The Magic Crinkle Fry - Nichole Lightner

Iggy pushed her corn around to make room for her crinkle fry tower. She didn’t like any of the food from the chicken restaurant as much as the drive thru, so she had more fries to work with than usual. This tower would be extra special, super tall and a ketchup moat around it. The little white tv played the local news lady on the kitchen counter. Iggy wanted to watch Jeopardy. She liked pretending the host guy was her grandpa.

“Stop playing with your food,” her mom chided. Tabby and Dad ate silently. Dinner time was the worst. Iggy felt a magical tickle up her spine, an ornery urge, her Grams called it.

She picked the longest crinkle fry she had ever seen and waved it like a wand. She said, “Bippity-boppity-hoppity!”

A dazed look spread along mom’s face, like a ripple in an oil-topped puddle on the side of the road. Mom’s eyes twitched, and her pupils got wide. Mom’s nose wiggled and a clenched hand brought a piece of chicken towards her mouth. Roxie pawed at the screen door and barked. Dad hated the barking. “That dog doesn’t ever shut up! I can’t hear anything.”

In her head, Iggy begged Roxie to be quiet.

 Dad leaned forward from his chair, and Iggy reacted. Roxie was her best friend.

“Rocks-box-locks-socks!”

Dad grimaced, falling back into his seat. He wound his head around and yipped at Iggy.  Mom’s eyes darted all over the room while she was stone still in place. Mom opened her hand like a claw and the lump of fried chicken splatted on the linoleum. Iggy flinched, bracing for a hand.

Dad hollered, but he yipped instead, drawing his upper lip back into a twisted sneer that bared his teeth. His eyes shined like old grease in a pan as they roamed over Iggy, then Tabby, then Mom. Dad shifted his body around in his chair, slowly and without moving his head. Iggy saw something like this on Discovery channel before. Dad lifted his hand up. Mom’s eyes had migrated further apart, and her pupils were more square. One of her eyes tracked Dad, and when he got too close, Mom bolted. Her chair clattered to the floor, and her Miller can sloshed over soaking the paper plates. The stinky beer smell was strong. Dad wiggled under the table, scurrying on the linoleum as he chased her down the hall into the den. 

“Iggy! Turn them back!”

Something crashed in the den, something glass like the coffee table. They were fighting, but not their normal kind. Mom was yelping. Dad grunted. Tabby was glued to the table like Iggy.

Iggy pointed her zig-zag shaped fry towards the hallway. She stammered, “White and black, turn them back!”

Another big something crashed into the TV. Mom shrieked, her voice no longer human.

Tabby hissed at Iggy, “That didn’t work! Do it right!”

“I don’t know how I did it!”

“Daddy!” Tabby shouted. “Daddy, stop it!”

Iggy thought about all the times their parents fought that Tabby never said that. Iggy thought about all times when Dad was mad and stomping all over the house but Tabby didn’t have to hide from him like Mom and Iggy. Roxie barked desperately at the door. Her paws shook the flimsy plastic as she scratched.

Last night, after Mom and Dad screamed at each other about going to the casino, and who blew all the money on what machine that wasn’t paying, it was Tabby that Dad invited to come sit on the couch. Tabby got to have some of his peanut butter brittle and took big sips his Dr. Pepper. Iggy never got picked. Iggy ended up at the bottom, always.

“Kapow!” Iggy said, pointing the wand fry at Tabby.

Tabby bristled all over, like Mr. Fred, the stray cat out back, did when he was wet from all the rain before he skulked under their porch. Mid-shout, Tabby’s face went slack, like all the muscles had their strings cut at the same time. Tabby looked down at the soggy food on her plate. Mom and Dad’s beers were overturned, and the stinky golden flood soaked through the paper plates and into their food. Tabby pushed the sopping mess from side to side with her nose.

“Tabby?” Iggy said. She reached across the table, and before she could touch her, Tabby swung her head up. Her mouth expanded open. Her teeth were massive squares of yellowing bone, and her huge tongue erupted from between them to lick at Iggy’s fingers. Iggy jumped back, thinking that Tabby was going to bite her. Tabby didn’t. Her tongue explored for more desirable food. 

Mom, with blood running from her mouth and gushing from her back, ran towards the girls on all fours. Her face was stretching, her nose an anchor pulling down her skin like taffy. A giant leap pushing off her back legs, she clamored over the table.

Dad followed, sliding on the thin hallway rug into the wall. His mouth was wider, filling in with irregular shaped teeth. His lips cracked from the rapid expansion. The picture of Jesus crashed to the floor. Mom froze on the table, panting. Her chest heaved up and down and her torn college sweatshirt flapped around her waist. Tabby paid Mom no attention, but Iggy reached out for her like she did at night time on the dull glow of the TV infomercials after Dad went to sleep upstairs. 

Dad crashed into the kitchen cabinet. Mom took off, slipping on the tablecloth and knocking everything on the floor. Tabby fell from her chair and mooed. Mom dove off the table, upending it as she flew upstairs before Dad could right himself. Mom disappeared out the back door.

Iggy scurried into the kitchen as Dad came into the dining room. He was on all fours too. His eyes were red and his tongue hung out of his mouth, bright pink and dripping. He sniffed, holding his head high. Iggy climbed up to the counter, what she hoped was out of reach. He glanced at Tabby, on her hands and knees slacked face, then he dove for the food.

Iggy’s tears broken over the edges of her eyes, and she stuttered noises while her brain tried to think of something to change Dad back. The sound brought his attention to her again, and he hissed before he lunged a feint at her.  Iggy fell backwards to the kitchen floor and dropped the fry.

Dad snarfed the fallen food on the floor. The fry disappeared between his ravenous teeth. Iggy’s sweaty hands struggled to grip the cool metal rim of the counter and on to the top of the fridge. Tabby shuffled on her hands and knees, her belly expanding out of her shirt and her fingers fusing together at the nails.

“Tabby! Tabby, come here!” Iggy cried. She regretted her choice now. She didn’t know how to call a cow. She pursed her lips and tried to get Tabby’s attention like the cats outside.

Tabby continued her slow search of the thread bare carpet with her expanding nose. The remains of dinner disappeared beneath Dad’s snout. The last soggy mass of chicken slipped into Dad’s maw, and his canine teeth crunched the bones in easy chomps. He turned on Tabby, who had his back to him, as she munched through a forgotten bag of chips. Dad got low to the floor, fur showing from the bottom of his shirt. He sprung, digging new sprouted claws into Tabby’s back. Tabby squealed as they fought.

Iggy clamored off the counter and rooted through the debris of their last supper. Dad and Tabby crashed into the front door, and Roxy went crazy. Her muzzle dripped foamy drool as she barked at the two of them. Iggy grabbed the first piece of what looked like a fry, soggy and limp in her hand, she pointed it.

“Sad, mad, fad!”

“Rad, pad, bad!”

The thing that had been her Dad used finger-long fangs to bite into Tabby’s arm as the struggled. Iggy cried as she searched the slop pile again. Nothing. There wasn’t anything left. Iggy knew what she had to do, and with all her might, she pushed the screen door open. Roxy charged inside, tackling Dad, and knocking him off Tabby. Dad yelped, and Roxy raised the hair on her hackles.

Tabby’s arm gushed blood where Dad tore into it. Iggy couldn’t make sense of how to make it close. Roxy and Dad circled each other, and Iggy dragged Tabby out of the front door. Tabby limped and mooed quietly once they were outside. The street lights glowed like hazy stars in a dirty pool. Iggy panted as she dragged Tabby onward. Iggy looked around at the other neighbors: reflections of TVs and little squares of light casted out in the street.

Tabby laid on her side on the dirty berm. Her misshapen body caught mid-transformation, and her belly rising and falling with shaking breaths. Her blood seeped out into the dirt and asphalt. Tabby’s face wasn’t human anymore, but it wasn’t really a cow’s. Her freckles were there, but larger, and her lips were thin frames around her square teeth under her huge nostrils sucking in more air. Iggy laid her forehead on Tabby’s.

“I’m sorry, Tabby. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you…” Iggy lost her words. She could have fixed it. “I’m sorry.” She said it for all the other times in her life that she had hated her enough to hurt her. From the corner of her eye, Iggy saw a hulking mass twitching beneath the porch. A pale nose twitched beneath huge eyes. Iggy cried harder and hugged what she still thought of as her sister.

“I love you, Tabby. I will fix it. I will.”

Under her wet face, the huge cow face twitched, its mouth opened and the fat pink tongue lulled out like it wanted to tell her something.

***

Nichole Lightner is a horror writer and managing editor for the Drabblecast, living in the edges of Appalachia. She's teasing out dark hymns from broken records when everyone in the house finally goes to sleep.