It has been over a month since Jimmy has been missing. Marilyn and Neil sat at Mr.Winchesters round dinner table to discuss the matter.

They needed to construct another way of searching for their son and since Mr.Winchester was once on the police force they decided to consult him. He thought it was a good idea and invited them over to go over the details. Mr.Winchester stood at his stove stirring the gumbo with a long handled wooden spoon, which he held in his wrinkled, gentle hands. “It’s ready.” He said spooning out the contents of the pot into bowls, which were placed neatly in front of his guest on light blue place mats. Steam rose from the gumbo and filled the air with the succulent aroma of spices, herbs, and numerous other ingredients, which Mr.Winchester refused to reveal to Marilyn because as he said, “Secret recipes are supposed to be secret.” Neil blew on the gumbo to cool it so it would not burn his mouth, but occasionally he would shove the spoon into his mouth because it was so delicious. The meal came to a drawn-out end as Neil, Mr.Winchester, and Marilyn continued to consume bowl after bowl. Once they were all stuffed beyond capacity the reason for the get together was brought up for discussion. After about an hour of deliberation they realized that all of the possible techniques that could be implemented had already been tried. “I don’t know what to do.” Mr.Winchester said. “I wish that there was something I could do.” He said aloud while standing up and rubbing his chin. “Well, you know what Marilyn, you’re about the closes I’ve got to family so I think you’re entitled to my secret recipe.” Marilyn smiled feebly at the old man in his attempt to cheer her up. He hobbled down to the basement and returned with a box that had frost on it as if it had been in a freezer for some time. Mr.Winchester turned the box over dumping the contents onto the table. “Oh my goodness.” Marilyn cried, clasping her hand over her mouth and leaping from the table. “Jimmy makes a pretty good secret ingredient, doesn’t he?” Mr.Winchester said with a grin. “He sure does.” Neil answered as he fixed another bowl of gumbo. Jimmy’s head lay on the round dinner table and stared at Marilyn with cold dead eyes.

By The Evil Cheezman

Purveyor of sacred truths and purloined letters; literary acrobat; spiritual godson of Edgar Allan Poe, P.T. Barnum, and Ed Wood; WAYNE MILLER is the head architect of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS, serving up the finest in entertainment and edification for the stage, the page, and the twain screens, silver and computer. He is the axe-murderer who once met Andy Griffith.


  1. Dude… that was twisted, and not funny. Why don’t you try to make a story that actually has a purpose?

  2. Sorry, didnt like it, could be just me. However i knew the ending before getting there.. could have been more twisted.

  3. demented, and twisted, but I liked it. So who was neil? was he part of the killing, or what??? I don’t know, maybe you gave a hint, and I didn’t realize it. Hmm, write more.

Comments are closed.