Stories Not Quite Scary Enough To Tell In The Dark, But Still Nearly Chilling

Expired

Mike took the bag of mixed chicken parts out of the fridge. He always bought the big value bag full of thighs and legs: it was half the price of the other stuff. Probably came from the reject chickens but it tasted just as good if you put enough ranch over it. Mike warmed the oven and started placing his last few cuts of meat on the baking sheet. He'd been eating this bag all week. As he reached for the sauce he froze. Oh no. Oh poo! Poopey poopey poo! The now empty chicken bag stared up at him like a dead deer on the side of the road. Mike looked at the printed date, he double checked the calendar and his heart sank. Expired! The meat had expired yesterday! Slamming the ranch on the counter, he pondered over his predicament. The oven beeped. It's signal that it was hot and ready to cook. It was either this expired chicken or that leftover potato from a wedding six weeks ago where the bouquet had managed to somehow land in his lap.

Better play it safe. Mike lifted the tray at its corners taking care not to touch any of the expired flesh. There was no knowing what disease it might have grown in the last twenty four hours. It could be carrying the next bird flu as far as he knew.

As he turned, Mike's hand bumped the ranch and it fell to the floor splattering on the tile. Noooooooo! Now what was he going to eat with his potato? Tossing the tray he scooped ranch back into the bottle as best he could without recovering any that had actually touched the floor. Then it happened again, the date on the bottle burnt into Mike's retinas like a hot iron. Expired! A week ago! Mike had been eating expired dressing now for a whole week? He hadn't felt sick, but he did now. Sometimes life just kicked you between the legs and kept kicking.

His wallet was empty and he wouldn't get paid again till Monday, two whole days away with nothing to eat except a potato and what was left of his Captain Wheat Bellies with Marshmallow Stars. On a hunch, he checked the date on the milk in the fridge. Looks like he'd be having his Wheat Bellies with water. Good thing water and potatoes don't expire. He thought as he pulled his last bastion of sustenance from the box in refrigerator where it had sat wrapped in foil. He always tried to keep an extra cooked potato on hand for emergencies just like this. At least he wouldn't go to bed hungry.

Pulling the potato from its foil he placed it in the microwave. A rustle from the trash can made him jump, sometimes the cats were naughty and— no, there was nothing there but the trash can....

Beep, beep, beep went the microwave as he set the time. As his index finger moved to the start button another rustling made him pause. Walking to the trashcan he looked down to see the chicken parts piled just as he'd left them.

"Kitty kitty?"

No response.

"Hello?" Still nothing. "I'm loosing it. Probably all that expired ranch."

Mike's belly grumbled, he patted it."Sorry buddy. I'm working on it."

As Mike's finger pressed the start button, the trash can started rocking. Mike screamed and was glad no one was around to hear how sissy it sounded. Then, like a corpse letting out it's final wail, the chicken in the can leaped with a moan.

Wings and legs tugging at his face the chicken pulled Mike to the floor. It was no use, no matter how many times Mike tore the goosey flesh bits from his body the chicken scraps would return.

"Help! Help! Somebody, anybody!Please!"

Chicken bits now burrowing themselves into his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, Mike bellowed, snapped,screamed, snarled until exhaustion overtook him and his body succumbed to enveloping pink darkness.

"Mike! Mike!"

Consciousness came like the wobble of homogenized meat jelly. "Mike! Can you hear me?"

Mike's roommate knelt over Mike's body, his hands covered in raw chicken, his shirt stained with chicken blood.

"Joe? Joe what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

It took Mike a minute to remember. "I was cooking my potato when the expired chicken jumped out of the trash—"

"You were going to eat that potato that's been in the fridge all month? That things a ticking time bomb!"

"I didn't have a choice... The chicken I was trying to throw away the chicken and then...it saved me. It saved my life!" Mike picked up the scattered remnants of shredded wings, thighs, and drumstick. "I rejected you and...you saved my life. I love you chicken."

Joe's girlfriend was in the hall rolling her eyes at a safe distance.

"So why don't you marry it." She scoffed.

. . .

Two weeks later Mike stood across the alter from a tupperware filled with chicken meat. The mold on top had turned fuzzy; if Mike squinted his eyes it almost looked like hair had grown beneath the delicate circle of daisies that decorated the top of a plastic wrap vale.

"If any present know any reason why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony—"

"Hold it right there!" The chapel doors exploded off their hinges in an burst of smoke as a charred potato came walking in. "I object! This man's body belongs to me!"

"Get out potato!" Mike growled. "I don't want you. I never wanted you."

"Never wanted me? Is that why you kept me on ice? Strung me along for weeks? I watched you take out everything else in that refrigerator, always with the promise that you'd be coming back. That we would be together!"

"No!" Mike growled. "I never promised you anything. I don't owe you anything! I smuggled you out of the leftovers at a wedding reception in my suit pocket. You were kept for an emergency: nothing more!"

Steam hissed from fork holes in the potato's skin. "You owe me everything!" it exploded. Then the potato vaulted over the crowed and lodged itself in Mikes throat."Eat me! Eat me you chicken livered buffoon! We will be together if it kills us both!"

The tupperware of chicken screamed,stacking itself into a meaty pile it leaped over the alter and came home swinging at the potato butt still protruding from Mikes face.

. . .

"And then I woke up." Mike looked at the date on Joe's milk carton before pouring it over his cereal. The remnants of last night's experimental chicken potato ranch casserole were still on the table.

"That's it?" Joe looked completely unnerved.

"Yea."

Joe took an apple from the basket on the table and bit it. "Remind me not to serve potatoes at my wedding."