by Stephen Kozeniewski
Granny clattered on the counter with a wooden spoon until the children stopped squabbling. When they finally turned to pay attention, she smiled, baring each and every bright white denture with joy.
“All right, little nuggets,” she said, “Now granny is going to show you what to do. Come up here.”
She lifted two-year-old Benji and planted him on the counter beside the sheer metal stockpot that was almost as tall as him.
“Now, Benji, this wax is very hot so don’t put your fingers in it and don’t splash.”
“Now start to feed the coil in slowly and let me know when you run out of length.”
Giggling, Benji did as he was told.
“Granny, why do we wax the decorations?” little Suzie asked, her pinky hooked into the corner of her mouth.
“So that they last, my dear.”
“And why do we want them to last?”
Granny crouched down to Suzie’s level, even though it pained her ankles.
“Because it’s a tradition, my dear.”
Little Suzie’s eyes lit up with the wonder of excitement and recognition.
“Like when we invite a homeless person in for Christmas?”
“All done!” Benji announced, clinging to the last link of this year’s holiday visitor’s small intestine.
Together, as they did every year, they draped the wax-dipped organ around their tree of horrors. The attic was starting to overflow with their collection of decorations.
“God bless us every one,” Benji said joyously.
Stephen Kozeniewski (pronounced “causin’ ooze key”) lives with his wife and two cats in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie. During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star. He is also a classically trained linguist, which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor’s degree is in German. Find out more at: www.amazon.com/author/kozeniewski