22 – Eldritch in Suburbia

I never would have expected it of my neighbors. Don’t get me wrong, I respect everyone’s right to practice their religion, but you’d think adults would have more sense than this. Did they learn nothing from reading Lovecraft? Or just the wrong things?

Here’s how it happened. There was a big commotion about ten in the morning on a Saturday. I had just finished breakfast, so I went out to grab the paper. Anyway, they were standing in the driveway – them and their friends, I mean – all dressed up like… I don’t know, honestly. I think the closest thing I’ve seen is those guys in that band my daughter likes. Phantom? No, Ghost. That’s the one. Like spooky bishops or something.

Anyway, I walk over to see what the fuss is all about. They were clearly shocked. I thought it might have been something with the kids – they were away at summer camp that weekend, thank God – but they told me it wasn’t. Told me their rituals had gone a bit wrong.

Look, I had no idea about the religion part of it, so I didn’t ask further. What you do in your home is your business, right? But later that day, when their guests had gone home, she came a-knocking. Said she was trying to rearrange furniture in the living room, except there were no corners. Seriously, that’s what she said, “no corners”. I know, I was confused too.

But I follow her over to their place, right, and into the aforementioned living room. Now, I can see there are corners, but she tells me to wait, and help her with the dresser. And sure enough, we can’t seem to get it to fit in the corner.

That’s how it is, you know. To the naked eye, it’s ninety degrees alright. But that’s just how it looks. Reality is warped enough that it stops actually being perpendicular.

So I ask her, maybe this has something to do with the botched ritual? And she seems a bit embarrassed – I mean, who wouldn’t be – but she takes me along to the basement. And lo and behold, it’s a fucking mess. We’re talking grade A, carved runes, scorch marks, eldritch bullshit here.

You know what the worst part is? If they had just isolated the basement properly, it never would have leaked into the ground floor. I mean, these people have kids. Kids, for God’s sake. And no precautions whatsoever?

But there we are, and she asks me, and of course I know how to deal with it. It’s my job, right? Then the whole “will it be expensive, will it work, how long will it take” and I go “lady, you don’t really have a choice here, do you?”

In the end, I had to get a quantum displacer – and those things aren’t cheap, as I’m sure you know – as well as an eldritch alignment stabilizer and a Schrödinger box. Three cats I had to go through before it stuck in the right configuration. Three! My daughter is a member of PETA. She would freak if she knew.

I got there in the end, though. Told them to buy proper dimensional insulation, which they did. Good stuff, too. At least they care about their kids that much. So, yeah, it’s all taken care of and the neighborhood is back to normal. You can hardly even hear the screams unless you’re walking right by their yard.

They invited me over for a barbecue on Sunday, right after church. I’m not saying I didn’t do a proper job, but let me tell you this: I am bringing my own steaks, and I’m sticking to them.