Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream (32 page)

What she found most interesting was that with effort she could restrain herself from eating certain foods. If she made up her mind not to touch the leftovers from dinner, she'd find that she ate the dessert instead. If she focused on not eating raw foods, she'd settle for prepared ones. One morning she cracked herself up after discovering that she had actually microwaved a frozen pizza during the night before consuming it. The problem wasn't gone, not by a long shot, but it was getting better. Little by little, day by day, she felt herself gaining control. She was fighting back. And all the while she knew that she was preparing herself for the true test of her spirit. The biggest challenge was just around the corner.

Craig had said that he would be back for Thanksgiving, but he couldn't have realized at the time just how pivotal a day this would be. Emma decided to host the holiday, inviting her parents, her aunts and uncles, her cousins, and of course Craig. She had never done this in the past, never would have even dreamed of it. But she knew that this year she had to. It was the only way. The ultimate battle. If she could stock up her refrigerator with all of the essentials, every tasty morsel that would make for a terrific feast, and then restrain herself from sabotage, she was as good as cured. And maybe Craig would come back to stay. This she cared about deeply, not so much for herself, but for the sake of their one-year-old son, who she felt deserved the benefit of a father in his life.

In the days and nights building up to the last Thursday in November, she pushed herself harder than she ever had before. Whenever fear reared it's ugly, taunting head she fought against it, her level of self affirmation now at it's strongest. Like a boxer preparing for the big fight she readied herself. And before she knew it the day had arrived.

She woke up late on Thanksgiving day, feeling unusually tired and worn out. Not surprising considering how long it took her to finally fall asleep the night before, after putting Peter to bed and then spending the next few hours psyching herself up. With every ounce of mental strength she could muster, she willed herself not to devour the holiday spread. Not to greedily consume the goods which were intended for her family. Not to ruin Thanksgiving. She fell asleep while reciting her mantra, modified now to point her away from the tantalizing feast in her fridge.

Time to sleep, but not to eat,

The sleepy head is mine to beat

The cornucopia she'll leave alone

So that I can save my home…

The walk from her upstairs bedroom down to the kitchen that day was an agonizing one. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest the whole long way. Her stomach felt like it was filled with a thousand restless moths, swarming around a great bonfire that burned in her gut. She had already searched her bed for signs of trouble and found the sheets to be surprisingly clean. A good omen, a great feeling- but she wasn't in the clear just yet.

She approached the refrigerator uneasily. One look inside would tell the whole story. She suddenly felt like a contestant on the TV game show The Price is Right. Would she pick door number one or door number two? The only difference was that the choice wasn't Emma's to make. The choice had been left up to the sleepy head.

She tugged at the door and it opened. Cool air spilled forth, making her nipples hard. And Emma couldn't believe her eyes.

Inside she saw the mashed potatoes and stuffing. The cranberry sauce and gravy. Pickles and pies and a variety of appetizers. But most importantly, she saw the piece de resistance. The turkey, still packaged, still frozen, still untouched. Joy flooded her system, and a smile crept across her face. She had succeeded in restraining herself, her willpower had triumphed. Without medication, without booby traps, without locks, she had managed to keep herself from eating the holiday goods. She had saved Thanksgiving.

And that's when she noticed the smell.

It originated from behind her. The odor of cooked meat, burnt flesh, fat and gristle. The sickly sweet aroma of an animal that has been cooking for hours unchecked. The smell could only be coming from one place.

A quick glance at the oven confirmed her fears. The dial was turned up to 450 degrees. She couldn't see inside, but a small draft of gray smoke was slowly creeping it's way out around the edges. That's when she knew. She hadn't eaten the dinner. She hadn't eaten the desserts. But she had eaten something.

She tried to remain calm. After all, the biggest hurdle she had conquered. The turkey was safe.

Just then the doorbell rang. Family members were already arriving. From the sound of it, there were a few people already gathered on the porch, greeting each other and ready to start the festivities. They rang again.

Buzz, buzz…

She was still in her nightgown, and hated to leave them hanging. But she had to know. She had to see for herself what she had done. And before they came in, she had to do a quick cleanup. Damage control.

Opening the oven door, she jerked her head back to avoid being hit in the face by the acrid cloud of smoke. Peering inside she caught a glimpse of her overcooked late night snack. She could just barely make out the remains of the meal, now a crispy blackened hunk- but there, deep inside the cooking pan, the skeletal remains gave it away.

By now her family was getting impatient standing outside in the cold. The doorbell rang more angrily.

Buzz, buzz…

Emma closed the oven door and shut off the heat. She turned around and headed for the front door, but before she got there she fainted.

Her plan had worked extremely well. Too well. She had not eaten the turkey. She had controlled her deepest desire and all told she had saved Thanksgiving.

But her son wouldn't be there to enjoy it.

JEREMY CARR

Jeremy Carr is an independent filmmaker based in Brooklyn, New York. He has written and directed numerous short films including
Homemaker 3000
,
The Crutch
, and
Red Hook
. He is currently developing
Lucid
, his first feature length film-a dark, psychological drama. As Senior Producer of Distant Corners Entertainment, Jeremy wrote and produced the online animated series
Wish You Were Here
, recreating such bizarre moments from history as the Jonestown Massacre and the Salem Witch Trials. In 2002 he was the recipient of the NYC Flicker Festival Film Grant for his upcoming short film
Maxwell Stein's Peculiar Predicament
, and he was the co-writer of the play
St. Rosita & The Francophone
which premiered at the 1998 New York International Fringe Festival. Jeremy has written for such websites as ApocalypseFiction.com and The Flying Saucer Gazette
,
and some of his film work can be seen on IndependentFilm.com. He is a graduate of Boston University and an ethical vegan.

By John Grover

The delicious aroma of the turkey was already filling the house. Norma pulled the oven rack out, the sizzling of the juices reverberating in her ears, and prepared to baste the massive sucker. It was about twenty-two pounds, maybe more. She always got a big bird for Thanksgiving, even though it was just the four of them. Norma enjoyed the leftovers she gleaned from the meal.

Henry sat in the living room, his backside planted into the easy chair totally immersed in the traditional holiday football game. God forbid he should get up and offer to help his wife with the dinner. The meal was an undertaking, trying to coordinate the turkey and stuffing while making homemade gravy, mashed potato, candied yams, vegetables and pumpkin pie was no easy task.

A smile crossed briefly on Norma's face as she thought of her two children returning home from college on winter break. Thanksgiving just wouldn't be the same without them. Steve and Karen were great kids, very smart and so busy these days. So busy they barely had time to call Norma. She wished she'd hear from them more often.

Humming to herself, Norma shut the oven and put the baster on the counter, juices still coating it. She started to peel the potatoes and remembered she still needed to make the crusts to the pies.

Leaving the potatoes momentarily she searched her cabinets for the flour. Unable to reach the top shelves she dragged a kitchen chair over and climbed up. She didn't dare bother Henry about such trivial things as reaching the top shelves. He would be irate if he missed a great pass for something so silly.

Reaching and stretching, she felt the bag of flour just coming into her grasp when the whispering caught her attention.

"Huh?" it caught her off guard. She turned her head and listened. It was faint but she definitely heard it. A whispering.

Where was it coming from? She listened intently to it, a sound of voices; two as best as she could tell, whispering to one another. She couldn't quite understand what the whispers were saying, they sounded foreign or at least a language she never heard before.

She gripped the flour tightly now as she tried to follow the source of the whispering, her gaze sweeping along the cupboards and cabinets, the pantry, the fridge until settling on the oven-

The flour plummeted from her hands, opening all over the floor, a quick gasp escaping her.

The oven. The whispers were coming from the oven.

Climbing down from the chair, she walked slowly to the oven, the whispering dwindling until finally she placed her hand on the door.

She pulled the door open and stared at the roasting turkey, a slight golden color beginning to spread over it. She heard nothing, except that of the bubbling juices.

She laughed out loud, a nervous laugh, and shut the door. "No time for such foolishness," she remarked. "Goodness, just look at this mess." She began to clean up the flour.

The football game droned on endlessly, play after play, score after score, Henry's face was aglow, his eyes twinkling with awe as his favorite team seemed to be kicking ass.

"Norma!" he bellowed. "This is a hell of a game! Would you bring me some eggnog, I don't want to miss one second of this action."

He waited for a response from the kitchen but there was none.

"Now please dear!" he called.

"Yes Henry, I'm coming," she at last answered.

Norma left the potatoes on the table unfinished, along with the yams that she prepared to do next.

Pouring the eggnog into a glass she prepared to enter the living room until-

It came again.

The whispering caught her ears, causing her to take pause. Turning, she stared at the oven again. The whispering, growing louder now, was again emanating from the oven.

Norma crept over to the oven, eggnog in her left hand, reaching for the door with her right. The whispering was quick and chattery, a puckish feel to it. It got louder as her fingers swept over the oven handle, gripping it tightly.

Bending at the knees she pulled the oven and stared at the turkey, the skin a nice shade of brown, the stuffing crisp around the edges, the juices keeping the breast moist, it was nearly done. Where were the kids?

"This is nuts," she said to herself, starting to ease the door up.

"They don't appreciate you, ya know," the whispering transformed into language, easily understood and utterly frightening.

"What!" The glass plummeted from her hand and shattered on the floor, the creamy eggnog streaming into puddles.

"They mock you," the whispering voices continued. "They take complete advantage of you. They care for nothing but themselves. You are a slave to them."

Norma gasped, covered her mouth with her hand and slammed the oven shut. The voices seemed to come from the turkey. It spoke! The turkey had spoken to her. "Nonsense," Norma said. "This is just nonsense."

She stared at the oven as she got to her feet, keeping her eyes locked on it. She backed herself away, stepping into the spilled eggnog. "Goodness," she mumbled.

"Norma!" Henry yelled. "Where are you? Where is my eggnog?"

She stood in the kitchen, apprehensive, hesitant, unsure of how to proceed with her lovely Thanksgiving dinner. Something was trying to spoil it. She could not allow this. It had been so long since the family was together. This was supposed to be a perfect day.

"They care nothing for you," the whispering came again, two voices speaking to her from the oven. "They are using you Norma."

"Stop it, please stop. I must finish the dinner."

"What's the point? They will only eat it and then abandon you again. They won't even thank you, they won't even be grateful for the hard work you do."

"It's not as bad as all that. You're exaggerating."

"We speak the truth. This is their nature, their souls speak it to us."

"I can't listen to this, I must finish the dinner."

"Yes, finish the dinner and finish them. All of them. They laugh and laugh at you. We hear them now..." In the background, Henry cheered to his football games but to Norma's ears it did sound like laughter, hyena-like, mocking laughter.

"Norma, you must have justice. You must make them appreciate you."

Norma was silent. She listened. Listened to the whispers continue on and on...

The kitchen door swung open, deadening the whispers and causing Norma to nearly jump out of her skin. Her face washed with joy and excitement as she watched her son and daughter step into the home.

"Karen, Steve, it's so wonderful to have you home." She went to them and threw her arms around them both in a huge embrace. The children rolled their eyes at one another.

"Mom please," Karen said. "You're suffocating me."

"Where have I heard that before," Steve chuckled, a smirk on his face.

Norma released her bear hug and the kids stepped out of her reach, bags in their hands. Norma spied the dirty laundry they undoubtedly wanted her to do. "So kids, tell me all about school and how your year is going. I want to hear everything. Don't leave out a thing." A smile beamed on her face.

"Mom," Steve began. "We're really tired. It has been a long trip. We'd really like to take a quick nap before dinner."

"Yeah Mom," Karen added. "We promise to tell you all about it at dessert. We're beat."