The Thing! - Part One

My older brother hates scary movies. He curls up in a ball and half hides from them under the security of a warm blankie. They give him nightmares for weeks. None of this stops him from watching them though. He has a strange addiction.

The other day a scary trailer played before our movie at the theater. He leaned over to me and shuddered. "Not going to watch that one!"

I laughed. I knew he probably would. He'd also drag someone else along to share in the terror as though companionship actually helps him. It doesn't.

That's just the way he is.

I worked at a grocery store while in high school. I would often come home after a late shift bagging and chasing carts around the parking lot and find some member of my family hanging out downstairs, watching tv. One week a channel had a monster movie marathon. I came home day after day to find my older brother balled up on the couch with a blanket just under his nose.

Yes, we did have a huge ugly green sectional and a large wooden entertainment center. My brother often claimed the corner as the blue light of horror washed over him. He would look up when I walked in, pat the couch next to him, and mutter something through his fluffy shield. "Watch. Scary. Sit. Watch."

I would usually sigh, then sit, and watch the rest of whatever nightmare fuel happened to be on.

I've mentioned before that few things scare me and that I like to scare others. Movies just make me laugh. This evening my brother had elected The Thing as his drug of choice. It wasn't that scary, but it did have this crazy scene where an alien in the form of a dog assimilates several other dogs. One of the actors turns a flamethrower on the creature and you can imagine the mess. Not pretty and horrifying in a not so scary way.

The movie ended and my brother remained near comatose behind his blankie, shivering, twitching, and muttering to himself.

"Shouldn't have watched that. Not gonna sleep. Icky dog thing."

I stood up and turned on the light. The switch sat right next to the entertainment center and a dark hallway. Now, I can count on my fingers the number of times I have been scared enough to jump. This is one of them...in slow motion for your entertainment.

I did not kick the kitty, so you know. That is me half jumping away.

I know. Not that scary. In my defence that was not our kitty! It could have been some mutant from outer space intent on assimilating me and using my husk as a disguise while spreading its invasive self around the globe. You don't know!

And what is wrong with my brother? Who yells "kitty" like the zombiepocalypse has begun and I happen to be standing right next to a mindless biting corpse? I didn't even understand him. My ears could not decipher the terrifying scream. My reality blurred into sudden light, blinking, a horrible noise issuing from my brother's mouth, pointing, some unknown black thing moving inches from my leg, recoiling from the evil beast before it could consume my soul. So, yeah, I jumped. Do you blame me?

The poor kitty ran for it, probably more confused and terrified than any of us.

My brother laughed at me. At me! I started plotting my revenge right then...and my revenge would be epic, dear brother, epic! You shall see! You shall wade in the epicness of my revenge! But that will be next week's post.

Never gobble at a turkey!

I went on a little road trip with one of my older sisters when I was a teenager. I don't remember exactly what the trip was about. I think it was Christmas and my sister didn't want to travel alone. What I do remember is we stopped at a little house in the middle of nowhere. Next to the middle of nowhere sat a turkey farm.

Turkey farms tend to loose turkeys sometime so it is normal to see one wandering around anytime you happen to be close to a turkey farm. My sister and I were walking out to the car when I spotted one.

Needless to say I was excited to see the turkey. I'd never seen a turkey up close before...at least not without involving mashed potatoes and gravy. Forget about stuffing.

No, I don't eat stuffing. I have enough issues with wet bread. Must be some childhood trauma. The bread puffing as it absorbs water like a sponge, except it isn't a sponge and doesn't hold its shape, squishing to paste when you touch it.

Why would you put that in your mouth? What is wrong with you people? Eeeeeeeeww!! Let's not even get into the depths of wrongitude once you decide to stick this crime against nature into the innards of a massive bird. Just not right.

Anyhow, where was I? Oh yeah. Turkey up close. I got excited. You know, when it tickles deep down in your stomach and then ripples out in waves. I jumped up and down and waved at the turkey and then I started to gobble.

Something you should know about me is I make animal noises. Not the usual "a cow says moo, a dog says woof" noises. I confuse dogs when I bark. I have made a goat's tail wag with my goat impression. I have scared the snot out of many a person with my velociraptor (you have to see it to truly understand). When I gobbled, it was pretty close to a real turkey.

The face I make in order to do the gobble justice is a little embarrassing, but it is the only way to make the sound right.

Problem is I don't really speak turkey. So I tried very hard to be happy and nice and say something along the lines of this:



Now, I don't know if I got the words wrong or if, since it was Christmas, the turkey was extra sensitive, but the stupid bird reacted as though I had said something more along the lines of this:

The turkey had been casually strolling along the side of the road, but as soon as I started gobbling it turned to look at me and a transformation took place. The cute little turkey I had initially seen...



Turned into a monstrous turkey demon. It stood up tall and I swear it was almost as tall as I was. My gobbling ceased abruptly as the nightmare stomped its way toward us, gobbling like no turkey has ever gobbled before. The sound still haunts me.

My sister started yelling, "What did you do?! Get in the car! Go! Oh crap! Get in the car!"

It was like something from a horror movie. The handle slippery and sticking in the cold air, my hand shaking. Time slowed down and you could hear the gobble deepen and stretch out like when lovers run towards each other in movies, except this was no romantic comedy. Death spoke to us in that gobble.

Finally I pried the door open and we both got in, but the beast kept coming. My sister got the car running and we sped away, kicking up snow and leaving the red eyes of the grim reaper behind. I still gobble and I still gobble at turkeys, but only if they are more than 30 yards away.