[ WP ] You are clumsy in the kitchen . Today , you perform a satanic ritual entirely by accident .

Growing up, Cecil was one of those teenage boys with limbs so long that his brain signals would take a good half an hour to reach their intended target. Every adult that looked at him wore an expression of perpetual pity. As a twenty year old, he still had more elbows than sense, and so when the jar of tomato puree smashed across the kitchen tiles, he was less surprised and more resigned. 
 
 
 
 Of course, this particular Sunday, he could have done without any unforeseen accidents. The little ring sat in a velvet box in his pocket. It cost enough to bring a wince even to a poker player's face. Blanche was coming to dinner, and Cecil had promised great things. Great things did not include glass and tomatoes spread across the kitchen in equal measure. 
 
 
 
 `` Ah,'' Cecil said, as he cut his foot. `` That hurt.'' He hopped to the kitchen sink and recovered a washcloth. He knocked a chair while getting down on one knee. On the table sat four candles Cecil had found in a cupboard, secreted there in case of a blackout. One fell over and the white table cloth set on fire lazily, as though it could n't make its mind up about about whether it wanted to blaze or simply singe. 
 
 
 Cecil mopped at the tomatoes on the floor, spreading them around hopelessly. On the stove, the pasta began to boil over, white froth and foam tipping onto the gas flame and threatening to put it out. The cloth succeeded in doing nothing except getting red sauce in places where previously the tiles had been clean. Pieces of glass crunched into Cecil's knee. 
 
 
 
 `` Ah,'' he said again. `` Oh dear. I need some help.'' 
 
 
 
 
 The tomato sauce on the floor began to bubble. Strands of roiling pulp shifted around the floor like snakes. Cecil got to his feet quickly and reached for the recipe book. On the table, the white tablecloth finally succumbed and started to blaze merrily. Moving backwards, Cecil clutched at the spice rack for moral support and managed instead to scatter a mixture of parsley and oregano on the floor. The tomato mixture spat and hissed. The tiles of the kitchen cracked like hot fissures in the earth and steam leaked out like great curling tentacles. 
 
 
 
 `` Who calls?'' Came a voice from the depths. 
 
 
 
 Cecil's knees were knocking. 
 
 
 
 `` Er, I do,'' he said, as the tiles moved like tectonic plates to reveal a dark hole, darker than the deepest black of a goth's outfit. `` I'm Cecil.'' 
 
 
 
 The pasta water behind him frothed and boiled, sending long waterfalls of white foam over the side of the silver pan. Overhead, the lights flickered like a cheap show at the amateur dramatics society. The tomato puree frowned at him. 
 
 
 
 `` What do you want, Cecil?'' the voice said again. `` My great powers are at your service.'' 
 
 
 
 
 The white table cloth sent showers of black ash into the air. Two hands emerged from the hole. Veined, leathery, with long fingernails crusted with blood ( or tomato ) Cecil thought now would be a good time to have a heart attack, and wondered if Blanche would forgive him for escaping their afternoon meal. 
 
 
 
 
 `` I do n't suppose,'' he started. `` You know how to cook Italian food?'' 
 
 
 
 The hands scrabbled at the tiles, followed by long, black sleeves with raggedy edges. From the gloom of the hole in Cecil's kitchen came a small person, wearing a cow skull strapped across their forehead like a mask. They heaved themselves over the side and got to their feet and only then Cecil realised it was a woman. A wizened woman, with skin like an old boot and pursed lips. Grey hair hung in straggles under the cow's skull and she only had one eye. The other socket held nothing but a gleam of fire. She had hunched shoulders and the beginnings of a hump. On the hump sat a crow. The crow had three eyes, and one looked suspiciously like the one the woman missed. 
 
 
 
 `` I'm The Crone,'' the woman said. `` Of course I know how to fucking cook. Give me the spoon.'' 
 
 
 
 And poor Cecil, not yet knowing how he was going to explain all this to Blanche, handed it over. 
 
 
 
 -- -- -- 
 
 
 /r/Schoolgirlerror for other stories very similar to this one
