THE HOST - PART 4: THE RECEPTION

Intergrateo Press is pleased to present 'The Reception,' the fourth installment in the captivating horror podcast series, 'The Host.' This episode delves into the unsettling atmosphere of a dark wedding, exploring themes of grief and acceptance within a psychological thriller framework. Listeners are invited to experience a unique take on social rituals, where the traditional wedding reception takes on a chilling new dimension. The intricate narrative builds upon previous parts of Serial Port Season 1, continuing the author's exploration of profound, often macabre, human experiences.

STORY 2 OF THE SERIAL PORT SEASON 1

LOST? START HERE: PART 1 - THE CONSULTATION

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Continuity Year 45

The host had showered after the four o’clock and changed into the reception dress. At ten to six she walked back into the marquee.

She’d been at the back of Curt’s neck with her teeth an hour earlier. Now she was in the soft grey she wore for receptions. Her hair was up. Her face was fresh. No one in the marquee would have known what room she’d been in.

The guests were coming back in from the lawn. They’d been out for the two hours of the photo window and most of them had had more than they meant to at the bar. Curt’s mother was at her table with her shoes off, holding her husband’s hand. Laura’s sister was at a smaller table at the back with a fresh wine. Pete was at his table with Em, looking at the screen at the front of the marquee. The screen was still dark.

The team had reset the marquee. The lawn games were packed. The bar was about to do drinks-for-the-table. Tom had the spit roast on its trolley by the carving station. Tom was in his clean apron with his catering brand at the top. He had blood under his nails. The blood didn’t show.

At six the host stepped to the side of the screen and Helen brought the audio up.

“Welcome back, everyone. Curt is on the network. He’s about to meet Laura.”

The screen came on.

The screen was the rendered kitchen Laura had been waiting in for three years. Yellow walls. Morning light through a window over a sink. Laura at the sink in her long shirt, bare feet. The cupboard door was open above her head. She was making tea.

Curt walked into the kitchen. He was in the clothes he’d worn at the picnic at the dam, in the photograph Curt had carried in his wallet. He was the body of the photograph. He was barefoot. He didn’t see Laura at first. Then he did.

Laura turned from the sink. She saw him. Her hands went to her mouth.

“Oh.”

That was all she said. He crossed the kitchen to her and she crossed to him and they met somewhere in the middle and she folded into him.

The marquee broke. Curt’s mother had her face in her hands. Curt’s father had one hand over his eyes. Curt’s sister was crying. Pete was crying. Em was crying. The mate beside Pete who the host didn’t know by name was crying. Laura’s sister at the back had her hand at her throat and was making no sound at all.

The host stepped to the side so the screen had the room.

She’d watched many couples on this screen. She didn’t get tired of it.

After a while she nodded at Helen. Helen brought the audio down to background. The kitchen on the screen carried on. Curt and Laura had sat down at the table outside their rendered home. They had cups in their hands. Laura was laughing about something.

“Dinner,” the host said quietly, and the team moved.

Tom started the carving. The first plates went to the parents and to Laura’s sister and to Pete and Em. Tom carved with practiced rhythm. He glanced up at the host once. She nodded. He went back to the carving.

The first dishes were the cold ones, the terrines and the charcuterie that had been prepped across the week. Then the carved meat. Bea had the wine pouring. The marquee filled with the sounds of plates and cutlery and people who had been crying earlier and were now hungry.

Pete stood up during the main course. He had a glass in his hand. He hadn’t told anyone he was going to do it. He hadn’t told Em.

“Sorry. I just need to say something.”

The marquee quieted. The host turned to him from where she’d been at the parents’ table.

Pete looked at the screen. Curt and Laura were on it. Laura was laughing about something.

“I’ve been worrying for weeks. I don’t think I told anyone how much. I was worried I was going to look at the screen tonight and think, I don’t know. That he was different. That something was wrong.”

He looked at the screen.

“He’s not different. He’s the same bloke. That’s him.”

He looked at Em. He looked at Curt’s parents.

“I’m sorry, mate. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve trusted you and your host. She’s done a beautiful job.”

He raised his glass.

“To Curt and Laura.”

The marquee raised. To Curt and Laura. Curt’s mother was crying again. Curt’s father was crying again.

The host raised her glass too. Pete looked at her across the marquee. She nodded.

He sat down. Em put her hand on his arm and kept it there.

The host went table to table after the toast. She accepted the it was a beautiful ceremony and the Curt looked so happy and the thank you for what you did lines that came up at every reception. She had her practiced phrases. She meant them every time.

At Curt’s parents’ table the mother held both her hands.

“You gave us this.”

“I’m glad.”

“You gave us him. He’s there. We can see him.”

“I know.”

Curt’s father, behind his wife, couldn’t quite speak. He nodded. The host put her hand on his shoulder. He kissed her hand. She let him kiss it.

Laura’s sister was still at her table at the back. She had a fresh wine. She hadn’t eaten anything. The host went to her.

“How are you holding up.”

Laura’s sister looked at her. Her makeup had gone. She’d been crying somewhere quiet.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“You’re being here for them.”

“I don’t know if Laura would have wanted this.”

The host let that sit.

“She got him back. He’s there. She’s been waiting for him.”

“Yes.”

“You did the right thing coming.”

Laura’s sister didn’t say anything. She looked at the screen. Curt and Laura had moved indoors on the screen. They were on a couch now. Laura had her head on Curt’s shoulder.

The host watched Laura’s sister watch them.

“I’m glad they have each other,” Laura’s sister said.

“I know you are.”

Laura’s sister nodded. She took a drink of her wine. She didn’t look at the host again.

At nine the host found Tom in the side area where the catering team were doing the breakdown. He had taken his apron off. His shirt was clean. He was leaning on a trestle. He was eating a plate of leftover salads with his fingers.

She came up beside him. He didn’t look up from the plate. He moved one foot so his shoe was touching hers.

“How was your tide,” he said.

“Smooth.”

“How’s the prep going for next Saturday.”

“Curt’s in the cold room. He’s settled. He’s going to be lovely.”

“Good.”

He set his plate on the trestle and put his hand on her hip. He didn’t pull her toward him. He just had his hand there.

“You did good today.”

“You did good today.”

“You always do good.”

“You always do good.”

He kissed her temple. She kissed his jaw. They stood like that for a few seconds. Then he went back to his salads and she went back to the marquee.

The reception thinned after ten. Curt’s mother and father left first. The mother held the host’s hands again at the door. The father did kiss her hand again, briefly.

Laura’s sister had left earlier without saying goodbye.

Pete and Em were among the last out. Pete shook the host’s hand at the door.

“Thank you. Sorry for what I said earlier. About worrying.”

“Don’t be. It was a beautiful thing to say.”

“Was it.”

“Yes.”

He hesitated.

“You did really good. He’s there.”

“He’s there.”

Pete and Em left. Em didn’t look at the host on the way out.

The team broke the marquee down. The folding chairs came down. The flowers came off the trestles. Tom and Jen took the screen down. The screen had stayed on the rendered kitchen until the last guest had gone. Then Helen turned it off. The kitchen went dark mid-laugh.

The marquee men were on their way back in the morning to take the marquee itself down. The catering had been packed. The cold room at the back of the venue had Curt in it, prepped for next Saturday’s reception. The host had checked the prep before she’d come back to the marquee at ten to six. The team’s notes were on the kitchen counter and Tom would do the rest across the week.

She walked the perimeter of the lawn once more. The line was the same line she’d walked yesterday. The side door was the same side door. The wind had come up since dinner. The host stood at the spot where she’d looked at the side door yesterday and looked at it again. Then she went back to the marquee.

The last folding chair was at the back, by Laura’s sister’s empty seat. The host folded it and carried it to the stack at the side of the marquee. She laid it on top of the others. The stack came up to her waist.

She got her binder out of the boot of her car. She opened it on the bonnet under the venue’s outside light. She turned to Curt’s page.

She wrote Curt Giel — completed at the top of the page. She closed the section.

She turned to next Saturday’s page. The client was a widow whose husband had gone three years ago. The host had had her first consultation last month. The team had the body prep timeline set. Tom had ordered the lamb on Wednesday.

She wrote a note at the bottom of the page. Confirm bar order on Tuesday.

She closed the binder.

Tom would lock up. The team had the rest. The host got into her car and drove home.

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- AJW

The concept cover for my upcoming novel - The Grey Corner, Book 2 of the Continuity Constellation.

Art by Saturnids Art Link: https://mushroomy.house/collections/saturnids

Book 1 of the Continuity Constellation: The Continuity Protocol available on Amazon and indie publishers

Concluding 'The Reception,' this episode solidifies 'The Host' as a compelling entry in contemporary dark fantasy. The narrative skillfully employs elements of a cannibalism podcast to explore the depths of human emotion and the complexities of grief. The crafted tension, from the initial reception dress reveal to the final emotional toast, ensures a lasting impression. Intergrateo Press champions works that push genre boundaries, and this installment is a prime example of storytelling that resonates long after the final word.