Turkey Leg

A Black Friday

Frain always bragged about grilling the Thanksgiving turkey, so I let him. It’s great irony that he had a hand in his own death. Well, a leg in this case.

Thanksgiving is dreadful. What’s new?

Or maybe it’s just that I’m excited about the weekend following Thanksgiving. I’ve turned the freezer down. Or is it up? Whatever colder is, that’s what I turned it. Freeze the turkey leg.

He drinks all day Friday, celebrating his success that Thanksgiving went well. Whatever. Passes out on the sofa. I pull the turkey leg from the freezer. Solid as a hockey puck.

I’ve studied the exact spot to hit him. At the library, not on my own computer. I’m not stupid. As he snores – God, I won’t miss that! – I wind up and bang the drumstick into his spleen. Twice for good measure.Β The snoring stops. So does his pulse.

When the investigator pays me a visit on the second day, I’m eating. I offer him some of my turkey. Together, we devour the murder weapon.



31 thoughts on “Turkey Leg

      1. Haha! Feels good to be hanging out in Hitchcock’s neighborhood. Although I’m pretty sure he probably handled it better than I did. And isn’t Barbara Bel Geddes a cool name!


    1. I love Roald Dahl. He’s a genius. I gotta get back to your story, is in but I’m still a couple days away from wifi. Can’t go blog hopping on my phone. My eyes would kill me. And that already been done this month.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thanks Natalie. It’s difficult to keep track of all the different blogs taking part. Hope you get the chance to catch up on my story πŸ™‚


  1. Bonus, Frain never has to deal with Thanksgiving ever again (Black Friday is, in my opinion, the worst day of every year)! At least until his next resurrection.

    Phillip | T is for Teeth


  2. Well it’s been a long day, but now I’m here reading about your recent death. Such a fitting end to a Monday.

    Can’t wait until May when I get to start killing you. It’s not fair your wife gets to have all the fun.


    1. I couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying my demise so much as her, but now I’m reading between your lines Dena, and I’m starting to worry. On the other hand, it’s hard to kill a dead man.


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