By David Deutsch
Editor’s Note: Each month, the Writers’ Guild accepts submissions for a short story following a specific theme. December’s theme was “‘Tis the Season” featuring stories about holidays. Members voted on a short story to be featured in the YU Observer. For the month of December, “The Turkey Prince” written by David Deutsch was selected.
Benjamin had not smelled his mother’s Thanksgiving turkey in several years. His bad knee jostled as he walked up the stairs to his childhood home. He stood there a moment, trying to remember the code to the house, before muscle memory took over. The lock turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. He tried again but to no avail. He considered knocking or ringing the bell but was much too embarrassed to do so. Instead he stood there fiddling with his phone, pretending like he couldn’t be bothered to enter. Benjamin must’ve been standing there for no more than two minutes—although it felt much longer—before he saw his sister Janice pull up to the large uneven steps of 323 Spruce Lane.
“What are you doing in the cold?” she asked, looking up at him from just below the stoop, her hands on her hips. Behind her, a plain looking man was unsuccessfully attempting to navigate his dark sedan away from the curb. Janice walked up the stairs, one at a time, not a care in the world.
“Door’s not opening,” he shrugged.
She rolled her eyes, twisted the knob and in one single motion swung the door wide open. “That door?” she asked, a bemused grin creeping across her face. “That’s the door that’s not opening?”
“That’s the one.”
“I just wanted to be sure,” she said as she walked inside. ”Because that door opened up, like, super easily. It was actually alarming how easy it was to open the door.”
“I guess you just have the magic touch,” he replied noncommittedly. A menagerie of scents entered his nostrils through the open frame. Perhaps he hadn’t been home often enough, but the food didn’t smell quite the same. As he walked through the hall he saw old pictures of his family hung over the mantlepiece. He walked over to one of them, a photo of his sister, smiling at some South American petting zoo. Benjamin remembered that trip. His father got a big promotion at work and took everyone to Panama (or was it Buenos Aires? He couldn’t recall). Benjamin wasn’t there. He was in college at the time and couldn’t leave, especially not in the middle of the semester. He frowned.
“Benjamin,” a familiar shrill voice cried from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
“Yeah Ma,” Benjamin shouted back. “It’s me.”
“You don’t need to yell,” his mother yelled. “Come into the kitchen and give your mother a hug.”
Benjamin started to make his way over, but then realized he still had his shoes on. He haphazardly flung them to the side of the hallway, before realizing his mistake; then gingerly picked them up and placed them neatly by the shoe rack. He opened the closet to try and hang his coat up, but it was overstuffed with dozens of jackets, most of which probably hadn’t been worn in half a decade. He ended up hanging it on top of an old faux mink coat that somehow still had a tag on it; just in case someone wanted to return it, he guessed. He entered the kitchen and the pungent odor of his mothers cooking hugged his skin.
“Are you eating enough?” his mother called out to him, not looking up from the pot of soup she was attending. Benjamin shuffled in place, about to speak. His mother must’ve sensed his presence because she turned around and examined him closely. Benjamin wasn’t used to his mother wearing such heavy makeup. Her skin was flakes of dissolving concealer and peeling mascara melting in the kitchen heat. Sweat dripped from her forehead down her cheek carrying chunks of flesh with it. Benjamin gave his mother a big hug. “You’re nothing but skin and bones,” she said, hugging him back so tightly he swore he could’ve heard a rib snap. After some time she pulled back and began fussing over his hair. “And you need a haircut.”
“Ben,” Janice interjected, from the living room. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Jacob.” Benjamin excused himself from the kitchen and walked over to where Janice was standing. Janice beckoned a very plain sort of man forward. “Jacob. Benjamin.”
Benjamin extended his hand waiting for Jacob to do likewise. “It’s nice to meet you Jacob,” he said, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air. Jacob smiled at him, saying nothing. Janice and his mother shared the same empty smile. The bustle of the house seemed to crawl to a stop, even though Benjamin could still hear the same dreary noises going on in the background. Benjamin smiled back at Jacob, before finally, he returned the gesture. It was a firm handshake.
“That’s quite the handshake you got there,” Benjamin said. Jacob’s hand was still wound tightly around his own, squeezing tighter and tighter.
“Thanks,” Jacob said, refusing to break eye contact. “I made it myself.” Benjamin’s fingers began to crack, bone rubbing against bone. He smiled politely, but could not put his hand away. His nails dug into the skin on the back of his hand. Benjamin winced, but kept his face on. Finally, Benjamin managed to break free. He nursed his wounded hand. Janice looked on expectantly.
“It was nice meeting you,” Benjamin said after some time. The two made no eye contact and Benjamin decided it was for the best if he went back to the kitchen. When he was younger his mother always used to let him taste the turkey gravy to make sure it was just right before she served it to the rest of his family. After many years apart he was excited to renew this tradition.
The kitchen was clucking with chaos. Timers and buzzers were going off. Steam was billowing and teapots were whistling. Benjamin gestured at the big pan covered in tinfoil that must’ve been housing the turkey. “Can I taste the gravy?” he asked. “Like I did when I was a kid.” His mother must not have heard him, because she didn’t answer. He tried again, but the cutts and purrs drowned out his voice. He decided to help himself to some gravy anyway. He reached towards the tin with a spoon in hand. His stomach rumbling, nostalgia filling his chest.
A sharp pain hit the back of his hand before he could uncover the tinfoil.
“Not until everyone is ready,” his mother said. “Why don’t you go check on your father. See if he’s ready. I’ll just tidy up back here. If I need help you’ll know it.”
That much was certain. Benjamin nodded and went to go find his father. If he knew his father, he’d be watching the afternoon football game and would soon start grumbling about how all these Thanksgiving games take away from the specialness of the day. The TV was muted. Benjamin exchanged pleasantries with his father and sat down beside him on the couch. To his surprise the game was not on. Instead, some nature documentary about wild turkeys played in the background. He tried making conversation but his father was utterly entranced by the TV screen. If he was being honest, Benjamin didn’t find it very interesting, but he did have a long day and enjoyed getting off his feet. Soon however, he found his stomach starting to groan. He got back up to see if maybe this time he could sneak off with some food. His mother was still in the kitchen, hard at work, her oven mitts protecting her gentle hands from the sweltering heat. Her beak of a nose was stuck in some recipe book or the other while more alarms and timers rang out. This was his chance, while she was distracted. Benjamin quickly, but quietly, raced for the turkey. He was almost—
His mother reached out to slap his hand away but Benjamin was too nimble. The oven mitt went flying off his mother’s hand and hit Janice’s boyfriend in the face. Taking advantage of his victory, Benjamin unwrapped the tin, but to his shock there was no turkey there. Instead all he saw was cornfeed. Piles and piles of corn and barley and wheat. The sting of his mothers hand had by now caught up with him, only it wasn’t a hand. It was far too feathery to be a hand. He looked back at his mother, whose makeup had now almost completely evaporated, and saw not a human face, but the face of a turkey. His turkey mother clucked and chided him for being greedy. Fear filled his lungs. He ran as quickly as he could to the front door and desperately tried to open it. “Where are you going?” his mother called out after him. Benjamin kept turning the door knob and turning the knob and turning the door but the damn thing just wouldn’t budge. “The food is going to get cold.”
He pivoted and ran to the window to try and call for help. The glass panes shuddered with every desperate pang. “Help!” he cried out. “Help!” Outside an old lady pushing a stroller looked up at him. She was wearing a massive shawl, but when she turned to face him, Benjamin saw the hideous beak beneath. Inside the stroller, was a baby swaddled in place, also a turkey.
Benjamin began to feel faint. Had they always been turkeys, he wondered? He looked down at his arms half expecting to find wings in their place, but no, he was still human. This must be a dream, he thought. Some strange terrible horrible dream.
Benjamin turned around and saw he was completely surrounded. His whole turkey family was staring at him quizzically.
“Come sit with us Ben,” turkey Janice said. “We’re your family. We love you.”
“What’s gotten into him?” his turkey father asked, looking back towards the TV screen.
“He’ll come to his senses eventually,” his turkey mother replied. “He’s just been gone from his family for too long.” The room grew darker and darker and the gobble gobble of his home grew fainter and fainter.
When did this happen, Benjamin wondered. How did he not realize it sooner? His whole family, a family of turkeys.
Photo Credit: Unsplash