Dinner+at+the+Hollis+Manor

Greg walked up to the Hollis Manor House. He was tall and had pale brown hair that was messed up from the car ride here from the orphanage. He carried a worn leather suitcase with his few belongings. Greg walked up to the towering indigo-painted oak door and knocked on it with and old-fashioned steel knocker. After three minutes, nobody had come to the door. He checked the paper the orphanage gave him about the Hollises. They were only two people. Eleanor Hollis, the mother who inherited to manor from her husband, and her 16-year-old daughter Margret. Margret was older than Greg by three years.

Finally, the door opened and out stepped Margret. She was tall and very skinny with long red hair tied back with a scarlet ribbon. She smiled. “You must be Greg, no? Come in, come in!” She had a slight French accent. Greg followed her in to the gigantic Victorian-style house.

Margret led Greg into the dining hall where Mrs. Hollis was setting up the table for dinner later that night. “Mother! Greg’s here!”

“Oui! Come here, I want to meet my new son!” Mrs. Hollis said. Mrs. Hollis was also skinny and had thin wrinkles lining her face. Her red hair, like Margret’s, was tied back in a bun. She looked at Greg and seemed to be sizing him up. “Wonderful! Margret, show the boy to his room. Greg, have a nap before dinner, won’t you? I want you to be well rested!” The children nodded and Margret led Greg upstairs.

She pushed open a worn, white door. “This is your room!” she said. It was large and roomy with a good-sized bed. The walls were a deep burgundy. There was a black, wooden desk with a large mirror on it in the corner next to a matching wardrobe. “Sleep well! I will see you at dinner!” Margret ran out and closed the door behind her.

Greg put down his suitcase next to his bed. “ This is nice. The people here are a little weird, but I can deal with that,” he said to himself. He jumped onto the bed. “I guess I could sleep a little.” He was unconscious in seconds, still fully clothed.

About an hour later he heard voices near his bed. “Can I eat him, mother?”

“Now, you know that’s not appropriate.”

“You know what I meant!”

“Oui, I did. We have to get him to the kitchen first! Oh! He’s waking up!”

“Why are you in my room?” Greg asked.

Mrs. Hollis smiled. “You did sleep well, no?”

“What were you just talking about??? Eating me?! You’re crazy!” he yelled.

Margret sighed. “Tsk, tsk. He knows, mother. What are we going to do now?”

“He’s not strong enough to take us both,” Mrs. Hollis said.

“What are you talking about?!” he shrieked. Mrs. Hollis picked up Greg’s suitcase and knocked him out with it.

Greg awoke nearly two hours later. The room he was in was dark and stuffy with a slight scent of bread and vegetables. He tried to stand up, but found his hands and feet were bound. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Greg muttered to himself in a panic. “I can’t get out of here!” Light suddenly flooded into the room, which Greg quickly discovered was the pantry. Margret stood in the light, shadows casting off her somewhat hungry face. She stood tall and firm, reaching out to Greg with a bony hand. “I would let you help me up, if you hadn’t tied me up and weren’t INSANE.”

Margret giggled a little. “It’s a shame to eat you. You’re so funny! Oh well, getting attached to dinner is never good. She hoisted Greg up by his collar and practically dragged him over into the kitchen. There was a gigantic pot of scalding hot water sitting on an even larger stove. In the pot were some potatoes and carrots and Greg could smell spices like chili powder and rosemary. Mrs. Hollis was standing over the pot and stirring it with a large wooden spoon.

“Is he ready?” Mrs. Hollis asked.

“Yes mother!”

“NO!!!”

The women paid no attention to Greg’s pleas and Margret hauled him over and began lifting him into the pot. She dropped him into the blistering water and he screamed. He shrieked from the burns that appeared instantly on his entire body. Greg had never felt so much pain in his entire life. His pale white face became a red, blistering, welt where the water had touched him. He cried and screamed and writhed in the pot. He couldn’t make words, just screams the pain was so horrid. He looked up at the women with his disfigured face and shrieks hoping they would stop the torture. All he saw was Mrs. Hollis smile and lick her lips and she covered the pot with a large lid, leaving Greg to burn and die a horrible, painful death. He was no longer Greg, but a hearty human stew.