I Bought a Haunted Thanksgiving Table

by Sam Whittaker

“You don’t want to cut these too small,” she was saying. “And don’t add them too early, or they’ll turn to mush. Always remember that— OUCH!” The next thing I knew, Wendy dropped the knife and cradled her hand to her middle. I rushed into the kitchen, snatching a dish towel from a wooden ring near the sink. “Here, let me see that,” I said, extending the towel to her. “No, not that one!” she said when she saw the towel. “It’s decorative!” I recoiled, tossed the towel on the counter and reached for another. “Not that one either,” she said. “It’s also decorative.” “Okay, but your fingers aren’t, and we need to stop the bleeding,” I said. She grunted and nodded her head. “Okay, whatever, just be careful.”