Fiction, Horror, Comedy
4 min
Turkey Apocalypse
Kelly Ta
Year Two, The Day Before Thanksgiving, 5:01 PM
[The audio crackles to life, the sound of clattering dishes and faint footsteps is in the background.]
"Ugh... Is this thing on?"
[A sharp thud. More static. Frustrated groan]
"Wait, wait, this thing is on. Great. I'm such an idiot. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Uhm, hi. My name is Rue Roslyn, and if you're listening to this, I'm the one who wrote that ridiculous survival guide. You know, the one about turkeys."
"Yeah. That's me. The Queen Turkey Slayer or whatever people are calling me now. I know the title is pretty cool but I never asked for it. I mean I am glad I am part of history, after all, I didn't just survive all that feathered madness for nothing."
"Anyway, I'm not here to ramble about my guide or my fame. This is about something giving you knowledge of what happened... I want to give you the recording I made on Day 1. The day this feathered nightmare began."
"Back then, I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know what we were up against or how much we'd lose. But now? Now I know too much. So, listen closely, because this is how it all started. This is the recording from Day 1. You'll need to hear it."
[The sound of a tape rewinding fills the silence for a few moments. A faint click signals the start of another recording.]
Year One, Day One, Thanksgiving, 6:30 pm
[The sound of hurried footsteps, muffled shouting, and the faint gobble of turkeys can be heard in the background. A voice is shaky but determined, clearly trying to hold it together.]
"Okay, Rue Roslyn here. It's Thanksgiving afternoon. I... I don't even know where to start. Things escalated fast, and when I say fast, I mean faster than Uncle Bob downs eggnog."
"Right... It happened an hour ago around 5 o'clock. It was the first turkey attack—yeah, attack. I could've sworn we were still in the ‘holiday dinner prep' zone, you know? One minute, I was setting the table, dreaming of mashed potatoes and gravy, and the next? Turkeys were coming through the door like it was Black Friday at a discount store.
"Okay, okay, wait, I am going to lay it out for you guys because of course this will be documented. I mean, someone needs to document what's happening. If this is the end of humanity as we know it, at least there'll be a record.
"It all started about an hour ago. I was setting the table—being the responsible one, as always—while everyone else argued over who got the turkey leg this year. Little did we know, the turkey leg would be the least of our problems.
"Grandma Joe was in the kitchen, humming and basting the bird, when I heard it. A weird tapping sound at the window. Like someone knocking—except it wasn't someone.
"I peeked over, expecting to see a squirrel or a branch in the wind, but nope. It was a turkey. A big one. And it wasn't alone. There were three of them, all lined up on the porch, staring inside like they owned the place.
"‘It's just a couple of dumb birds,' Uncle Bob said when I pointed it out. He waved them off like they were Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts kids trying to sell him cookies. But when he opened the door—big mistake—they rushed in. I'm talking full-on, feathered assault mode.
"The first one went for the mashed potatoes. The second? It flapped straight into the ceiling fan, scattering feathers everywhere. And the third? Oh, that one was on a mission. It locked eyes with Uncle Bob and let out the most bone-chilling gobble I've ever heard. I swear, I saw Uncle Bob's life flash before his eyes.
"Anyway, so after we managed to get the turkeys back outside—barely—I figured we could breathe. Wrong. We had maybe two minutes of peace before they started rallying outside the windows. Like, I could see them, all puffed up, just... watching us... with their glinting red beady eyes. And that's when it clicked: We're screwed.
"I mean it wasn't just us, the entire neighborhood was under siege. Turkeys in the streets, turkeys on rooftops, turkeys... climbing fences? Seriously, how do they even do that?
"Anyway, Grandma Joe, bless her, was the first to say it. She looked at the birds like she was about to get down to business. ‘Well, there's no way in hell we're letting a bunch of oversized chickens ruin our Thanksgiving. Get my rolling pin. I'm gonna show these turkeys who's boss.' I swear, Grandma's fearless.
"Uncle Bob, on the other hand? He was too busy rambling about ‘this wasn't in our Thanksgiving plan' and ‘we should've just had ham,' but you know, it's Bob—he wasn't exactly the tactical genius we needed. He did try to use the turkey baster as a weapon though...
"Cousin Jane? Well, she was the only one who kept her cool. She grabbed the broom first, then ran straight to the kitchen and started grabbing every possible throwable object in sight. We had knives, forks, and an assortment of oven mitts.
"Me? Well, I'm going to be honest, I just stood there like an idiot. I'm pretty surprised I didn't get sliced in half by their deadly-looking beaks.
"Grandma Joe was probably the pro-est of us all. I mean, she went full-on battle mode, attacking them with her deadly-looking rolling pin. If we survive this, we're gonna owe a lot to Grandma's effective culinary weapon.
"But the thing is... we didn't know what to do. None of us had a plan. We were just reacting. Every move we made felt like a game of Whack-a-Turkey, but we didn't know the rules. The turkeys—they were everywhere. And they weren't leaving. Scarface—who I called because of that scar over his left eye— and his crew were out there, organizing like they were just waiting for us to make a mistake.
"Right now, we're holding the fort. It's not pretty, but we're surviving. The house is fortified with whatever we could find. Chairs against the windows, doorways smeared with gravy—yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous, but trust me. It works. We found out because Cousin Jane threw gravy at them out of desperation.
"Anyway, I'll keep you posted. We're still holding out. But for the record, if you're listening to this... the turkeys know what they're doing. No joke."
[There's a loud crash, followed by a gobble and frantic footsteps. Rue's voice comes back in a panic rush.]
"Alright, that's all for now. Wish us luck. We're gonna need it."
[The recording cuts off sharply followed by a chilling gobble sound.]
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