The Call of Cthurkey

I was going to write a blog post listing all things for which I am thankful, but fate intervened. I stumbled upon a story about the the Chermpumple and I noticed a link at the bottom to a story about…the Cthurkey. Here’s a picture:

After reading this, a story instantly came to my mind. And as a Thanksgiving gift to you, I present:

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The Call of Cthurkey

by Michael Tefft

(with apologizes to H.P. Lovecraft)

 

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human stomach to tolerate the most obscene combinations. Cooking shows on the Food Network strain in each direction to inspire more and more strange combinations, but so far, none that our stomachs can’t handle. But some day, we will find the combination of foods that will surely drive us mad.

My knowledge of such a thing occurred this Thanksgiving. As was tradition, we assembled at the house of my parents. In the morning, we gathered in front of the television to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, as was our want. I could smell a strange odor coming from the kitchen; at once delicious, while at the same time repugnant. Strangely, my mother would not let me help in any way with the cooking, saying simply she was trying something different and wanted to make it a surprise.

After some time, I asked my father if I could borrow his computer to check the hockey scores as cell reception was nearly zero at my parents’ house and my fantasy hockey team was not going to run itself. He grunted from his recliner and I went to my former bedroom, now the home office.

As I brought up the browser window, I noticed that one of my parents had left the browser brought up in a page full of strange and arcane recipes. As I read the page, I looked in horror at combinations of gelatin formed into translucent prisons for meat, vegetables or fruit. As the dread rose along with the bile in my throat, I read the “Comments”. And buried in the comments was a link to what was described as the most forbidden food combinations put together. The link simply read “Crockernomicon”.

With some trepidation, I moved the mouse and with a deep sense of foreboding, clicked the link. The site loaded; I immediately felt like I had stumbled on some lost and forbidden lore. I saw recipes for Jellied Chicken Loaf, Shrimp Aspic Mold, and Pickle Stretcher Salad. The more I read, the more my stomach gurgled and I swallowed hard to force down the rising bile. And then at the bottom of the page was a link to “A Truly Unique Thanksgiving Treat”. To my horror, I realized that the link had been already visited. With trembling hand, I clicked the link.

At the top of the page, I saw the phrase “In his tureen of Gr’vy, Chturkey waits for dressing”. Before I could read any more, my sister came to the door to tell me that the feast was ready. I closed the browser before I could finish looking at the screen, sure that I saved my sanity.

I followed my sister to the dining room table and froze. Before me lay a tableau out of a nightmare. On plates and serving trays were a collection of abominations that would destroy a man’s sanity. First, a transparent green tower trapped what looked like cole slaw within its shiny emerald walls. Nearby, a translucent white mound with flecks of red and green; the whole thing wobbling as the plate was handed from person to person. More and more of these transparent or translucent concoctions were handed to me. I knew what was expected and with rising dread, I scooped the various congealed food onto my plate. As I stared at the utter horror awaiting me, I was snapped from my daze by my mother’s voice. “Now for the main course.”

Nothing that that I had seen in my life prepared me for the horror that arrived on the platter. On bed of brussels sprouts that looked like the spawn of the Triffids, lay a true abomination. A fully roasted turkey with the tentacles of an octopus and the legs of a crab stretched the limits of sanity of my mind. This could only be one thing: the dread Cthurkey. Nothing I had seen in the Crockernomicon had prepared me for this. My father took his electric carving knife and hacked into the monstrosity. When asked if I wanted white meat or dark, I asked for white in fear that I might be eating turkey stained with the inky blackness of the octopus.

I ate and soon the strain was more than my brain could handle. Dinner became a blur. I must have paused out as I awoke alone on the recliner in front of the television, dimly aware that a football game was playing. As I tried to shake the horror of the feast from my mind, I kept hearing in my mind the words from the dread Crockernomicon:

“In his tureen of Gr’vy, Cthurkey waits for dressing”

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I wish you and yours a very Happy Thanksgiving. I am thankful this year for everyone who has supported me as a writer.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Mike