I’m not sure if the story below is recounted in exact accuracy, or if it really happened at Thanksgiving or just some other meal, but my kids got a huge kick out of its retelling this year:
One year in the late seventies/early eighties we had diner at our house in Windsor with friends from the church. That house we had on Rochester Drive was one where the front door entered onto stairs heading up, to the second floor where most of the house was, and down to the ground floor. We had brought some tables from the church and put the “kids table” downstairs so the adults could eat at the dining room table in peace.
I guess we must have had a large mid-day feast and then spent the afternoon visiting because the moment that was forever engraved on my mind came later that evening, when we were all eating some leftovers for supper. We were talking around the table when a couple of girls mentioned a guy they had seen walking down the street.
“Did you see that guy in the fancy hat and cape out front earlier?”
“Yeah, he was weird. Do you know what he looked like?”
“Don’t say it.”
“What do you mean?”
Instantly we all screamed and made a mad dash up the stairs to the rest of the house.
For some reason, the last one out hit the lights.
We were halfway up the stairs when a blood-curdling scream came from within the darkness.
We had forgotten Jeff! He was small enough at the time that he had been pushed up to the table in a booster seat that was strapped to the chair. He couldn’t get up. He told me later that he had been chewing on a particularly large bite of Turkey when everyone bolted and he couldn’t yell for help with his mouth full. In his panic, he did some quick thinking… spat the wad out and screamed!
We found the wad of half-chewed turkey under the table the next morning.
SHORT FEATURE: STAR TREKKIN’
2 hours ago