Monday, November 21, 2011

Thanksgiving Horror Short

Here's a short I wrote today for a prompt over at Magical Words.

          A cool breeze ruffled Clarabell’s blonde hair. She settled her girth into her lounger, the metal and plastic creaking under her weight. She sipped her Bloody Mary. Certainly there was no better way to spend Thanksgiving: in her South Carolina house on the Atlantic, far from Connecticut’s November chill, a fresh turkey waiting for death in the pen.
          “Ma’am?” at the southern drawl of Earl, her low class butler, she curled her lip.
          “What?” She snapped, her sharp New England accent harsh against his easy droll.
          “There’s a problem with the turkey, ma’am.”
           She snorted and slammed her drink onto the table, sloshing the red liquid onto the white of the lounger. “You failed to slaughter a simple bird?” She hauled herself up and faced him.
          Blood trickled from a gash on the butler’s forhead, trailing down his cheek and gathering in the collar of his shirt. His normally whisky-pink cheeks were ashen and his bright blue eyes dim.
         “Was there some kind of accident?”
          “In the back yard, ma’am. We—Tommy and me—were getting ready to kill the turkey.” He jerked his hand full of blood spattered feathers. The black of his suit glinted, wet, and blood rolled onto his hands from under the cuff.
          “Did you cut yourself?” She stepped back, putting the lounger between the two of them.
          “No, ma’am.” He swayed back and forth and tumbled forward, the feathers fluttering into the air before floating down.
          Clarabell screamed. The gashes on Earl’s chest, revealed in his collapse, oozed more blood. She did not lean to down to check on him, but scrambled into the house, grabbing the nearest phone and punching in 911.
         Behind her, something rustled.
         She spun around, the 911 call at its third ring. A turkey—their thanksgiving dinner—stared at her, its beady black eyes glinting in the light of the room.
         “911. What is your emergency?”
         “There’s a turkey…” she trailed off. A patch of pale skin was visible on the bird where feathers had been torn away.
         The creature clucked once, twice. A flutter of its wings revealed a cleaver. How it held it, she had no idea, but blood dripped from the blade.

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