Short Flash Fiction Tales

Grateful: A Dark Thanksgiving Tale

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Grandma greeted, hobbling forward with outstretched arms.

“Fuck you!” I cried, twisting beneath the old hag’s shaking fingers.

Grandma’s expression darkened, eyes flashing dangerously. “Language, Medea.”

“I don’t care what you think!” I screamed. “You’re the one that’s making me go through the rites!” The tremor in my voice made its defiance ring hollow.

“Be careful how you address me, girl.” The warmth in Grandma’s expression was gone, replaced by hard eyes and snarling lips. “It is an honor to be given the opportunity to go through the rites.”

“What about what I want?” I said, backing slowly away. “What if I want a normal Thanksgiving. With turkey and stuffing and a boyfriend⁠—”

“Don’t be daft, child.” Grandma’s voice sliced through my flimsy objections like a samurai’s sword. “The only rituals this family observes are pagan. You know what Thanksgiving means for us. It’s not about massacring turkeys.”

“Medea, why are you acting this way?” Mother’s voice rose from behind me.

“I just… my friends at school…” I stammered, stumbling backward as the two women slowly closed on me.

Grandmother snorted. “Those fools are not your friends. They’re your sacrifices.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling tears as emotion welled. I thought of Gus, the dimpled boy who had asked me to the Homecoming dance. Salty drops began to roll down my cheeks.

I felt a pluck at my sweater and forced my stinging eyes open.

“Is this the boy’s hair?” said Grandma, an invisible strand pinched between gnarled fingers.

“It must be. I took care not to wash it after her date,” said Mom.

My eyes widened as Grandma flung the hair into the cauldron on the stove, flipping the burner to its highest setting.

“No!” I shrieked, lunging for the dial.

*Crack.*

I was already falling before I felt the sting of Grandma’s casual blow, my ass landing hard on the cold tile of the kitchen floor. Jarring pain stabbed my lower back. I felt a sob erupt from my tortured mouth. “Don’t do this, Grandma! Please!”

She turned her crinkled visage toward me, its deep creases squirming like a den of snakes. “You’ll thank me when you see the power of love’s desecration.”

I leapt to my feet, darting forward a second time, only to feel Mother’s strong fingers dig into both shoulders. My feet left the ground, and a moment later, my back landed hard on the kitchen counter.

I gasped in momentary shock, Grandmother bringing a wooden spoon to my lips.

“Drink, child,” she whispered, tipping it between my trembling lips.

I writhed but her fingers squeezed my mouth open. I drank, feeling the throbbing ache in my heart blacken and wither. I felt Gus’ heartbeat slow, then stop. A tremor shook my prone form. My eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering before snapping suddenly open.

I turned toward Mom and Grandma. They had been right. The power felt amazing. I met their expectant smiles with a dark grin of my own.

Distorted Minds Contest
Prompt: Pen a story which centers around a dysfunctional family gathering.
499 words