Christmas Caterpillars

Christmas Eve at Patty's house. It should have been mild, we were just going to grill steaks and have wine. And...play with false eyelashes. The latest rage. I drape one across Patty's left eye.
And stare in shock.
It looks pretty damn good on her. No trimming necessary, it transforms her face into instant glamor queen. Who knew?
“Wow,” I tell her. You need to go look in the mirror.”
She eyes my wine glass suspiciously, as if it's the reason why she looks good. But the wine is only half gone. I smile condescendingly. How dare she even think I may be a lightweight?
While she's in the bathroom, I slap a couple of the lashes on me, using the wineglass for my reflection.
“You're right,” Patty says, coming back out. “It does look pretty good. Damn, I'm a hottie.”
I blink rapidly at her, fluttering the lace on my eyelid so she'll notice.
Just then Corky walks in.
Patty and I eye each other, panic-stricken. Because Corky's the bartender from hell. Oh, not that his drinks are bad. Just the opposite. They're deliciously dangerous. Irresistibly innocent. But you have to pay for them.
With your soul.
“Distract him,” Patty whispers.
“Cork, uhhh, wanna dance?”
The country song that's playing is old...and slow. He looks at me like I'm crazy. Patty's looking at me like I'm crazy. I shrug. It was the best I could do on such short notice.
“Nah,” Corky says, ignoring our elegant eyelashes and looking into our wineglasses instead. “I think I'm gonna try a new drink recipe I heard about. It's called an Orgasm.”
Patty's eyes narrow so far, I think her lids have swallowed her lashes. “What's in it?”
“Well, I don't know exactly...”
There's the kicker. The “exactly” part is where Corky whips the rug out from under us. Exactly could mean seven different liquors. And seven different experiments to get the recipe perfected.
“I know there's milk. And Triple Sec. Maybe a drop or two of Amaretto. Chocolate vodka.”
Patty whispers. “Sounds harmless, dearie.”
By now, Corky brings our first round of shots. They're smooth, tasty. I lick the shot glass clean.
“Not quite right,” he announces. “I'm gonna try it over again.”
Patty and I shrug, and then she flutters her lashes at me. “Let's dance.”
First clue of Drunkland should be two women country dancing together and neither one knowing who should lead. “This is the three-step,” she says. There's a two-step, I know. But sure enough, she's counting out three steps.
“Here, have some Tuaca to chase down the last recipe. I don't want you to mar the tastes between the old recipe and the new,” Corky says, like the purpose of Tuaca is a sliver of ginger between sushi rounds.
The rest of the night is a blur. Except for the part where I was teaching Patty how to bellydance...to the country music. I vaguely remember that one.
“I got... four sons,” Patty announces, her voice so slurred I think she was mentally counting them.
“I know,” I say, surprised that my voice is slurred too. “Dusty and Dirky, Sleepy and Doc. Oh, wait. That can't be right, one is named after a beer. But anyway, think of the danger! It might work out with one of them and then I'd have to call you mom.”
The next thing I remember is waking up in bed. Sunlight is streaming in the windows. I haven't yet opened my eyes, I can just see the color of the sun's rays through closed lids.
I remember putting on her pajamas. I remember hanging one foot out of the bed to touch the floor to stop the bedspins from taunting me.
But being a paranormal author, I remember snaking my foot back under the covers, in case something grabbed my ankle from under the bed.
Was there anything I might have forgotten in my drunken state? My clothes should be in my purse. I always have a strange habit of finding clothes in there...once even two pair of shoes. That one still boggles me.
Slowly I open one eye. Panic grips my gut, curling its fingers around my intestines. My heart thunders, nearly splitting my ribcage apart. I lay perfectly still, afraid to scream, afraid to move.
For a giant, hairy, poisonous caterpillar lays across my eyelid.
No, wait a minute. There are two fat ones on each eye. Some of the panic starts to ebb away.
But then I hear a blood-curdling scream from down the hallway. I race down, just in time to see Patty sitting up in bed, spiky hair jutting straight up.
A thick caterpillar across her cheek.