat collapsed within himself. She despised secrets and so in a way she despised him, the one she thought she loved, as he huddled there in a trench coat as an enigma, his arms below the table, a certain fog of madness hanging about him. Only the fact that they were seated within a popular restaurant with other couples scattered about kept her from standing up and screeching at him. He knew her too well. That only angered her more. "You invited me here," she said coldly as their expensive entrees wafted delicious and untouched. "So what do you want?"

She saw him shirk from her harsh words. "I— I— I wanted to see you," he stammered. "It's been such a long time—"

"Months," she interrupted, her voice rising.

"Please," he said. "I haven't been avoiding you. I— I haven't been around."

"And you couldn't tell me you were leaving?"

"I didn't plan on leaving." He trembled. "That book…" His voiced trailed off.

"That silly occult one."

"Yes!" he hissed. He lurched forward, the table shuddering. "Your promise!" he said suddenly. "Do you remember?" A spasm wracked his body, causing his cane to fall clattering to floor. A hush settled upon the dining area as curious heads turned toward them.

Fear, a stabbing cold, iced her. "What promise?"

"That we would love each other no matter what! No matter our flaws." He sobbed. "Those books opened a door to another world. A terrible world! It changed me. But I'm still me! I'm still me!"

She stood. "You've gone mad," she whispered.

"Please, don't go!" he pleaded. His arms rose to reveal—

Hands.

She screamed, her tentacles rising to her chitinous face. "By blessed Cthulhu!" she gasped in horror. Other patrons screamed, rushing toward the door.

"Don't leave me!" he roared, reaching out with these grotesque, alien appendages. He grasped on air.

She disappeared within the mass of bodies heading for the exit. He would never see her again.

He slumped in his chair within the now-deserted restaurant, the sound of sirens growing louder. In his mind, he could still see their pale skins, their symmetrical bodies, that hated orb in the sky that blinded him. He remembered their stench, that awful stench, as they scuttled about impossibly on two legs.

She was his last chance, his last tenuous hold on reality.

He let go then, to let the insanity claim his mind for rest of his wretched, aborted life.

Find more by Jamie L. Elliott in the Author Index.

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