Trees droop in front of the warm light coming from inside the party. Her date rounds the car and takes her hand. He is handsome in his tuxedo, but she is the one that sparkles in beads the colour of gold dust. He is a black, wooden stand for a fine piece of china.

The hostess welcomes them, a fair woman whose face is beautiful in its austerity. The room is full of tobacco smoke and murmurs in champagne breath. Canapes appear on their palms. Cocktails rimmed with rock sugar are slipped between their fingers.
Her date is whisked away, and she is forced to mingle on her own. She drinks more than she should and becomes unsteady in her glittering shoes.

“It’s time to be seated,” the hostess announces.

The guests seek out their place cards. She’s assigned next to an obnoxious man who rambles. He claims to have extraordinary powers. He’s a hypnotist, he says, but he doesn’t deal with trifles like quitting smoking or losing weight. No, he helps people process trauma from their past lives.

“You seem intuitive,” he says. “Don’t you sense the negative aura about this place?”

“No, I don’t.”

“A dark energy?”

“I feel quite the opposite. This is like a dream.”

“I can’t tolerate the blackness for very long.” He massages his temples. “Do you know the doctor?”

“Yes,” she says, the hostess’s husband, the old man with dementia. “He was a neurosurgeon back in Germany.”

“Yes, but do you know who he worked for?” He pauses and moves in closer to whisper, “The Nazis. He’s a hypnotist, like me, but he used his talent to anesthetize people, put them into a trance for experiments… amputations… euthanizations.” She’s tipsy now and openly laughs at him,

“Nonsense. He’s harmless.”  

“He’s evil. He pretends not to remember, but I know he does.” She never thinks about her heritage, but the absurd gossip unnerves her. 

She turns away from the man and to enter the others’ conversation. Her legs are numb from sitting. She grabs her date’s hand under the table and squeezes. The waiter never lets her drink fall past the middle. She prays dinner is over soon or she’ll have to be carried out. 

After dessert, she visits the hostess’s table to say goodnight. She tells the woman how much she enjoyed the atmosphere. Then she pays her respects to the doctor. Knowing he wouldn’t remember her, she reaches out and introduces herself. As soon as he grabs her hand, his milky eyes focus. He clamps her wrist and counts down, 

“Three, two, one… Wake!”

The party liquefies, churns into a new scene — a stark white room filled with men in stiff uniforms. The doctor’s blue eyes blaze in front of her. She looks down to where he pins her wrist against the armrest of her wheelchair. There was never a cocktail dress, only a hospital gown. There were no glittering shoes. There are no legs now either.

Only pain.

---

About this horror flash fiction

This creepy edition of flash fiction ‘Dream Party’ was written by Christa Wojciechowsk. You can find the author’s website here where she has her other dark fiction; including books for sale. Christa also offers services, all the details can be found on her site. You can also follow her over on Twitter here.

While you are here, remember we have a Twitter account that you can follow for all our news and updates!

more from lore

Enjoyed this flash fiction? Then continue reading:

• Horror Flash Fiction
• Horror Short Stories
• Lore’s Blog
• The Oracular of Aetius – a horror flash fiction written by Rhea Kinslow