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Goodreads asked Jeff Johnson:

Can you tell us a two-sentence horror story?

Jeff Johnson He found a chicken in the graveyard that winter, a hen with webbed toes and a short black beak, and her one eye was as red as the sunset over a house fire. When she finally laid an egg, it was perfectly round and oddly scaly, but he cracked it over the old cast iron skillet because he was hungry and curious and wired wrong in that way, and that's how he died- a one man audience to a show that never should have been dropped on a hot stage, or any stage at all.

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