Ahead of Family Appetites

Chilling Secret Snacks

Unnoticed details have a price

Insatiable hunger drives the kill

Dread the undead with unending fright

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Rotting flesh and licorice scents greeted me this morning. The odd combination smell drew a lump of acid sting erupting up my throat. An orange aroma wafting through the air failed to mask the odor coating our home. The herbal candle in the window was too weak to cover my disgust. But, before the wretch came bubbling over my tongue, I noticed the mask sitting on my twin's toy cabinet.

The visage of Michael Myers stared at me. Strangely, the mask seemed full as if a head still inhabited the rubberized face. Fake spattered blood splashed around the mask’s surface giving it an authentic look.

“Girls, wake up. It’s time to get ready for school,” I said.

My morning wake-up detail is always tough the morning after Halloween. Ginny and Zara will be in a post candy haze. The twins love Dad to wake them up because I make it fun.

I lift the top mattress of their double bed and shake it then say, “Earthquake! Hurry, get up!” when they are slow to rise. But, this morning they don’t even budge when I shake their sleep.

The voice catches me like a crazy, graveled needle driving through my neck.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. They need a few more minutes of beauty rest.”

Spinning around to find the source, I see none. Did one of my girls utter those words? Then, I can’t help myself and resist the urge but look at the Michael Myers mask. I failed to see the black blood pooled around the base of the face the last time I glanced toward the mask.

The eyes glint with life. But, death is what I’m staring at.

Maybe I’m losing it, and my thought jumps out of my mouth, “Sure, the mask is talking to me. Batshit crazy…that’s what I am. Too many Halloween movies.”

“Not so crazy. Remember the candy you let the twins get from the bowl left outside the house with no lights except the candle on the porch. Special sauce in that candy, Pop.”

I watched the rubber mask shake and its lips move. A little pee ran down my leg but not enough to pool on the floor. Quickly, I turned to look at the twins, but they seemed intact, breathing, however, something about them looked strange.

“There’s been a change. The twins must feed.” Then the mask laughed a chortling eerie cackle.

Both girls' eyes stared up, but their 7-year-old skin looked pale, not the usual soft and warm brown they shared. They both began to make a throaty gargling screech before sitting up.

“We’re hungry, Daddy,” they said in unison. More pee ran down my leg soaking my sweatpants. The twins gave me an order rather than a request for breakfast.

Zara leaped out of bed and sank her teeth into my sweatpants but only got the wet fabric. Ginny came after me next, but I shook off the first bite attempt, ran out of the girl’s room, and slammed their door shut.

I heard the voice from the mask, “Daddy scared…ooooo…the twins need meat. Daddy makes a good meal or Daddy gets his girls something to eat.”

What the hell was in the mask? The thought my twins ate a kid up to its head and now instructed me how to handle the situation reminded me of the show Santa Clarita Diet.

I heard Ginny and Zara scream, “We're hungry!” as I held the handle of their doorknob in the firmest grip possible so they couldn’t get out of their room.

The idea I may become a meal for my two zombie daughters scared the piss out of me, literally.

I called out to Summer. She sleeps until late in the morning because she works overnight hours on a virtual platform configuring data for a tech company.

“Hun, need some help here!” No answer came. I shut our bedroom door so Summer wouldn’t be attacked.

The twins began to thump on their door, and Zara stuck her fist through the wood. Why she suddenly became super strong confused and shocked me. Weren’t zombies dead and therefore weak?

“Hun….hun…Summer…Help!”

Fortunately, my wife opened the bedroom door.

“Thank god…please get me the defrosted chicken from the fridge. I need it quick.”

Ginny began to rip through their door with strong kicks.

“Summer, I need that chicken now. Hurry up…”

Summer said, “Too bad you didn’t eat any candy last night, hun.”

I heard her then felt her teeth tear into my neck. The alarm shooting up my spine had no time to take root, but I listened to and detected my new family role take shape.

“Have your fill, girls. Daddy is the treat, and he’ll make a nice trick for us to pull in more meals next Halloween.”

The next morning I found myself, only a head, propped on the kitchen counter when the girls came in to eat breakfast.

“Hi, Dad,” Zara and then Ginny said to me.

“Think you could spare some fresh ears for me to snack on. I saw the guy you dragged in here last night.” My wife and twins are kind to me, and they promise to keep me ahead of rotting by feeding me every day.