Hot Dish #TNTHorrorContest

Hot Dish

Eric Norby's mouth felt like it would explode from delight. He rolled the creamy noodles over his tongue, savoring the taste of meatballs and peas, an odd combination that worked so well in this hot dish, and finally swallowed loudly. Mrs. Franken glared at him, her rheumy eyes amplified behind thick bifocal glasses, and he smiled apologetically as she turned away to rejoin the conversation with her gaggle of fellow wake attendees.

"I'm sorry, but this is delicious." He stood up awkwardly, balancing his heavily laden plate on one hand, trying not to spill on his uniform as he made his way towards the buffet table and away from her disapproving brood.

What was it about a death that made people so hungry? He smiled to himself as he eyed the various plates of pickles, cheese, cold cuts and glorious casseroles -- the staple of any post funeral gathering -- arranged across two linen covered tables. He couldn't even look at the desserts yet. There was more food here than anyone could possibly eat today. He was ladling generous portions of two untried casseroles on an extra plate when Rudy VanGilden came up next to him.

"Norb, how's it?" The man had a frustrating habit of occasionally leaving off the last word in a sentence. "Sad day today, my."

Eric wiped at his mouth with a napkin and shrugged. "Sure is, Rudy. Seems like the old timers are dropping like flies." He took a bite of something with potato chips crinkled and toasted on top, smiling as he chewed. "Food's good, though. You should try this one," he said pointing at the mystery dish with a full-mouthed grin.

"The women went all out on this one, yes I." Rudy shoveled the food onto his plate and stood eating and staring at the crowd. 

The whole town was here. In a small community like this one, everyone knew everyone and deaths were accorded the same mind set as a town meeting; or a party. You had to go and pay your respects, show support for the families, pitch in where it was needed...celebrate and remember the life lived and all that sentimental bog. The bonus was the food afterwards, and the women treated it like a competition: who could bring the biggest hot dish or assemblage of food to outdo the others.

When Eric's wife, Claire, had died last year he'd been able to live off the leftovers of funeral food for two months. Saved and portioned out from his freezer, Eric had grown to adore the taste of these lovingly crafted masterpieces of mix and bake. In fact it became an obsession, a carnal craving for the freshly cooked and rendered hot dish. Now he looked forward to a death as much as the next sunrise; it meant he'd get his fill of these delicious, exotic yet still familiar, warmed to succulent perfection casseroles. He'd tried to duplicate the recipes at home, but somehow they never tasted quite the same way as when scarfed off of a buffet table amidst the mingled sounds of mourning and drunken laughter.

"Constable Norby!" Mayor Denden drunkenly ambled towards Eric with a dopey grin. "How's Brecken Falls' finest enjoying the spread?" he asked as he slapped Eric on the back, sending a glop of spiral noodles and tuna onto the man's shoe. The Mayor had a way of having a little too much spit on his lips when he talked, only exaggerated when he was drunk, and Eric moved his plate to avoid the spray.

"Evening, Mayor. The food's fine." He handed Denden a napkin for his shoe, but the man waved it away.

"It's good for the sole...get it? Ha! Soul. Haha." Denden reached for a pickle and crunched loudly, speaking with a mouth full of half- chewed brine slime. It was almost enough to put Eric off his food. Almost.

"Ya know, death is good for a community," Denden said with a spray. "Brings us closer, oh yeah." The Mayor spotted someone else across the room and spun away to babble at them for a while.