Dessert at
Grandma's House
by Harriett
Fjaagesund
"No! I
don't wanna eat at Grandma's!" little
Anthony wailed as his father dragged him up the
front steps. "She told me on the phone we're
gonna have lady fingers. I don't want to eat
fingers; I want to go home, Mom won't make me eat
somebody's fingers!"
"For
goodness sake, they're not real fingers!"
his mother said. "It's just a name for a
sweet dessert. You're such a morbid child."
"Behave
yourself," his father warned. "I don't
want to see any rude behavior."
* *
* * *
"Who's
ready for dessert?" Grandma asked after the
remains of the turkey dinner had been cleared
away. "I have a fresh batch of
ladyfingers in the oven."
Little Anthony's
mother laughed. "Mom, you're not going to
believe this. Anthony thinks your ladyfingers are
real fingers."
"Eh? Is
that so?" Grandma said as she put on her
oven mitts. "It's good he has an active
imagination."
Thinking
furiously, Anthony excused himself to go to the
bathroom. "I'll say I can't eat any more
because I'm sick from eating too much turkey,"
he whispered as he dried his hands and left the
bathroom.
A strange
sound from the utility room caught his attention.
Realizing he hadn't seen his grandmother's tabby
cat, he opened the door and turned on the light.
"Dilly? Did you get locked in---"
A plump woman
tied to an overturned kitchen chair stared
sightlessly up at him, a large butcher knife
protruding from her chest. Her hands were bound
in front of her; all ten fingers had been neatly
chopped off.
Little Anthony
let out a screech and bolted from the room, down
the hallway, through the kitchen and out the
front door. His mother dropped her coffee cup in
her lap and let out a yelp. His father shouted at
him to behave himself.
Grandma
sprinkled powdered sugar over the ladyfingers and
reminded herself to lock the utility room in
future.
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