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    National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day
    National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day
    National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day

    By Scott King

    ()

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    About this ebook

    National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day (the book) is the definitive guide to celebrating National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day (the holiday). Celebrated on August 15th, or the weekend closest to it, National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day is about good food, spending time with friends or loved ones, games and of course unspeakable horrors. What is in the book?

    • A short story examining the origin of the holiday.
    • Newspaper articles explaining the founding of the holiday.
    • Suggested activities for celebrating the day.
    • Traditional Recipes (including Meatballs & Spaghetti).
    • Gaming Guide and tips for running a game night.
    • Tons of secrets for you to unravel the truth behind the holiday.

    Get your copy NOW cause if you forget to get one you’ll end up feeling embarrassed when everyone else is enjoying the world’s most cosmically horrible holiday and you aren’t.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMajestic Arts
    Release dateJul 15, 2015
    ISBN9781512005257
    National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day
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      Book preview

      National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day - Scott King

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      National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day is dedicated to Neil Thomas. Ya stell’basna n’ghftkadishtu n’gha Neil ooboshu shagg.

      Editor’s Note:

      The information in this book about National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day is derived and transcribed from the notes, journals, and research of Neil Thomas.

      On the following pages you will find suggestions to help you, your family, and friends create traditions that will have a special meaning to you, as well as the history of the holiday.

      Happy fhtagn!

      —Scott King

      JOURNAL ONE

      National Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti Day occurs on the 15th of August, though it is often celebrated on the weekend closest to then. Its origins trace back several years to the Pacific coast city of Del Mar, California.

      As a rookie reporter for Ocean Breeze Weekly, I mostly covered the police beat in Del Mar, which was fine for me. Working as a writer was meant to be nothing more than a stall tactic between undergrad and grad school. In such a small city, journalism wasn’t high pressure, and on occasion I got to write an article about what I wanted or enjoyed.

      Everything changed when our town got assaulted by incomprehensible forces and garnered national attention. What I hope to compile in this journal is a timeline of what happened and how things evolved.

      It all began with Kayla Reyes. I do not recall seeing her before the event or during. But enough witnesses say she was at the heart of the matter, so it’s important, before we get to the facts and consequences, you hear her story as it was told to me.

      Cthulhu Eats Spaghetti

      Editor’s Note: Early drafts of the following story were hand-scrawled on legal pad paper. They appeared to be derived from multiple interviews, which were then presented in a more storybook fashion, cleaned up, and published in the Ocean Breeze Weekly.

      PART I: The Family Legacy

      Kayla Reyes thought the raw ground beef squishing between her fingers must be what brains feel like. Of course brains don’t have egg, basil, or whatever other junk Aunt Donna had put into the mixture, so she figured the texture might be slightly off-base.

      Is it done, yet? On the back of Kayla’s hands, the pink goo had begun to dry, turning into a crusty meat batter, making her look like some horrendous monster. She let out a weak gurgling sound and then flexed her fist so the batter cracked like decaying flesh.

      Stop playing with the food and get back to work, Aunt Donna said.

      My fingers are getting cold.

      Run them under warm water and keep mixing. Aunt Donna dumped a bowl of seasoning into another bus tub of meat.

      No, Kayla said. If I run them under water, then they get all numb and feel worse.

      Then don’t complain.

      Kayla humphed, partially in protest and partially to get her short bob of a haircut out of her eyes. She preferred to keep her chestnut hair past shoulder length, but cutting it allowed her to feel more in-character when on stage. In fact, she should be running lines right now at Margaret’s house, but Aunt Donna had forced her into manual labor.

      As a ten year old, Kaya felt doing work around the restaurant broke some sort of laws or rules for child labor. Aunt Donna insisted that being family and not being paid meant no laws were broken. Because of Aunt Donna’s philosophical beliefs, it also meant whenever Kayla got in trouble in school, or was up to mischief, that instead of being sent to her room, like a normal kid, she was sent to the dishwasher or prep-line.

      It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help Aunt Donna. Aunt Donna had raised her, and it felt nice to contribute to the family business, but she’d rather be in the front of the house where she could greet people and be social.

      Where are Vincent and the other cooks? Kayla asked. Even if Aunt Donna didn’t have a catering event, the heart of the house guys should be there getting ready for the day. No one was at the fryer making cannoli shells or peeling potatoes for gnocchi. No one was using the back counter to devein shrimp or brine the chicken. The entire restaurant had an eerie emptiness about it.

      I don’t know, Aunt Donna said. Everyone called out for some sort of emergency. I wasn’t paying attention, ’cause if we blow this wedding we are screwed. ’Specially with the off season coming.

      Who even gets married in August or has spaghetti and meatballs for their wedding? Kayla continued to mash the meat mixture. The pinkish goo frothed between her fingers. She had never seen chum, the kind fishermen feed to sharks, but she had a feeling the gooey pink substance would work perfectly.

      These are good meatballs. Real Italian meatballs. The problem is you grew up on them and don’t realize how bad other people’s meatballs are.

      Aunt Donna, Kayla lowered her voice into a serious tone. I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. We aren’t Italian.

      Don’t you say that! Aunt Donna said. Your great grandmother, my grandmother, was the first to be born in this country!

      She was born in Mexico!

      Aunt Donna ignored her. And she passed the recipe down to my father, and he passed it down to me. It is our family heritage and legacy.

      Then why am I in here instead of Jackson? Kayla glanced around the kitchen. She could hear her older cousin. He was

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