Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.
My name is Jason Prescott and my story starts on an ordinary day, doing ordinary things. Isn’t that how these stories always start?
My wife Lacy and I decided to spend our Saturday afternoon checking out local antique stores. Lacy found a beautiful table. It was large, made of sold oak, and exquisite looking. The price tag said the table was marked down to ten dollars; however, it was easily worth a hundred times that amount.
That probably should have been a clue that something was wrong. In our excitement, we didn’t even think about that and bought the table on the spot.
We put the table in our dinning room and went to bed. I kept hearing strange noises throughout the night. It sounded like wind sweeping through tree leaves. I checked all the windows to make sure they were closed and then I went back to bed.
In the morning, I went into the dinning room and found our new table was covered in a red sticky substance. I asked my wife about it and she was just as flabbergasted as I was.
We cleaned the table and took the dirty rags to the laundry room. When we returned our table was once again covered in red sticky stuff and a man was standing next to it.
This was no ordinary man. I could see right through him, so I figured he had to be a ghost. His eyes were evil and when he opened his mouth, blood came pouring out of it.
We both screamed and rushed out of the house.
I went to the antique store and asked the owner about the table. At first she tried to ignore me and kept saying she didn’t accept returns. Finally, I got in her face and yelled, “What are you not telling me!”
She looked down in shame and said the table belonged to Frank Stein. Frank was a serial killer that used to cook his victims and serve them to his unsuspecting friends on that table. He was executed just a few weeks ago.
I was sickened by the very thought of what Frank had done. I started trembling with fear. My wife was home alone with the ghost of a cannibal.
I jumped in my car and flew home. I was speeding out of control and ran every stop sign along the way. I had to get back as soon as possible.
Part of me was thinking, “This is crazy. There is no such thing as ghosts. What could a ghost do anyway?” I also know what I saw in my dinning room. I know Frank Stein is in my house and just as evil now as he was when he was alive.
I entered the house and called out to my wife several times, but she didn’t answer. I approached the dinning room door, I was filled with so much fear my body reacted by vomiting on the floor. My head was spinning and I felt like I was about to faint.
I slowly raised my hand and opened the door. There was my wife dead on the table and Frank Stein was standing over her with a fork and a knife. Frank looked at me with an evil grin. His eyes blazed red and blood was dripping from his mouth.
I screamed and started running toward the front door. It felt like my legs were made of rubber. I could feel Frank’s breath on the back of my neck and it smelled rotten. Somehow, I made it out the door and collapsed in the yard.
Frank stood at the window and started laughing.
I went to the garage and grabbed several cans of gasoline. I poured the gas all around the house and set it on fire. It may seem drastic, but I wanted to destroy Frank and everything he touched in the house.
The fire department and the police arrived on the scene. I was questioned extensively, of course no one believed my story.
I was convicted of murdering my wife and sentenced to spend the remainder of my life in the Shelly Psychiatric Center for the Criminally Insane.
My only comfort is knowing I severed Frank Stein’s tie to this world and he can never harm another person.
I watched the first season of Santa Clarita Diet on Netflix and loved the show.
The main character is a wife and mother that somehow manages to become a zombie or as they say in the show “undead.” This causes a great deal of stress on the family and leads to some rather humorous situations.
The one thing I really liked about the show, is how the family stuck together no matter what happened. They supported each other and refused to allow a little thing (like a zombie in the house) destroy their family unit. I really like that concept.
Growing up I looked forward to achieving certain milestones, because it meant I was entering adulthood. It seemed like it would take forever for me to get a driver’s license, finish high school, and get my own car. I counted down the years for what seemed like eternity.
However, I achieved those milestones about thirty years ago. It boggles my mind how much time has passed. I am now watching my niece become an adult and she too has achieved those milestones.
It just doesn’t feel right. It seems strange somehow. Do you know what I mean?