Southern Fried Rat and Other Gruesome Tales Read Online Free Page A
Author: Daniel Cohen
Tags: General, Juvenile Nonfiction, Juvenile Fiction, Horror & Ghost Stories, Folklore, tales
whispered conversation about this. Mr. Collins finally convinced his wife that there was nothing really wrong with the new sitter. "It's just the way the kids are today." And so with a considerable feeling of unease hanging over her, Mrs. Collins was persuaded to go to the party, leaving her baby behind with the sitter.
The feeling of doom grew on Mrs. Collins as the evening wore on. While others walked about chatting and laughing, Mrs. Collins stood grimly in a corner, hardly talking to anyone. "At least try to look like you're having a good time," muttered her husband.
It was no use. She was much too anxious to enjoy herself, or even to pretend to. Mrs. Collins found a phone and called her home.
"Hello." The voice sounded hollow, but it was definitely Carrie Barker's.
"Oh hello, Carrie. I'm just calling to see if everything is all right."
"Oh sure, Mrs. Collins. I've made dinner for when you get home. The turkey's in the oven."
"That's nice, dear. Thank you so much."
It was only after she hung up that the shock hit Mrs. Collins. Turkey, what turkey? There was no turkey in the house.
She rushed up to her husband and said, "We've got to go home at once. Something terrible may have happened.''
He tried to calm her, but she was not to be put off this time. Rather than have his wife make a scene, Mr. Collins made some hasty excuses and they left. He was angry, she was frightened; they didn't talk much while driving home.
When they arrived they were greeted by the smell of cooking. The dining room table was set with the family's best china and crystal. The lights had been turned out and there were candles on the table.
Carrie was standing in the kitchen. "Turkey's almost ready," she said. "See." She opened the oven door, revealing the baby inside.
It seems that the girl had been taking drugs, and her brain had been so messed up that she had mistaken the baby for a turkey.
—————
Debbie had just washed her hair in preparation for going out on a big date. She plugged in her hair drier, flipped the on switch, and nothing happened. It was broken.
She looked at her watch. Roger would be picking her up in fifteen minutes. Unlike some boys, he was always on time, and hated to be kept waiting. And there she would be, looking like a drowned rat. Something had to be done.
She went into the kitchen and spied the family's new microwave oven. She knew that with it her mother could cook a meal in five minutes, so surely it would dry her hair in less than a minute. Debhie stuck her head in the microwave oven, reached over, and turned on the switch.
Roger found her with her head still in the oven. She looked pretty horrible, and of course she was dead. Debbie didn't know that microwave ovens don't work like ordinary ovens. They cook from the inside. The oven had boiled her brains in twenty seconds.
The story of the baby-sitter who cooks her charge swept the country during the !ate 1960s and early 1970s. Widely believed, it was also unique among tales of this sort, for parents told it to their children. It was used as a cautionary tale about the sort of horrible things that could happen to kids who took drugs. The story went along with the tales of drug-induced attempts to fly out of tall buildings and of young drug takers who had been blinded by staring at the sun.
A popular variation of the microwave oven story tells of how a person has washed his cat or dog and then puts it into the microwave oven to dry. When he returns a few minutes later, he finds the animal fully cooked—or in some variations the animal has exploded. It is very similar to older tales of dogs, cats, or children that wind up in washing machines, driers, or trash compactors. And don t forget Hansel and Gretel. The old witch was
trying to shove those kids into the oven.
Finger Tales
The Alexander hotel had a lot of trouble with room 1313. Aside from its unfortunate number, the room really was haunted. The management tried to avoid renting the
The feeling of doom grew on Mrs. Collins as the evening wore on. While others walked about chatting and laughing, Mrs. Collins stood grimly in a corner, hardly talking to anyone. "At least try to look like you're having a good time," muttered her husband.
It was no use. She was much too anxious to enjoy herself, or even to pretend to. Mrs. Collins found a phone and called her home.
"Hello." The voice sounded hollow, but it was definitely Carrie Barker's.
"Oh hello, Carrie. I'm just calling to see if everything is all right."
"Oh sure, Mrs. Collins. I've made dinner for when you get home. The turkey's in the oven."
"That's nice, dear. Thank you so much."
It was only after she hung up that the shock hit Mrs. Collins. Turkey, what turkey? There was no turkey in the house.
She rushed up to her husband and said, "We've got to go home at once. Something terrible may have happened.''
He tried to calm her, but she was not to be put off this time. Rather than have his wife make a scene, Mr. Collins made some hasty excuses and they left. He was angry, she was frightened; they didn't talk much while driving home.
When they arrived they were greeted by the smell of cooking. The dining room table was set with the family's best china and crystal. The lights had been turned out and there were candles on the table.
Carrie was standing in the kitchen. "Turkey's almost ready," she said. "See." She opened the oven door, revealing the baby inside.
It seems that the girl had been taking drugs, and her brain had been so messed up that she had mistaken the baby for a turkey.
—————
Debbie had just washed her hair in preparation for going out on a big date. She plugged in her hair drier, flipped the on switch, and nothing happened. It was broken.
She looked at her watch. Roger would be picking her up in fifteen minutes. Unlike some boys, he was always on time, and hated to be kept waiting. And there she would be, looking like a drowned rat. Something had to be done.
She went into the kitchen and spied the family's new microwave oven. She knew that with it her mother could cook a meal in five minutes, so surely it would dry her hair in less than a minute. Debhie stuck her head in the microwave oven, reached over, and turned on the switch.
Roger found her with her head still in the oven. She looked pretty horrible, and of course she was dead. Debbie didn't know that microwave ovens don't work like ordinary ovens. They cook from the inside. The oven had boiled her brains in twenty seconds.
The story of the baby-sitter who cooks her charge swept the country during the !ate 1960s and early 1970s. Widely believed, it was also unique among tales of this sort, for parents told it to their children. It was used as a cautionary tale about the sort of horrible things that could happen to kids who took drugs. The story went along with the tales of drug-induced attempts to fly out of tall buildings and of young drug takers who had been blinded by staring at the sun.
A popular variation of the microwave oven story tells of how a person has washed his cat or dog and then puts it into the microwave oven to dry. When he returns a few minutes later, he finds the animal fully cooked—or in some variations the animal has exploded. It is very similar to older tales of dogs, cats, or children that wind up in washing machines, driers, or trash compactors. And don t forget Hansel and Gretel. The old witch was
trying to shove those kids into the oven.
Finger Tales
The Alexander hotel had a lot of trouble with room 1313. Aside from its unfortunate number, the room really was haunted. The management tried to avoid renting the
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