DOP #15 - Cranberry Sauce Is Thicker Than Blood

Cranberry Sauce Is Thicker Than Blood 
by Caleb John Knott

Having already had a few rum and eggnogs, I was feeling quite comfortable sitting at the table waiting for the rest of the turkey dinner to be presented by my wife. My daughter placed the carrots on the table as she sat in front of me. When my wife arrived shortly after she plopped out the classic can of cranberry sauce. It made a sucking noise as its deep hue peered out from the can. It slid into the bowl and fell over like a gunman in a bad spaghetti western. 

My view of this apparently was not far off from my daughter’s. When I looked up her eyes were glazed over and she looked almost hypnotized by the gelatinous form lying prone in the bowl. She came out of her momentary stupor as my fork pressed into the shape destroying all of its ability to hold together.

I pulled my fork back and put my head down for our Christmas prayer. As the three of us repeated the words that we have spoken so many holidays before, I could hear a waver in my daughter’s voice. She had been gone to school for the last three months. She was taking some stupid arts program. I had told over and over again that she should go for something more secure, maybe in business and finance. She complained that she did not have a head for numbers, but it’s the same excuse from so many kids these days.

When all was said and done, we began to fill our plates to capacity. Next would be our stomachs. All I could hear for the most part was my own chewing and a hint of Bing Crosby in the background. A small glance up revealed my daughter’s lack of appetite to me. She sat back and slumped. Her hands were no longer on her utensils and she seemed to be waiting for her mother and I to give her our attention. I hated it when she pulled this at dinner. It was always some bleeding heart liberal cause she wanted to bring up. Last time it was about my purchasing an SUV instead of some small car that she thought would be better for the environment.

"Mom, dad," here it came. "I am going away. You may not see me again."

Her mother gave me a startled look. I didn’t quite hear it right. I must admit I was still chewing and feeling a little on the warm side from all the booze. My wife asked her why.

"Well, I am going to be a vampire."

I thought I heard her right. I figured she had lost her mind. Those bloodthirsty parasites were starting to come out of the woodwork these days. Several talk shows and midnight radio hosts warned me about this. I listened to them every so often, when I was on the night shift at the plant. I worried about my little girl, when she left for school. I tried to warn her about all those hippie types she would meet in that arts course of hers. Apparently, I didn’t get through to her.

I regret it every time, but once again I slammed my fist down on the table and left the room. I almost always let her have the room when I got angry. I hit her once when I stuck around to fight it out. I swore I’d never do it again.

The last thing I heard was my wife telling her that she did not want to hear any more of this nonsense. She told her to eat up and wait for me to calm down before we talked.

I went to the garage. It was my refuge. I lit a cigar and poured a glass of bourbon. It only took a few minutes for me to make up my mind. I took the snow shovel and broke the handle off. A few passes over the grinder and it was like a spear with a good solid handle on the back of it.

When my wife and I talked about our daughter, we always had high hopes. Today, she let us down, big time. There is no way I would let the dark forces take her. If I didn’t do it then I may not be able to later. I was sure my wife felt the same way. She grew up terrified of things in the night, and I am sure, as she sat across from our soon to be vampire daughter, the fright was building.

I walked quietly into the house. My daughter’s back was to the room. My wife was still silent. She held her head up with her hand and didn’t see me coming either. I came down hard. The tip sunk in with so little effort I was certain that she had already become one of them. The only thing on the table that was not discolored was the cranberry sauce.

The shrilling scream my dear wife let out still rings in my ear now. When my daughter’s body hit the floor she was still clutching a pamphlet from the Australian acting troupe, Les Vampyre de Darwin. They were a faux French acting corp. that has had some recent success in small time television. The show comes on in the common room once in a while. I hate it.

Caleb Knott is a Science fiction and fantasy writer from Niagara Falls, Ontario. Occasionally, he'll stick his tongue out and give the rest of the literary community a lick.

Comments

[J]

Good work. Loved it when you first showed it to me. Keep 'em coming

[michelle knott]

great story, love plopping cranberry sauce

[Caleb Knott]

Yes, Still working on getting them published. I also have other works under a different byline.

[Zoolan]

Good story. Have you written anything else?

[Ally]

AMAZING!!!! Caleb I didn't know you could write so well. I loved it.

[Caleb Knott]

Thanks Bill. Hope your readers enjoy it.