The summons drew me, as it had for countless centuries to a new world, and, as every time before, I answered, waiting to fully form within a new host so that I could fulfill my appointed task. I had wrought so much destruction, laid waste to so many worlds, it had never occurred that I might choose another path, until I entered a host on a world which I believed held value that overcame the primal drive of may nature. As with each new host, as my essence began to work its way through the host, I studied its recent memories so that I could better know the world I upon which I would visit destruction.

George and his friends, Nick and Jason wove through the crowds of people milling about the streets outside of the bars and restaurants. George was dressed as a Scotsman, in the hopes that the popularity of an entertainment might help him win the affections of a lady. Nick had decided to portray a Roman soldier. Jason, ever the buffoon of their trio had gone with a sexy George RR Martin, much to the chagrin of his companions. That they continuously rolled their eyes at him in frustration only added to Jason’s mirth and amusement. When he’d come out of his room earlier in the evening with the white wig and beard on his head, and clothing that was normally reserved for the females of his culture, Jason had said, “My girlfriend’s out of town, so this will help keep me from getting in trouble.” In truth, Jason just liked to shock people.

As the three friends sought an establishment for their celebration of this festival called, “Halloween,” they looked about, appreciating the costumes of the other celebrants. Both George and Nick allowed their gaze to linger over many of the ladies they came across.

“Hey,” Jason said, “I see a couple of of open tables in that place.”

“Good eye,” George said.

Jason grinned so wide his friends could see it even with the outrageous beard. “It helps that I’m not ogling every pretty lady that walks by.”

The three friends went up to the bouncer who stood before the entrance to the bar. This bouncer stood taller than any of the three friends, had no hair, and seemed to lack the joviality possessed by the revelers around him.

“Ten dollars each, gentlemen,” the bouncer said.

“Ten dollars?” Jason asked, his tone a mis of outrage and indignation. “That come with a bottle of lube?”

The bouncer’s tone didn’t change.”You’re welcome to go somewhere else, but if want a table anywhere along this street, the place is going to have a cover.”

“Ah, come on man,” Jason said. “It’s only 8:30.”

“Right,” the bouncer replied. “And everywhere is going to get crowded. You’ll be lucky to not be standing in line in the next half hour.”

Jason turned to George. “Well, if someone hadn’t taken so much time doing chores for Old Lady Hazel…”

“Sorry man,” George said. “She reminds me of my Grandma back home. If it’s that big a deal, I’ll get your cover. I want to get my drink on and maybe meet a lady. The longer we’re out here arguing; the less time we’re drinking and mingling.”

“Alright,” Jason said.

George paid the bouncer, and the three friends entered the bar, not knowing that of all the bars, clubs, and pubs, they could not have made a worse decisions for themselves, but while this choice had doomed them, it may have well saved their world. In the far corner, a man sat at a small table in the very back of the bar. On most nights, the old man, Raz would have stood out, garnered attention with unkempt white hair, rumpled clothes, that seemed from a bygone era, and the wild searching gaze; however, on this night of all night, he appeared as one more reveler who decided to embrace the fullness of the celebration. A half full glass of beer and silver flask rested on the table in front of him. As he scanned the bar, seeking a likely candidate, he tapped the side of the flask with his finger. Every time he did so, the flask shimmers. In those rare moments when someone saw this, they just nodded appreciatively, thinking Raz an eccentric with enough money to really getting expensive toys for Halloween. When Raz’s gaze fell on the three friends, he watched as they ordered round after round of drinks. They were perfect. With a smile, he put the flask into his coat pocket, stood from the table, and walked over to the three friends.

“I noticed that you had a spare seat,” Raz said. “I got up to go to the pisser, and someone snagged my spot. Mind if I join you gents?

“Uh,” Nick said. “We’re really kind of out just to have some laughs with some friends.”

“Right,” George said. “And maybe meet some ladies.”

They didn’t want to mention that the guy was putting out the creepy vibe more than they would have like. Yeah, his costume was cool, but it’s effect would probably make the ladies detour around their table.

“I understand,” Raz said. “Tell you what. If I can make you gents laugh with one joke, you let me sit down. You don’t laugh, I move on, no hard feelings.”

George, Nick, and Jason looked back and forth at each other. George shrugged. Jason, who had removed his beard in order to drink, grinned.

“Alright, old man,” Jason said. “I love a good joke. Hit us with your best shot.

“An Irishman walked out of a bar,” Raz said. He paused and looked each of them in the eye. “It could happen.”

George, Nick, and Jason stared at Raz for just a second and then burst out laughing.

‘Good one,” Jason said. He pushed out the chair. “A deal’s a deal. Have a seat.”

“Thanks kindly,” Raz said. “Let me get the next round.”

“You should have opened with that,” Nick said. Jason and I ould have let you sit right down. I’m Nick. This is George and Jason.”

“Raz.” He shook their hands all around. “Don’t ask. Stupid nickname when I was young that just stuck.”

For the next hour, they sat together drinking, laughing at jokes that are only amusing to those who are drinking alcohol, and looking at women. At one point, when all their glasses were empty, Raz cleared his throat, reached into his coat pocket and brought out his flask. He shook it a couple of times, then placed it in the center of the table.

“What’s in their?” Jason asked.

Raz smiled. “It’s called an Irish Winter.”

George stared at the flask, fascinated by how it shimmered in the light. “An Irish Winter?”

“Indeed,” Raz said. “A special mixed drink I only make several times a year.” In truth, he made it far less often than that, and only once per world he visited. “And I only share it with those I think are truly worthy.”

“Worthy?” Nick asked. “What do you mean, ‘Worthy?’”

“Those who treat me well and kindly,” Raz said. “It’s my way of thanking good men for good company. But, I believe I only have enough for one last, healthy swallow.”

“Hell,” George said. “I’ll try it.

“Fair warning,” Raz said. “It’s not for the faint at heart.”

George reached for the flask, “Oh, now I have to have some.”

Before the young man could reach the flask, Raz swatted George’s hand away. The old man took the flask, opened it, and poured some into an empty shot glass.

“Dude!” Jason said.  “Into a used glass?”

Raz nodded. “It’s the only way to drink an Irish Winter.”

George picked up the glass and eyed at the liquid. Nick and Jason leaned across the table to get a better look at the purple and fizzing.

“Purple?” Jason asked. “If it’s an Irish Winter, shouldn’t it be green?”

“One would think so,” Raz replied. “But that’s the thing about the winters in Ireland. The only think you can know for certain is that they will be wet. Very wet. Other than that, prepare for the unexpected.”

Nick looked from the drink to George. “You’re not going to drink that, are you?”

“Sure,” George said. “Why not?

Well, for starters,” Nick said, “it’s purple.”

“So?”

“Dude,” Jason interjected. “Even I gotta wonder what you’re thinking. What happened the last time you heard of a bunch of people drinking a purple drink? That didn’t end so well for the people who drank it.”

“Funny,” George said. “That was Kool-Aid. This has bubbles. And I’m not a bunch of people. I’m just one guy.”

Nick looked at Raz. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

Raz shrugged. “Drink. Don’t drink. It doesn’t matter to me. If none of you do, I will. It’s a night for drinking, isn’t it?”

“Right!” George raised the glass. “To crazy drinking!”

“But…” Jason said. “A bubbling, purple drink doesn’t seem like a bad idea to you? And think about who is asking that question.”

“It’s Halloween. This is the night for doing things that scare you a little.”

George put the glass to his lips, and drank the Irish Winter, swallowing the whole dink in one go. He sucked in a deep breath and then coughed.

“Holy shit,” George said.

“Well?” Nick and Jason asked together.

“That was awesome,” George said. “I feel strong. Like confident. Like I could take on the whole world and nothing can stand in my way.”

Raz smiled. “No you know why I only make it on special occasions.”

They drank and talked and joked for the next few hours, having such a good time with Raz that George and Nick forgot to go looking for ladies.

Late that night, or perhaps early the next morning — it’s so strange when humans decide the next day starts — George, Nick, and Jason stumbling down the street toward their fraternity house.

“So?” Nick asked as they turned onto their street. “How was it?”

“How was what?” George asked.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Nick said. “The drink. The Irish Winter.”

The thought of drinking the Irish Winter made George smile. “It was interesting.”

“Just interesting?” Jason asked. “What did it taste like? Details.”

“Uh, I can’t really describe how it tasted,” George said. “I can only tell you how it made me feel. And man, it made me feel…”

“What?” Jason asked.

George couched and gagged for a few seconds. He steadied himself with a deep breaths.

“You okay man?” Nick asked

“Yeah…” George said. “I…uh…”

George turned and sprinted to some rose bushes nearby. He tried to wretch, to purge the drink, and thus me from his body. Sometimes the potential host’s body is strong enough to resist, and so I must wait a time before Raz can brew more of the drink which is not really named, Irish Winter. It’s true name is quite unpronounceable by the human tongue and vocal chords. However, while George might have been sturdy, he was not so strong as to resist me. He would become my host.

A minute or so later, George stood without having vomited. “I’m alright.”

“You don’t have to suck it up for us,” Nick said. “Sometimes it’s okay to let it all out.”

George shook his head. “Not in Miss Hazel’s rose bushes. We’d never hear the end of it.”

“Man.” Jason actually shuddered. “You’re right. Can you imagine her banging on the door tomorrow morning?”

“I can’t believe you guys are scared of that little old lady,” Nick said. “She’s harmless.”

“Harmless,” Jason said. “Thinks she’s harmless. Oh, you’ll learn.”

“Never hurts to stay on the neighbor’s good side,” George said. “Besides, I like her cookies. They remind me of…”

“Grandma,” Nick and Jason said together.

They all laughed in the way men laugh together at the end of a night of drinking as they walked across the street to their fraternity house.

The next morning, Jason stared into a cup of coffee. He barely looks up as George stumbles into the kitchen wearing boxers. Then, Jason does a double take, noticing the first signs of my crossing into a new world.

“Dude,” Jason said, pointing. “Your skin. It’s purple.”

“What are you talking about?” George’s voice comes out as a deep rumble, another sign of my coming.

Jason picked up his phone, intent to take a picture and show George. However, it’s too late. The transformation cannot be halted. It was too late for George, for Jason, for their very world. Dumbfounded, mind numb from witnessing the change, unable to grasp what he saw as I came fully into the world, Jason stood unmoving.

At that moment, Nick came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Can you keep it down? Holy shit!”

My transformation complete, I dash across the room and snapped Jason’s neck. Even before Jason’s corpse hit the floor, I pounced on Nick. In my natural form my mass was twice that of Nicks, and so my weight carries him to the floor. I grabbed his head, and slammed it into the floor, over and over and over until his blood, brains, and the shattered remains of his skull splattered over the white tile. I raked my claws across his abdomen and fed upon his entrails.

While the members of the fraternity recovered from their Halloween revelries, I made my way through their house, feasting upon them and building my strength so that I could find the one who would choose my form. For whatever reason, the wizard who brought me from one world to the next enjoyed having one of the inhabitants of that world decide what I would become in order to destroy the world. I’ve taken the shape of gods, monsters, storms, and even things ridiculous as toys and cute animals. Each time, the criteria for who will choose changes, but it requires at least some bit of purity. I know not if this is a requirement of the magic itself or just some twisted sense of irony possessed by the wizard.

Sometime in the middle of the morning, I burst from the house to gaze upon this world that I would destroy. The sweet anticipation of seeing the buildings about me in ruins and the plants naught but dust set my blood to singing. Across the street, I saw an aged woman sprinkling water onto the plants where George had nearly purged himself of me the night before. She would be my next victim.

I rushed toward her. Halfway across the street, I stopped, sniffed the air, and grinned. A pure one. And so soon. On that day, I would take the form that would bathe in the blood of a world. In all the worlds I’d ever destroyed, I had never found a pure one so quickly after emerging from my host.

“You!” I cried. “You are pure!”

The old woman, Hazel if I had integrated George’s memories successfully, over the rim of her glasses. She blinked, seemingly unimpressed.

“Why are you still in that costume?” Hazel asked. Then added in a slightly lower tone. “What do you mean, pure?”

I stepped right up to Hazel and loomed over her.

“You have never known the intimate touch of a man,” I said.

Hazel looked at me over the edge of her glasses. “That’s none of your, or anyone else’s business.”

“Choose, pure mortal!”

“Please stop calling me that. I don’t know how you know, but it’s rude.”

“I will stop if you choose.”

“Uh,” Hazel said, “choose what?”

“The doom of your world,” I replied.

Hazel continued staring at me over the rim of her glasses. “The what of the world?”

“Doom!”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Hazel said.

“Oh…well… Uh…” I struggled for an explanation using the terms of this clunky new language, this English. It’s actually a really awkward language. “It can mean many things. In this specific case it means the end of the world. My one purpose is to lay waste to this planet. You must choose how I end it.”

“Why me?” Hazel asked.

“You are the first pure one I have encountered since arriving on this plane of existence,” I said.

“So?” Hazel asked. “Why should I care?”

“Well,” I said, “that’s the way things work. I find a pure one. You. And you choose the doom.”

Hazel crossed her arms.

“But what if I don’t want the world to end? Did you ever think of that.”

“I… uh…” That thought had never come to me. Not one person in all the worlds I’d been summoned to had ever resfused. “It matters not. It is my nature to destroy, the reason for my existence. And you must choose.”

“This is a pretty big deal, isn’t it?”

“The biggest deal,” I roared.

Hazel sighed.

“Well, if it’s so important, suppose I should make it a good end to the world. I hate making big decisions on an empty stomach. Would you like to come in for lunch? I have some cookies baking. They should be done by the time I finish.

Cookies. The word stirred something from within George’s memories, which I now possessed. George had loved them, treasured them. They stirred memories of his childhood, when he had himself been innocent, pure. Something I’d never known. I was created with an impure nature, born to chaos and destruction.

“What are cookies?”

“You don’t know what a cookie is?” Hazel asked.

“No.”

“You poor thing,” Hazel said. “Cookies can’t be described. Only experienced. Come in. Have lunch. A few cookies. Then we can get around to this doom of the world thing that’s so important to you.”

I followed her into her house. She sat me at a table in the kitchen as she puttered around the kitchen, preparing food. I drew in the scent of this thing she called lunch. It seemed as if all the gentleness and warmth of every world I’ve ever destroyed. We dined on grilled cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread and tomato soup, made with half milk, half water. Apparently other people made this lunch with other, lesser ingredients, but many people are also lazy. I had feasted on the flesh of countless species across thousands of worlds, and I had never had anything that pleased my stomach nearly as much as this fine and properly prepared lunch. Then, with the lunch dishes sitting in the sink, Hazel placed large plate of brown circles, which George’s memories identified as chocolate chip cookies, on the table between us. Then she gave each of us a glass of milk.

“So,” Hazel said as she nibbled on a cookie, “what are my options for this doom of the world thing?”

“It can come in any form you can imagine,” I replied, around a mouthful of cookies.

“Well then,” Hazel said. “I have a lot to think about. I wouldn’t want the world to end in anything less than the most terrible, horrible way possible.”

“Take your time.” I reached for another cookie. “No rush.”