# **“The Last Turkey” – A Thanksgiving Story with a Chilling Twist**

**Author: (you sign your own name)**

—

### **1. Thanksgiving Begins with a Scream**

That Thanksgiving night, my family – the Harper family in suburban **Boise, Idaho** – gathered: my mother, my brother, Aunt Beverly with three children, and Grandpa Jack, who leaned on a cane but still grumbled as usual.

The long table was set like a magazine:
– honey-brown roasted turkey,
– mashed potatoes,
– buttered corn,
– cranberry sauce.

I had just set the turkey in the middle of the table when **Zoey**, my 5-year-old daughter, suddenly **shrieked**.

Not a baby cry.

But a sharp, urgent scream, as if she had seen something terrible.

She lunged for the chair, reaching up and pushing the 15-pound turkey to the floor.

*Everyone froze.*

Aunt Beverly gasped.
My brother swore.

Grandpa Jack tapped his cane on the floor: “What’s wrong with this kid?!”

I knelt down and held her by the shoulders.

“Zoey, what’s wrong? What are you doing that for?”

She was shaking, her eyes wide as if she were about to cry.

She held her hand to her chest as if to block something.

And she said—in a voice choked with emotion:

**“Because I just saved everyone.”**

—

### **2. The Moment the Table Frozen**

The room fell silent.

All eyes turned to Zoey.

Grandpa Jack grumbled: “Save what? That’s some stupid fantasy again—”

Zoey looked at him, trembling.

“It wasn’t my imagination. I saw it. I saw it *inside* the chicken.”

I asked softly, “What did you see inside, Zoey?”

Her lips moved.

**“A face.”**

My mother almost dropped her glass.

Zoey continued in a whisper:

**“The face was still open.”**

No one understood. No one wanted to understand.

Of course, the adults thought she had seen a horror movie somewhere.

But just as I was about to carry her outside to calm her down… she added something that sent **a chill through my whole body**:

**“It was Grandma’s… face.”**

—

### **3. The Turkey Broke — and the Unexpected Appeared**

The whole room exploded.

My mother burst into tears.

Grandpa Jack clapped his hands to his chest, turning purple.
Aunt Beverly stuttered.

Zoey’s grandmother—my mother-in-law—had died **two weeks ago** of a heart attack.

I hugged Zoey, reassuring her.

“Zoey… you’re just freaking out. It’s nothing.”

But Zoey kept staring at the floor, where the turkey lay flat.

“It’s still inside. I saw it.”

My mother trembled. “Maybe… open it and check?”

Aunt Beverly yelled. “Are you crazy?”

But I knew: if we didn’t open it, no one would be able to sit down for the rest of the evening.

I picked up the kitchen knife.

Chap.

The first cut into the turkey’s body made the room feel stuffy.

Chap.

I cut deep into the breast… then the belly…

There was a *snap* sound.

And then—
**something fell out. Rolling around on the floor.**

It was… something that **shouldn’t** be in the turkey’s belly.

**A small, old, greasy, black tape recorder.**

The whole family booed.

Zoey hugged me: “I told you so…”

—

### **4. The tape recorder made a sound… not belonging to a living person**

My brother picked it up, disgusted as if holding a cursed object.

It was a round-button tape recorder, popular 20 years ago.

Did someone **put** it inside the turkey before cooking?

My brother brushed off the grease and pressed the play button.

A crackling sound.

Then a hoarse, broken voice.

A woman’s voice.
A familiar voice.

**“If… anyone… hears… I’m sorry.”**

My mother covered her mouth. She began to cry.

I stood up trembling.

It was **Zoey’s grandmother**’s voice.

The voice continued:

**“…someone…is watching me…in this house…”**

The room fell into a deadly silence.

**“…every night…I hear footsteps…”**

Aunt Beverly hugged her two children tightly.

**“…I thought I was going to die.”**

A strong static noise.

In the static, weak voice, she managed to say:

**“That person…is…in the family.”**

The TV screen suddenly lit up.

The dog barked loudly in the yard.

No one moved.

—

### **5. I saw something I didn’t want to believe**

After a few seconds of absolute horror, my brother asked, trembling:

“Grandma… when did you put this machine in the turkey? It can’t be…”

But the most absurd thing was the one that silenced the whole family:
**We ordered this turkey from the slaughterhouse in the next town.**

No one in the house touched it before it was put on the table.

No one had a chance to “put” this machine in.

No one… except the person who prepared the turkey before selling it.

And that slaughterhouse—
was 15 miles away.

A place no one in the family had ever been to.

I was speechless.

The tape recorder…
had fingerprints.
Grease and seasoning on it.

But the scariest thing was:

**Grandma said “it’s in the family.”**

She died two weeks ago.
Heart attack.

No one suspected.

But what Zoey saw…
What was in the turkey…
Her words…

Everything started to come together in a way… very bad.

I turned to my brother.

He was pale—but his eyes held a strange defensiveness.

—

### **6. The truth begins to leak out like a crack in the ice**

I ask, “Do you… do you have anything to say?”

My brother’s eyes widened.

“Do you think I did it? Are you crazy?”

But I saw clearly:
his forehead was sweating.
his hands were shaking.
and he *wasn’t* looking at the tape recorder.

Crack.

The back door suddenly opened.

Someone walked in.

A tall figure in a fur coat.

**It was my husband, Mark.**

He stopped when he saw everyone pale.

“What’s going on?”

Zoey screamed, rushing to hug his legs.

“Dad! Don’t eat the turkey!”

Mark looked around: “…Who eats turkey off the floor?”

My brother swallowed.

“There’s a tape recorder… in his stomach.”

Mark frowned.

I held up the recorder.

“And it contains your mother’s last words.”

Mark snatched it away.

Pressed play.

Her voice rang out again.
Each word cut through each of us like a knife:

**“…that person… in the family…”**

Mark’s face fell.

Not in shock.

But **a secret uncovered**.

—

### **7. The twist — three words that turned Thanksgiving dinner upside down**

I asked, my voice choked:

“Mark, you know this, right?”

He closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

The whole house jumped up.

I screamed:

“So… you… killed your mother?”

Mark opened his eyes, looked straight at me.

“No.”

He pointed at the recorder.

“That… wasn’t for the family.”

I was stunned.

Mark continued:

**“My mother didn’t say ‘that person in the family.’ She said ‘that person *wasn’t* in the family.’”**

Everyone was stunned.

Mark continued:

“The tape recorder was broken. It was noisy. Part of the sentence was missing. I’ve heard it before.”

I stammered:

“You’ve… heard it?”

Mark nodded:

“Two days before the funeral, my mother sent me a package. It had this machine in it.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the chest.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Mark looked up at the ceiling, trying to contain his sobs.

“Because she said… she was being followed. And I didn’t want the whole family to panic. I think… she had dementia.”

My brother asked:

“What about the machine in the turkey?”

Mark swallowed.

“I don’t know. But I do know one thing…”

He put the recorder on the table.

“…she’s not talking about people.”

The house fell silent.

Zoey shook her head and took my hand.

“I saw, Mom…that face…didn’t look like her. It just…looked like her.”

I turned to her.

“What did you say?”

Zoey choked:

**“It…wasn’t human.”**

—

### **8. The doorbell rang — and there was a scratching sound outside the window**

Ding dong.

Ding dong.

The house jumped.

It was pitch dark.
The wind whistled through the crack in the door.

Grandpa hoarsely said:

“Don’t open it.”

Zoey screamed:

“Daddy, don’t open it!! It’s not human!”

But Mark…
was already at the door.

His hands were shaking. But he unlocked it.

Click.

The door opened.

The wind blew in, carrying with it… **a ​​foul smell**.

Mark stood still as a statue.

I trembled:

“Who… is out there?”

Mark swallowed, then answered in a voice I will never forget:

**“It’s not someone… it’s what my mother told me.”**

He took a deep breath:

**“The thing that was watching you… is standing right here.”**

I saw nothing but darkness.

But a hand —
not human —
with long, bony, burned-out fingers
**slowly rested on the door frame.**

Zoey screamed:

“THERE! THE FACE IN THE TURKEY! DAD! NO—”

Mark slammed the door shut.

The whole house shook.

The thing outside roared —
a sound like a hundred throats mingling.

Mark yelled:

“GET INTO THE BASEMENT!”

And that was the moment I understood:

**The last line on the recorder — not a warning about the people in the house.
It was about what was out there.
The thing that scared Zoey’s grandmother to death.
The thing that someone had tried to send us a message through… a turkey.**

And it had found us.