Out of the Frying Pan

“Open a window! I’ll get the fan.” The smoke alarm sang its song as we danced our usual dance to it. Mira loved trying to cook dinner. Unfortunately for both her and her husband Simon, her love of cooking did not translate into ability.

“Should I order something?” Simon, helpful as always, was also hopeful that Mira would not be trying to make something out of the smoky, charred lump that was currently on the stove. He thought it might have started as either a beef roast or potatoes. It was hard to tell at this point. He loved her dearly, he truly did, but he wished to the very depths of his soul that she would stop trying to cook like a pro. It was getting heartbreaking - and he had to face it, wallet-breaking - to watch her fail time and again.

“That would probably be good,” Mira conceded. “By the time I get anything else made, it will be really late. You choose. I’m gonna clean this up.” There really was no saving this disaster. Usually she could save some part of the meal, but tonight’s attempt at beef wellington was an absolute, unmitigated disaster. As she finished washing the last dishes and putting the pan to soak, Simon let her know that the Indian food he had ordered would be ready in 30 minutes.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the door of their cottage. They had purchased the house right after getting married a couple of years ago. It was a little bit of a fixer-upper, but nothing huge. A few little repairs and a whole lot of updating, and the little two-bedroom, one-bath home in the northwestern corner of the suburban city was all they had dreamed it would be.

“That’s strange,” Simon mused half to himself. “The app says the driver is still waiting to get our order.” At the door, Simon cautiously looked out the small window, then with equal care, opened the door. Standing there was a man. He was not carrying any bags or containers, so he was not a delivery guy. He was about 5’ 9”, average build - not too skinny, not too plump, not too jacked - with liquid ice blue eyes, carefully styled blonde hair, and absolutely unremarkable clothing. “May I help you?” Simon asked this stranger.

“No,” replied the man, “but I can help you, if you let me. May I?” The man gestured toward the inside of the house, indicating his desire to enter. Simon stepped more fully into the doorway, providing more of a presence between Mira and this stranger.

“Alright. I understand. Most people are a bit cautious at first.” Simon’s face scrunched in response to his utter confusion. “Please let me explain, my name is Anders,” and he gave a little bow. “My associates and I make it our business to take note of the needs of our fellow men and women and offer whatever assistance we can, if the man or woman accepts.”

Simon, keeping Anders in his peripheral, glanced at Mira who shrugged her confusion. “OK, but what does that have to do with us? We don’t know you and we do not have any needs that would require anyone else’s assistance, especially from people we don’t know at all.”

“True, you do not know me,” conceded Anders, “but we know you, Simon.” Simon started at the sound of his name coming from this person. “And you too, Mira,” Anders finished peeking around Simon to see the young lady sitting on the couch.

“Let’s just stick to you and me,” Simon directed as his protective instincts snapped to attention. It was one thing to have this Anders person using his own name in this little game, but including Mira crossed a line that Simon was not willing to allow to be crossed. “What do you want?”

“Well, the Association, as we call ourselves, has taken notice of the frequent sounding of your smoke detectors, opening of windows, and deliveries of food to your house, especially around dinner time.”

“Wait, you’re watching us? That’s a violation of our privacy, man. I could call the cops on you.” Simon was looking up and down the street for any suspicious people or vehicles. He saw none, including any that Anders may have used to get here.

“True. You could call the police, but what would you tell them? That a man you don’t know came to your door and talked about your burned dinners and food deliveries? Come now, Simon, I think that we all know it would be for nothing. Instead of accusing and arguing, why don’t you let me tell you how we are willing to help. Then, once you’ve decided whether or not to accept my offer, I will be on my way, and you can continue your evening of takeout.”

Anders was getting awfully confident standing there on the front porch. Mira had no idea why Simon didn’t just shut the door in his face and ignore his presence. She softly called to her husband, who just waved her back without taking his eyes from Anders. This was really strange.

“Alright, Anders, go ahead. Tell me how you are going to solve whatever problem you and your “associates” believe Mira and I have.” Simon let all of the irritation and incredulity he was feeling seep into his words.

“Fine, fine,” Anders replied with a half smile. “As I already stated, the Association has taken note that it appears, despite all the best efforts put forth, that more often than not, your homemade dinners are inedible and you resort to ordering some sort of food from restaurants in the area. We are fully aware that between the wasted food from cooking and the extra costs involved in restaurant dining, this is becoming a bit of a financial burden for your little family. The Association has a solution for you to allow you to successfully prepare meals at home as often as you want to eat at home.” Anders paused, pride in his announcement beaming from those icy eyes.

Simon coughed a laugh, “Wait, you’re trying to sell me one of those meal plans? Don’t you think we’ve already thought about getting Hello Fresh, Blue Apron, or any other type of system? The problem is not the ingredients and it is not the instructions. The problem is in the skills we both have in the kitchen, which are few if any beyond being able to burn any food beyond recognition without trying. Even boxed meals and “just add water” types of foods end up wrong one way or another when we make it. I really find it hard to believe your people have come up with a way that we can magically start to cook edible food.”

Anders gleefully clapped his hands and expressed, “You understand! I’m so pleased. Usually I would have to explain a bit more about the plan, but you…”

Simon interrupted in a slight roar, “Understand what? That you are a fraud? That you are doing nothing except trying to extort money from us?” At this, Mira stood up and took a couple of small steps toward Simon. He was not a violent man, but she was wary of what was happening here.

“I didn’t mention any money, did I Simon? I only offered a solution.” At this, Simon stopped. Anders was right. He never did say anything about money, but, come on. That’s what everyone was looking for these days, wasn’t it? Why else bother people in their homes? “If you could just let me in, I could show you how we may be able to help you with the cooking problem.”

“Simon,” Mira nearly whispered. “I know this is strange, but let’s just see what he says. Maybe then he’ll leave us alone.”

“Yes, yes, Mira. Once I have your informed decision, I will either stay to make sure things are right, or I will be on my way, never to darken your doorway again.” Anders leaned forward as if he was encouraging the invitation to come from Simon.

“Fine, but I will defend my wife, my home, and myself in any and every way I feel is necessary if anything you do or say warrants it.” Simon was in full protector mode. Not gonna lie, thought Mira, but that’s kinda hot!

“Fabulous, Simon! Thank you for welcoming me into your home. Mira, you as well. Just wonderful!” And with that, Anders practically floated through the front door and into the little cottage. He jauntily perched on the edge of one of the wingback chairs on either side of the couch and gestured that the couple should sit on the couch.

“Welcome to life with the Association! I know, I know…you haven’t accepted yet. But you will! I just know it!” The strange man was practically vibrating with excitement. Simon glanced at Mira, who smiled, shrugged, and returned her attention to Anders.

“The offer I am about to make you is truly incredible. Prepare yourselves for a complete change in how your meals will be from now on.” Anders reached into the inner pocket of his blazer. Simon jolted, obviously expecting a weapon of some sort. Mira sighed expecting a brochure or catalogue just like any other MLM salesperson would produce. They were both wrong. Instead, Anders produced a pair of rings. The plain silver circles appeared absolutely ordinary. The young couple was most certainly not expecting a jewelry pitch.

“Seriously? Jewelry?” Exasperated, Simon sat back on the sofa and ran his hands through his hair. “If we buy your ‘special price today only’ rings, suddenly we will be cooking like Michelin-star chefs? Please.”

“Oh no, Simon. You’ve got it all wrong. The rings will cost you no money at all. However, you were right that your cooking will improve because of the rings. Just listen to me for a moment.” Anders started talking to them about the wonders of the culinary world. His sing-song tone and rhythm was so relaxing, both Simon and Mira started nodding off.

Suddenly, Simon jolted awake. Quickly remembering the odd situation he was in, he stood up and looked around. Anders was still there, and so were all of their electronics. Mira was stirring on the couch, about to awaken herself. “What did you do?” Simon demanded of Anders.

“I presented the offer to you, and you accepted! Isn’t that glorious! The Association is so excited to welcome you to the family.” Anders was bouncing on his toes as if he was about to start jumping up and down.

“No. You were talking about cooking, bored us into falling asleep, and now we are awake again. I did not hear any plan and I most definitely did not accept any offer. It’s time for you to leave. Now.” Simon had had enough of this ridiculousness.

“I’m so sorry, Simon, but you are mistaken.” At that moment, there was a knock on the front door. “Ah! My Associates!” Anders skipped to the front door and opened it wide. Five people of different ages stood there. They actually looked like they could be Anders’s family with the same hair and eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Anders addressed the newcomers, “I present to you Simon and Mira, our new hosts.” And with that, the five entered the house.

Mira, in obvious confusion, repeated, “Ummm, your new hosts?”

“Yes, yes. That’s what you agreed to! I explained it all in my presentation. We will live here and you will cook and clean for us until we find other hosts. It’s very simple and straightforward.” With a much more ominous tone, Anders added, “It is also non-negotiable. We are hungry. Feed us.”

Suddenly, Mira felt a force push her into action. She went to the kitchen and started cooking. Miraculously, she was able to finish the meal without any attention from the fire department. She was shocked, as was Simon, who was moving about with robotic motions serving drinks. Looking at her hand, Mira saw one of the rings Anders showed them on her left ring finger. It was faintly glowing and slightly warm. She tried to remove the ring, and it stuck. Not like it was too small to go over her knuckle, but as if it had adhered itself to her finger. This was not right.

“FOOD,” bellowed Anders. Mira jumped into action, placing serving plates and place settings on the table. As the Association started eating, they changed before her eyes. Kind, calm faces became feral, nearly bestial. Gentle hands became clawed. Well-groomed hair became overgrown, almost like fur. They ate as savages, as starved predators given fresh meat. The site caused bile to rise in Mira’s throat. In panic, she looked at Simon. The horror on his face reflected what she felt.

“More.” At the single word, both Simon’s and Mira’s rings glowed, warmed, and apparently caused them to jump to action. Hours later, the members of the Association were still demanding more, but there was nothing more for Mira to make. She explained this to the group.

“Oh, I’m sure you can find someone…I mean something…else to serve us,” sneered Anders, drooling as his transformed visage turned to Simon.

Simon’s cries ended swiftly as the Association fell upon him. Mira passed out.