Sam Becker

Zoe Becker

Rietje Becker

Michael Becker

Jack Becker

Maddie HH

Emily Becker

Aleksandr Pevtsov

Nancy Becker

Richard Becker

Sampson Seraphim

Benjamin Chandler

English

The sky was overcast but the mood in the Goldberg household was bright and warm. All the traditions and rituals were being dutifully followed except for one which was being radically reimagined by the black sheep of the family.

He wasn’t like the other kids. While his friends chased squirrels behind the barn, like normal boys, he was busy gluing googly eyes onto inanimate objects around his home, for reasons he couldn’t articulate. Now he’d put his skills to good use this Thanksgiving.

That day he went to the grocery store, bought five pumpkins, two squash and ten lemons. The shopkeeper asked him if he had a special recipe in mind. He smiled knowing he did- a recipe for deceit. When he got home he took out the googly eyes and applied them to his purchases.

This required care and imagination. His gourd-family dream was finally materializing, and he didn’t want to rush anything.

And so, with a delicata squash in one hand and a decorative pumpkin in the other, the eldest Goldberg crept to the kitchen sink eager to try her hand at the family’s namesake recipe. Out of her gourd she’d awoken and to that state she’d return, knife in hand, passion in heart.

Cackling wildly, she attacked the gourds, slashing and scooping their tender innards. To this monstrous mash, she added the secret ingredient: googly eyes. Then, murmuring softly to herself an ancient incantation, she waited.

And then, ever so slowly, a hologram began to shimmer in the starlight. She questioned if the quivering hairs of a sloth were just in her imagination. Was this too good to be true?

The sloth, in all of its glory with Steve Buscemi-like googly eyes was staring at her. She swallowed her pride and slowly approached him. Was he a friend or foe? There was only one way to find out…

She extended her arm, not knowing what to expect - would he bare his teeth and snarl and charge or slither across and hang peacefully by his tail? Her calming demeanor made all the difference. Not only did he amble over - but his 5 offspring followed suit

The six of them—dad and his she-pups—gathered at her feet. Thankfully, they seemed contented. But slowly, their sweet calm melted, yielding to terrifying growls, as if to say “What have you done with our dear mother ?” If they learned the sordid truth, this could turn violent.

Suddenly, their questions were answered. From the upstairs bedroom came a startling sound; first there was a wooden thud, then the sound of sand pouring down the staircase. The group’s terror turned into disbelief when they realized it wasn’t sand but the burnt ashes of Lucy.

The Gourdbergs

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Sasha Pevtsov

The Lazarus Motel had remained in the family for three generations. While its looks had faded, it was impeccably clean and often full. Sarah Lazarus, the newest full-time manager, had only just turned off the blue NO VACANCY sign when a beat up minivan drove in from the snow.

She did a double take. The minivan looked eerily familiar. The broken left hubcap. The right headlight that was dimmer than the rest. The fuzzy purple dice that hung off the mirror. It was unmistakable. But what was it doing at her hotel, at this hour?

Her cousin had always had questionable taste, but Doreen was the worst of of his never-ending collection of ladyfriends. Her minivan could only mean one thing-her cousin had returned. And was likely looking to talk to her about what happened the night he left town.

He tore out of town under a cloud leaving a twisted trail of clues of the evening’s indiscretions in her van — the tangle of jumper cables, the suspicious carpet stain in the payload, crumbled Ring-Ding wrappings, the deep claw marks. This man was doubtless cursed with demons.

And clearly, one of those demons materialized - how that mama bear found her way into the minivan was anyone’s guess. The previous occupant’s shenanigans culminated with a frantic free for all! Thank God no one got hurt.

And who would have guessed that a thousand pound grizzly bear would be so proficient at parallel parking a minivan ?

He was very happy to be down to a thousand pounds. He has been doing paleo and working out, to drop his weight from two thousand pounds. He is proud of his achievements, without that dedication he would have never been able to fit into the minivan.

But fit in the minivan he did. Cristobal the domesticated hippo was firmly strapped in beside his surrogate mother Connie and on their way to Six Flags for his third birthday when the memory of his real mother flashed before his eyes

She was a fat, lumpy vision of a hippo, with the biggest heart in the savannah. One minute she was wallowing in a mud flat; the next she was flat on her back, tranquilized by a team of animal control officers who considered her habit of snacking on wildlife photographers a crime!

She woke up in a twin bed in a familiar yet depressing room. The walls were beige and the art was nondescript. Her hippo body felt different, and she looked down to find hairy human legs. She rolled over in bed to read the stationery sitting beside her: “The Lazarus Motel.”

A Hippo Happening

Sean King

Ask any kid in town and they’ll tell you McDougall Mansion is the spookiest house in the neighborhood. They’ll also tell you that all its original inhabitants perished mere weeks after moving in, having drowned, allegedly, in a boating accident on the pond bordering the property.

Each year, on All Hallows Eve, neighbors would report screams and mysterious activity. Often times one would see shadows where they do not belong, or watery foot prints on the wooden floors. All this was news to the Smiths, the latest home buyers.

But one Sunday morning little Katie Smith stepped out of bed and her little bare feet tip-tapped on the creaky wooden floor. She was careful to not wake her parents. She went to wake up her brother, but instead of finding him in bed, she discovered a surly raccoon in his place.

A squeaky voice emerged from the bassinet. “Don’t be afraid, Katie. It’s me, Louis.” Katie jumped back with alarm. A talking raccoon? What happened to her baby brother? This creepy old house was to blame, she was sure of it.

To Katie’s surprise, the creepy old house was NOT to blame. The voices were literally in her head, for she hadn’t slept in 48 hours. She was busy researching her old Highland Park High School classmates on LinkedIn, letting out a scoff of superiority at every bartender she saw.

Katie’s graphic design career gave her the freedom to attend a bar without working there but her current client angst has kept her up for two days now - that and the nonstop activity of her McDougall Mansion co-inhabitants

Katie has been up for 2 days because every time she closed her eyes she would see the McDougall Mansion apparition. She was a scientific woman, however the haunted mansion occupied her mind. Was it a demon? Ghost? Spirit? Aliens? There was only one way to find out...

Immediately Katie hit the interwebs to suss out Fact vs Fiction. A series of QAnon forums seemed to put it all into focus. It would seem the apparition was nothing more than a deep state surveillance bot meant to suppress freedom of thought. Or was it?

It was. Comforted, Katie snapped her laptop shut and climbed into bed. Her eyes fluttered as she fell into a deep slumber. Outside, in the depths of the night, the raccoons were watching and waiting. They were hungry.

And while Katie dreamt of Dove bars and rainbow unicorns, the dozen intermittently-fasting carnivorous nocturnals conspired to break their morning fast in an unseemly, yes grisly, way. But as day breaks, she backs her SUV out the driveway and reduces them to furry pancakes.

Raccoon Lagoon

The crew set down their bikes and slowly inched toward the fence, each kid wanting to be furthest behind. Once close enough, what they saw was exactly what they were expecting. Tied to the fence was a doll, the size of a toddler, with a grimacing pumpkin in place of its head.

The crew recoiled in shock and horror at this hideous Halloween-themed nightmare with its bulbous pumpkin head and all—then things worsened as they glanced to its ill-formed extremities. I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say at least three of them needed fresh underwear.

On the way to the car, where they keep their spare underpants, they couldn’t help but feel as though the creature’s eyes were still upon them. Daring them to look back. Marvin instinctively turned around and screamed. His body tensed and grew hairier than it had ever been.

At first, Marvin's hair follicles simply proliferated to parts of his body that had previously been bare. But once uniform coverage took place, the color changed from brown to vibrant polychrome. At once, the predator, with fear in their eye, retreated meekly into the shadows.

The predator, a once proud and brave, was now having a receding of his hairline and now he truly was bald eagle. He was mesmerized and felt vulnerable when he saw the beautiful locks on Marvins body. Does he shampoo? Condition? Both? So many questions ran through his head...

Meanwhile, Marvin was paying no attention whatsoever to the forlorn, balding figure admiring his plumage from afar. He was too busy worrying about his own insecurities, foremost among which was his bizarre fixation on his inability to lay an egg. Oh, how he wanted to lay an egg!

Marvin, unlike his famous father Horton, couldn't lay an egg but Esmerelda, the aforementioned forlorn, balding figure, was to become his savior. Together, the two lovesick Emu's were about to lay, not one egg, but twelve!

12 emu chicks. Infinite possibilities. What would this new life look like for them?

Before they could embark on this new journey, they looked back to survey what remained of their old life: a chicken carcass, a shoe, some half eaten tuna salad — just as one would expect from reading this story. As they were about to turn away, a glimmer caught their eye.

A silvery fish removed itself from a nearby stream and was scooting its way toward the pair. “You wouldn’t leave without a dip first, no?” So, the couple, seeing no alternative, followed this curious fish back to its home, and joined him in the watery depths.

Shorn of Plenty

Mildred rolled over in bed just enough to read the digital alarm clock sitting on her nightstand. When she saw how late it was she slowly rolled to her other side and began putting on a fluffy pair of slippers adorned with goat heads. The bed groaned under her significant weight.

With her feet well-slippered, Mildred shuffled her large figure into the bathroom, where she began her morning routine. She pulled out her face paints, and got to work.

She applied her emerald eye shadow with a heavy hand. It was the look she preferred. ‘Battle paint’ she thought, as she got up and walked to the closet. Mildred was not a slight woman, finding the right outfit each day gave her agita. Not today, she thought, with a smile.

In one swift movement, she picked up the furry costume and heaved it over her body. She glanced back to the mirror, proud of what she had become and almost too excited to look. Finally Mildred felt free. Free to leave her human body and assume that of her true self: ALF.

It was a hot and muggy June afternoon, perhaps not the best timing to be riding a bike wearing an ALF costume, but that was no matter. She had a job interview to make, and this was not one she was going to screw up.

ALF costume was a terrible choice in hot and muggy Mississippi heat. She had drops of sweat dripping from her brow and upper lip. She could taste it, but she could also taste the job. It was victorious triumph that she was after... if only her boss was ok with sweaty employees.

Being the Extraterrestrial Mascot of the Mississippi Melmacs was a dream come true! The much maligned sweat came with the territory. She was ready to show everyone her true talents. Ready or not - it was her chance to take center stage.

There was just one little problem: the costume didn't fit. The tentacles engulfed her limbs; the antennae flopped comically into her eyes. Every time she tried to launch into the signature Melmac Shuffle, she found herself careening head over heels -- antennae over tentacles.

But all was not lost. Her baby sister Kelsey was in the audience, enrapt by the mysterious movements of her big sister, following along with her own smaller limbs in the darkness of the auditorium and its plush, oversized seats. In time, she would become a dancer herself.

Fast forward 10 years—in that very same theater—Kelsey stands astride the proscenium, awaiting her entry cue. She rearranges her fur boa, adjusts her skimpy bodice and begins swaying to the music’s rhythm. Now, the scantily clad chorus line parts for Kelsey’s maiden performance.

Dressed to Impress

Zachary DuFrain

Winds whistled through the pines as Fannie and her Alaskan huskies made their way to town from the wooded, remote outskirts where they dwelled. Fannie didn’t care much for “the city,” as she called it, but today she and her curmudgeonly canines were making an exception.

Life in the woods can be a solitary one. Fannie, having lived alone for many years, had begun to see her huskies as her babies, and thus had developed a delusion that she needed to provide them with diapers. Bundled for the cold, the group trekked into town.

In town people glared when she brought her huskies into the bathroom and put the dogs on the changing table. It didn’t face Fannie, she went about her business and could care less that people were judging her that the diapers had a whole for the tale.

What they couldn't know was that these poor dogs were suffering from Pancreatitis - and boy, I was not going to spend another weekend scrubbing down my house! They make diapers for animals for a reason.

In the world of dog diapers, none are more fashion-forward than P&G "Crap-No-More" with fast-release straps for quick cleanups. Once those dogs are fully loin-clothed, there'll be no more need for those tiresome morning & evening walks! What will you do with all that free time?

The advertising was compelling, and showed a smiling miniature schnauzer wearing the undergarment, while coyly looking at the viewer. Such a confident pet, they thought. A quick purchase later and the products were on the way. The end (or is it?)

Absorbed

Jared woke to the gentle sound of soft thuds on his roof. He stumbled out of bed, roused his cat Jinkies, and went to look out from his kitchen to see where the noise could be coming from. Before he could open his window a pineapple came shooting towards him.

A shocked Jared followed the line of trajectory to his driveway. An unruly Jinkies squinted at the perpetrators. Unbeknownst to Jared, Jinkies had begun a violent vendetta with the Amazon Prime delivery men. Clearly, they'd taken things to the next level. The cat was prepared.

But little did jinkies know that the delivery man, mortally allergic to felines of all stripes, had barbiturate-laden Fancy Feast at the ready. Removing the tin container from his pocket and placing it before the heretofore frenzied feline, a calm descended over Jinkies’ manner.

As the spiked food took effect, Jinxies experienced hallucinations. Being a cat it mostly involved prancing through fields of catnip and a lengthy milk bath. When he awoke the delivery man was gone and left behind a gift box. It had a tag that said “open me at midnight.”

He should have known that opening the package at midnight would be opening up a whole can of worms. Literally. The can of worms was rusty and appeared decades old, and yet the worms were alive and well, and squirmed their way out of the can, up the staircase to the bedroom.

In the bedrooms bathroom an old man decided to take a bath, he had a long day. As he was dozing off, he felt something wiggle around his toes. He didn’t realize what it was, but he was lonely and he welcomes the contact, whether it’s human or an annelida.

Clearly dozing in the tub can create a real tragedy, so the old man was very thankful that his grandson’s Sea serpent was still floating towards the drain - another minute of slumber could have cost him his life

With seconds to spare, he plucked Cecil from his spiraling path down the house sewer. The traumatized sea animal looked up gratefully at the old man and the message was clear: “don’t ever again force me to play with your abusive ill-tempered grandchildren”

Pineapple of My Eye

Ben Syverson

Everyone piled into the car and took out their personal items. Seat buckles clicked. Snacks crinkled. A destination was set: Door County. An epic trip began unceremoniously.

The smell of cherries signaled their arrival. Door County has a way of making each trip feel like your first. The children piled out of the car.

But it looked like in child was missing. Where once had been a gaggle of babies was now only a trio with no trace of Icarus but melted fudge in the cup holder.

The fudge oozed out of the cup holder, small feathers on top like sprinkles on a sundae. Icarus was nowhere to be seen. The air was filled with an eery smoky scent. It was clear who was to blame. Madame Le Blazé.

She was the kind of woman who inspired fear — among hardened criminals sentenced to life. And this Madam knew her way around the kitchen. Her culinary skills were renown for bringing a man to their knees, writhing in pain.

But little did they know that she was hiding a dark secret. After cooking her elaborate dinners, she would take the leftovers up to her bathroom and fill the tub with all sorts of half eaten foods and meats, and bathe for hours, inhaling their intense aromas

Once done with her food pleasure bath, she put on her best outfit- dress, floppy hat, and cowboy boots to go out into town. However, the elaborate dinner was poisoned! She started having explosive diarrhea...and she pondered who would do this to her.

Her husband? Her children? Her co-workers? Needless to say - none of these options gave her any pleasure. Next step? Conceal the mischief done to her body and emerge the victor - adding a pink boa and a sparkling diamond tiara to that same favorite outfit!

A Baby and Some Bath Water

Giovanna BK

Kara S

Waffles for breakfast were always a portender of something sinister.

Sheila had a thing for diners. All it took was one garish, art deco facade and she would cross three lanes of highway traffic to make the exit. It was exactly these circumstances that landed Sheila at Ricki's Roadside Cafe the morning she was to sign her divorce papers.

If the shapely Sheila had grasped how this particular diner experience was to violently upturn her life, she would have bolted in the opposite direction. Instead, she exited her Tiguan, clicked her fob (an extra click for good luck) and grabbed her not-yet-final divorce papers.

She walked into the streamlined chrome restaurant, looking for her former lover and current employer. Not seeing this person, she sat in the nearest booth and started perusing the menu. That's when it struck her that she was the only person in the silent diner.

Stranger still, the seat next to hers was still warm. She shifted her eyes slowly from the diner menu, and regarded the wet spoon to her left, still dripping from coffee. Where had they all gone? And why did she have a feeling they'd soon be coming back?

The vestiges of the first course haunted her for the remainder of the meal. She left the diner feeling confused but satisfied. As she passed the storefronts nearby, the reflections in the windows seemed to shift and wink.

A Strange Kind Of Nourishment

“Ever been to a pig smash before?” the hobo said. “Like cockfighting but with swine.” Mabel nodded while looking down at her yellow shoes. She had learned so many things since leaving home but that didn’t prevent her from occasionally feeling fearful.

As they lumbered into the stalled train car, amid the hay bales and rusted tractor parts, Mabel’s thoughts drifted, not for the first time that afternoon, back to the home she left behind. She turned to the hobo, and asked what she’d wondered since they first met that morning.

“Whats an emotionally unavailable yet attractive hobo like you doing in a place like this?”...Oh wait, Mabel internally conjectured — hobos are known for frequenting hay-strewn abandoned rail cars. But then she was startled by a hideous animal sound coming from the next car. 

Turns out the hobo brought his mother, who clearly thought she was an animal of some sort. Mental issues are prevalent in homeless encampments, she remembered. “Gggrrrgghhh woof woof” the mother screamed! 

The hobo's mother crawled toward the center of the encampment on all fours, pausing occasionally to itch fleas from her collar. The hobo, not far behind, held a homemade leash with both hands. Just before they reached the middle the hobo gave a soft tug and said, "please rise."

The dog woman slowly ascended to her feet, and the camp was silent. Everyone gawked in astonishment as she began her sermon with a perfectly eloquent “Bark-bark barking bark.”

Which immediately caused every cat in the camp to perk up and pay attention. They began “mew-mewing” one to the other, scandalized and agitated by this rude she-canine’s outrageous feline-mongering. Eventually they could stand it no more and rushed forward en masse.

Claws flew everywhere. After what seemed like forever, the cats settled down and left a bloody heap in the middle. Luckily there was good medical support at the encampment. Freddy “doc” Murphy was a retired, or perhaps disgruntled, former vet who tended to the wounds.

Murphy had his work cut out for him. What possessed these otherwise normal humans to battle each other as canines he would never know—he was a vet after all, not a psychologist. When he got to the hobo’s mother he gasped. Under her left paw was a mark, mysterious yet familiar.

“The glorious tribe of caninus hobus...” Murphy whispered, more to himself than to the dog woman. The mark was undeniable, and it was undeniably on her paw. “Could it be? But they’re extinct.”

"Yes, but if they're extinct, what could possibly explain this heinous twelve-inch gash. If I were a betting man, I'd say this is a DNA-rearrangement operation that went off the tracks. If we're not careful, we'll all soon be looking down the maw of this voracious meat-eater"

He paused dramatically, looked at the crowd that had since gathered and walked away. This would have been an impressive observation had he not stumbled over an old campfire and fallen face-first into an old pile of garbage. The crowd dispersed and mystery was never fully solved.

Caninus Hobus

It was 6pm before the fog settled in over Petenwell Lake, one of Wisconsin's 15,000 bodies of water. The deserted cabin was devoid of people but full of outdated magazines and fast food wrappers. In the distance one could hear a freight train whistle.

With a squeak, the backdoor creaks ajar, and a damp night wind seeps into the kitchen. Moonlight illuminates the way as Steve peeks around the door, questioning whether he should enter.  

He tentatively nudges the screen door forward, immediately struck by a stench— a gag-inducing mix of Cuervo Gold, pizza, weed and Old Spice. Apparently a hazing ceremony had ended just hours earlier and he discerns shapely shadows of drunk coeds strewn on the sticky floor.  

“You hungry?” One of the coeds asks him with a foggy look on his face. A sloppy half slice of pizza sits on the table. “No thanks, man.” The idea almost makes him retch. The group seems surprised to see him there. Not sure why, he was an invited guests after all.

The whole room stared at him with suspicion. To cut the tension he picked up one of the pizza scraps and ate it with a forced smile. He swallowed the greasy morsel, doing all he could not to throw it up. “It’s nice to see you all again,” he lied. “It’s been what, fifteen years?”

High school reunions could be awkward, but this was painful. You’d think after all those years, and with them all being dead anyway, he’d have an easier time. 

Yet their heinous and freakish deaths only heightened his sense of pain. When industrial-scaled cheese graters act up, the human carnage becomes ghoulish grist for social media. And that pain exacts a price. 

Richard Becker
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