by Chris Genoa
“Yep, he’s dead.”
They walked around to the other side of the tree for a full view of the body. Dale and Randy instantly knew what was wrong with Mayflower. He was missing something.
“His head,” Dale said.
Randy crossed himself. “Saint Basil pray for us.”
Dale quickly looked down, away from the blood-soaked opening where the head used to be. But that was a mistake, because then he found himself looking into Mayflower’s lap, which was where Mayflower’s hands carefully cradled his own severed head.
For some unknown and, frankly, disturbing reason, Mayflower’s last expression, forever frozen on his face, was one of pure, unbridled joy.
“Well, at least we know the cause of death,” Randy said.
Dale stumbled back and fell to the ground. “Why the hell is he smiling? He looks like a kid riding in a bumper car.”
Randy squatted down to examine the body. “It must have happened quick. Judging from his expression they probably snuck up on him from behind, when he was right in the middle of something truly wonderful. Form the looks of that grin I’m guessing he was engaged in the purest, simplest, and oldest form of love known to Man. Self love. Or ticklewigglejigglepickle, as the laymen call it. Lucky bastard. What a way to go.”
“Why would they dump the body here?” Dale asked.
“It’s either a threat, another set-up, or both.”
“No. No way. This is too much. No one’s going to believe I chopped a man’s head off.”
“They already believed you hung a turkey, Dale. And if there’s one thing man has no trouble believing in, it’s another man’s capacity for evil.”
Randy was right, thought Dale. What would he tell the police if they questioned him? That four men with beaks killed Mayflower? The initial shock of seeing a corpse in his backyard faded, replaced by the realization that he was in serious trouble.
Randy placed his hand on Mayflower’s shoulder and said, “For the soul is dead that slumbers, and things are not what they seem. May you cross over safely, and may you not come back to this world to eat my delicious brains as a zombie. Amen.” He then patted Mayflower’s chest, and– “What’s this now?”
Randy reached under Mayflower’s jacket, into the inner pocket, and pulled out a small, leather-bound book no bigger than his hand. The book’s binding was holding on for dear life to the stained yellow pages.
Randy flipped open to the title page.
The Art of Turkey Cookery:
Made PLAIN and EASY
which far exceeds any Thing of the Kind ever yet Published
BY A LADY
By Desire Minter
“Why would Mayflower be carrying around a turkey cookbook?”
Dale, still lost in thought, muttered to himself. “Maybe he was killed early this morning. I was in jail, and then at work, so I have an alibi.”
Randy put the book into his own jacket pocket and took a close look at the spot where Mayflower’s head used to sit. The wound looked very fresh. “This was a recent kill.”
“So the only alibi I have is you and four guys with beaks. I’m cooked.”
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“I want to check something.”
Dale handed Randy his phone.
“What’s the number for Duxbury Elementary?”
“It’s in my contacts.”
Randy dialed.
“Hello, can I speak with Mr. Jenkins please? Mayflower Jenkins.”
“I’m sorry but he’s not here today. Can I take a message?”
“This is, uh, his brother calling.” Randy winked at Dale. “Do you know where he is? I’m desperate to reach him and he’s not at home. We’ve, uh, had a death in the family.”
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, he called in this morning and said he couldn’t make it in today to give his annual Thanksgiving talk to the kids. Said he had an urgent meeting with Dale Alden, one of the parents here at the school. In fact I’m looking at the Alden boy right now out the window. He’s wearing a turkey costume and he appears to be pretending to die in super slow motion. It’s really quite dramatic.”
“I see. Did Mayflower say anything else?”
“I believe he mentioned something about a sword. Oh yes, I remember now. Mr. Alden stole a very valuable sword, a collector’s item, from Dr. Jenkins, and he was going to get it back.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yep. Dr. Jenkins was very upset about it all. He said that Mr. Alden had been acting funny lately, and Mr. Jenkins was worried that Alden would use the sword for no good. I do hope this Alden character doesn’t give Mr. Jenkins a hard time.”
“Me neither. Thank you for your time.”
Randy hung up.
“What?” Dale asked. ”What did they say?”
“Mayflower didn’t go to the school today. He called in and said that you stole a sword from him and that he was going to go get it back from you.”
“What? Why the hell would he lie?”
“Maybe someone forced him to make the call. You’d say a lot of things if you had a sword to your throat.”
Dale’s eyes went wide. “The Assassins. They planted that sword on us. That’s what they were after. They didn’t want to kill me at all. They wanted to frame me for Mayflower’s murder. Just like they framed me for Gus! Give me the phone.”
“Who are you going to call?”
“The police. I’m reporting this. If they want to arrest me, so be it. I’ll take my chances with the criminal justice system.”
Randy held the phone back. “You’re a fool. The police will look for the simplest, most logical explanation. And right now that’s you, not mysterious enemy ninjas with beaks.”
“They don’t have witnesses, so it’s all just hearsay anyway. Give me the damn phone.”
“No. We need to get to the bottom of this Auwaog thing. It’s your only hope to seal the chaos crack.”
“Are you nuts? Look at what happened to the guy who started messing around with all this stuff in the first place. His head is in his lap, Randy! And the only reason why I’m still alive is because I don’t know anything about this Auwaog stuff. So I’ll keep my ignorance, thank you very much, and my head too.”
“I see.” Randy squinted his eyes and stroked his chin.
“So what you’re saying is that the pleasures of ignorance are as great, in their way, as the pleasures of knowledge?”
“You’re quoting someone. You know how I know? Because what you just said was intelligent, and you, are an imbecile.”
“It’s all right, Dale. I understand. You’re afraid to go through the looking glass. Well, have fun rotting in jail with the rest of the ignorant cowards in this country.” Randy turned and walked away.
Every man has a snapping point. For some, it lies after eighteen straight hours of relentless police interrogation. For Dale, that point lay just north of finding a turkey and an old man murdered in his backyard and a brother-in-law calling him a coward.
“Fine!”
Randy turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Fine what?”
Dale giggled unnvervingly. “Fine, lets get to the bottom of this.”
“Good man. Glad to have you back on the side of knowledge and reason and holy crap!”
Dale was holding Mayflower’s severed head up to his face by the hair. “I have an idea. Why don’t we just ask Mayflower himself? Problem solved! Hey! Wake up! Rise and shine, asshole! My dickhead brother-in-law here and I have a few questions for you. Question number one. What the hell did you get me mixed up in? Answer me! Answer me you son-of-a-bitch!”
There was a piercing shriek.
A few feet from them stood Judy Stitch. The color drained from her face as she stood frozen, gaping at the sight of a headless body leaning against the tree, a strange man holding a sword, and her neighbor—the man who lynched her reincarnated husband—holding a bloody, severed head and screaming at it.
Judy’s e
yes rolled back into her head and she passed out for the second time that day.
Dale, now out of his rage, dropped Mayflower’s head. He looked at the blood on his hand and then over at Judy on the ground. Randy in turn glanced the sword in his hand, and then down at Judy.
Randy cleared his throat. “You were saying something earlier about the police not having any witnesses?”
Just then the clouds unleashed their fury, and it began to pour.
Rain drops plunk my skull
The old headless man asks me,
“What does it feel like?”
3
The Horror of Harry and the Hendersons
A soaking wet Dale stared blankly at the neat rows of rolled boxers in his underwear drawer. They were by far the most colorful clothing he owned. And yet every day he hid them beneath dull brown pants. Maybe I should start wearing my boxers over my pants.
Dale was having troubling focusing. He should have been quickly packing the boxers instead of plotting their emancipation. But that was hard to do when his brain wasn’t around to help. It headed out to lunch just before he had grabbed the severed head.
Andie sat on the bed, chewing her nails.
“What should I do when Judy wakes up?” she asked.
“Stall her,” Dale said, still staring at his underwear. “We need as much time as possible to go through Mayflower’s research.”
Judy Stitch was still unconscious, sprawled out on the downstairs couch with her mouth hanging open. Randy sat in a chair opposite Judy, barely keeping an eye on her as he struggled to pull the ninja star out of the blowgun. He only managed to loosen the star slightly before he cut his finger. After hopping around saying “ouchy, ouchy, ouchy” for a bit, Randy decided to rethink his approach. He swung the blowgun wildly back and forth, hoping the star would fly off.
“But how?” Andie asked. “When Judy wakes up she’s going to freak out.”
Dale picked up a pair of boxers, sniffed them, and put them back. “You could scare the hell out of her the moment she wakes up. That might make her pass out again.”
After a mighty swing from Randy, the star finally came off the blowgun. It flew through the air and lodged into the wall, just barely missing Judy’s head by no more than an inch. Randy dropped the blowgun, took a few steps back, and then walked away whistling innocently.
“What am I supposed to do?” Andie asked, “Jump out from behind a plant and say boo?”
“No, no, no.” Dale shook his head. “You need to be hovering over her. A few inches from her face.” Dale got up in Andie’s face. “Then the moment she wakes up, the second her eyes open, scream your head off, wag your tongue like a perverted Uncle, and wave your hands around like a maniac. Like this. Ahhhhlalalala!”
Andie wiped Dale’s spit off her face. “That wasn’t scary. That was disgusting.”
“Like you could do any better.”
Andie turned her eyelids inside out, put her hands inside her mouth and stretched out her cheeks so wide that her entire set of teeth and gums showed like a skeleton’s. She then ran toward Dale screaming a high-pitched “Eeeeeyayayaya!”
Dale fumbled backward a few steps and caught himself on the dresser.
“Ha! See, you were totally scared.”
“That was…not bad. But I still think that Ahhhhlalalala! is much better.”
“It’s not even close. Eeeeeyayayaya! wins. Hands down.”
“Could you please put your eyelids back to normal.”
“Why? Scared?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing it’s just that, well, Ahhhhlalalala!”
“Eeeeeyayayaya!”
Randy came bursting into the bedroom, ninja star in hand, ready to save Dale and Andie from whatever evil forces were making them scream bloody murder. “What the hell is going on up here?”
Andie and Dale stopped screaming. Andie flipped her eyelids back down.
“A man is dead, and you two are playing children’s games? I thought you were being gutted by the beakmen.”
“We’re trying to figure out the best way to horrify Judy into a coma when she wakes up,” said Andie.
“Ah, I see. Good idea. Let’s see what you got so far.”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
“No, no, no, no.” Randy shook his head. “You’re going about it all wrong. True horror lies not in cheap gimmicks, but in the truth. Observe.”
Randy sprinted at Andie, grabbed her by the shoulders, and, staring deep into her soul with burning eyes, said, “Do you remember, growing up, how Mom and Dad always locked themselves in their bedroom to watch Harry and the Hendersons? How almost every night, Dad would turn to Mom with a sly grin and say, ‘How ‘bout some Harry and the Hendersons? And Mom would blush and say, ‘I’m game.’”
“Yes,” said Andie, “They loved that movie. They watched it practically every night before they went to bed. It was a bit obsessive, but so what? It’s a decent movie.”
“So what? So what is this. One dark night, a night I will never forget, I hid in their closet. I, too, wanted to watch. I wanted to see Harry the Bigfoot living in suburbia with Jonathan Lithgow and the touching shenanigans that ensued. I remember how excited I was. I wanted to shout out, ‘I can’t wait to see big, hairy, smelly old Harry!’ But when the lights went out, I saw no movie on the TV, Andie. Oh no. But I did see Harry. Live and in person. Harry…was Mom’s nickname…for Dad’s…penis. Which just happened to be monolithically huge.”
“No.”
“Yes. And the Hendersons showed up too.”
“Don’t,” Andie was squirming to get away from Randy. “Stop!”
“The Hendersons were Mom’s breasts, Andie. And they were only partially bald, if you catch my drift. Just like Jonathan Lithgow!
“No, no, no, no.”
“They would tuck us in, and while we dreamt of cupcakes and bubble gum, they would literally reenact the entire script of Harry and the Hendersons with Dad’s Sasquatch dick and Mom’s furry tits in the title roles!”
Andie collapsed to her knees. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Dale put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Honey. You probably should.”
“Now that, my friends,” Randy said, “is how you horrify someone into a coma. While Andie recovers, I suggest you and I, Dale, hit the road, post haste.”
“But I’m not done packing.”
“Good God man, there’s no time! As our undergarments become soiled we’ll simply shed them like snakeskin and purchase new ones. We must travel light. We have room for food and weapons only!”
“I just want to bring a few pairs of boxers, a change of pants, a second pair of shoes, and my toiletries.”
“Toiletries! Time is our enemy here, Dale. We need to shave minutes off wherever we can. And I’m sorry, but personal hygiene is going to have to be the first thing that gets cut. Which reminds me.” Randy pulled the book out of his pocket and tossed it at Andie, who just barely caught it before it hit her in the face. “While we’re gone I need you to check out that cookbook. It was in Mayflower’s pocket. Let me know if you find anything out of the ordinary. Anything that seems suspicious.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the wannabe chef in the family. The only recipes I read are the ones that say ‘heat on high for three to five minutes.’ Call us if you find anything. Are you ready, Dale? Or do you want to pack Dad’s painting while you’re at…”
Randy stared at Freedom From What? “What in the name of Saint Germaine is that?”
“What is what?” Dale asked.
“That. On Ferdue’s forehead.”
Dale helped Andie up and they joined Randy in front of the painting. They all leaned in to look closely at Hank Ferdue’s head.
“It’s nothing,” Andie said, “just a few forehead wrinkles.”
“Yeah, but look at the shape they�
��re in.” Randy held the ninja star upside down in front of Ferdue’s head. The wrinkles on the old man’s forehead matched the shape of the arrow star exactly.
“It’s just a coincidence,” Andie said.
“No.” Dale took a step back from the painting. “It isn’t. They all have it.”
The grandma holding the turkey platter had the same shape around her neck. It was a charm on her necklace. The grandfather was making the symbol with three of his fingers as they touched a carving knife on the table. The little girl had it in her hair as a brooch. An uncle had two of them, in the crow’s feet around his eyes. It was everywhere.
“It’s just a coincidence,” Andie said.
“No, it’s a message,” Randy argued. “There’s something going on in this painting. Dad was trying to tell us something.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe Dad got mixed up in this Auwaog business too. Maybe that’s why he’s missing.”
“An arrow is a very common shape,” Andie replied. “Maybe he didn’t even realize he was painting it over and over again.”
“Maybe they’re not arrows,” Randy said.
“What else could they be?”
“Turkey footprints,” said a frail woman’s voice from behind them.
Dale, Andie, and Randy turned around to see Judy Stitch standing in the doorway. Her eyes were glazed over.
“Careful,” said Randy, “She has that look in her eyes.”
Dale turned to him. “What look?”
“The look of a zombie.”
“They’re turkey footprints,” Judy repeated. “After it rains Gus marks up the yard with his filthy feet. Strutting back and forth, trying to get my attention with his cute little butt.” She tittered. “Oh Gus, you old devil. Where is Gus anyway? Gus? Gus?”
Judy’s eyes flickered as everything came rushing back. She pointed a shaking finger at Dale.
“You.”
“Me?”
“You evil, heartless monster. You villain. Murderer!”
“Wait” Dale extended a hand. “Now, Judy, calm down. I can explain everything. You see, there’s these ninjas. They have beaks.”
Judy ran to the window and frantically tried to pull it open as she shouted, “Police! Help! Heeeeeeelp! He’s going to hang me and chop my head off! Dale Alden is a murderer! A murderer and a pervert! Heeeeeeeelp!”