I Bought a Haunted Thanksgiving Table

by Sam Whittaker

If only I had known then what I know now, I would have dragged the thing out of the house at that very second.

It appeared as though someone had liberated every sharp knife we owned from the kitchen and laid them methodically on the table.

“It’s deep,” she said. In a hard whisper she added, “It’s very deep.”

“Hush now,” she whispered. “Over soon.”

“There was a moment in there, before you brought the coffee to us, that… I don’t know.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it before continuing. “It was like Wendy wasn’t in there.”

“It was her eyes,” Sarah said. “For the briefest of moments, I could have sworn they were a different color. I figured it must have been a trick of the light, but—“

“Mister, I think I have an idea why you’re calling. You need to get rid of that table. Don’t just sell it or donate it, either. You need to burn it.”

“Something is wrong with that thing. Something evil.