Lynette’s antique percolator summoned vast, unknowable cosmic horrors who brought her cinnamon crumb cake and platters of scones. They clasped the baked goods their many unfathomable limbs and asked where should we put these? The spoke without words, in a mind-voice piped directly into Lynette’s brain that, at once, sent tiny aneurysms dancing amongst her neurons.
Lynette retrieved extra chairs to make room for them around the kitchen table. She asked them how they took their coffee they garbled in their eldritch tongue, yes, most definitely two sugars, and thank you. Their abyssal mouths opened, and from out of those mouths reached long, shimmering proboscises that blew on the surface of their coffees before taking a sip.
Afterwards, when they subsumed Lynette, absorbing her in their infinite stomachs full of space dust and bones, she thought how nice it was to have visitors for once. And what a steal that antique percolator had been! At the old professor’s garage sale, she’d gotten it for just sixty six cents.
