The Costume

By Ann Marie R. Harvie

I got the job as manager at the Boneless Chicken fast-food restaurant. The employee who usually wears the chicken mascot costume is out sick, and my regional manager is coming for an inspection to see the mascot out there bringing in customers. No one else can do it, so it's up to me to wear the costume, but I’m claustrophobic.

 

I suck it up and decide to take one for the team. As I put on the chicken outfit, I try deep breathing exercises. I stare at the big chicken head. It's dead eyes stare at me, mocking me, daring me to put it on. I begin to sweat. My deep breathing turns into full blown hyperventilation. Suddenly I hear "He's coming!" from the front of the store. 

 

It's crunch time. I pick up the big, heavy chicken head and slowly start putting it on. The large, dark opening suddenly gets a lot smaller the closer it is  to my head. It's only a couple of inches from my head and now the opening seems so small, I wonder if it would even fit. "Please don't' fit, please don't fit," I chant as I slip the head onto my own. For a split second before my eyes found their holes, I was in the dark, my breath bouncing off the walls of the chicken head back onto my face. The closed-in feeling made me breathe faster and harder. "I can't do this!" I yell as I try to get the head off. 

 

My hands are wrapped in the costume and I can't get the stupid head off. I'm panicking now. I run to the front of the store and start screaming, hoping someone would help me get it off. I'm met by hordes of kids who came to the restaurant to see "Clucky" the chicken. My high pitched screaming only causes them to scream back with excitement. I hop around trying to get my coworker's' attention, needing them to get this thing off my head. 

 

While I'm hopping, I'm waving my arms up and down. The heat in the chicken head is now unbearable. I have to get this thing off my head!  I jump up and down faster, waving my arms up and down and trying to get my hands to stop slipping on the head as I try to pull it off. To my horror, my co-worker yells, "Hey, kids!  Let's join Clucky in his dance!"  

 

My continued screaming elicits howls of joy in the children. I begin swearing at my coworkers, but my profanities are muffled into chicken talk. 

 

While I desperately try to free myself from my perfectly molded prison, I wonder what God I pissed off to make him punish me this way. The children begin to jump all around me, getting closer. One of my idiot coworkers turn on music and the kids join me in my death dance, clapping their hands and reveling in my agony. 

 

Soon the kids are getting too riled up. They are pulling at my costume, pulling me down to the ground. I'm helpless on the ground with a pile of kids in top of me. I'm screaming myself horse at this point. Finally the visiting general manager who is laughing so hard at me he's crying, says "Okay, Kids. I think Clucky has had enough. Time to get up now and say goodbye." 

 

I think I blacked out for a minute because the next thing I know I'm on my feet in the back of the room with the general manager laughing and clapping me in the back. "What a show!  You are the absolute best Clucky I've ever seen!  I can't wait to get back and report to the board. I think those parents bought over $500 in food just during those few minutes you were out there!"

 

As soon as the general Manager leaves, I am finally able to get my co-workers to help me get the chicken head off. Once I am released from my prison and see their smiling faces, I immediately begin beating them with the head. 

 

And that's how our restaurant got picked as the best franchise in the restaurant chain and I got my $2 raise. 

 

Copyright 2017 Out of This World Publishing.  Photo Courtesy of Pixabay

The Garden Gnome

 

 

By Ann Marie R. Harvie

 

The Davis’ toured the house with the real estate agent, Mr. Gray.

“We love it,” said Mr. Davis of the white, three-bedroom colonial. “Is there anything we should know about the house’s past?”

Mr. Gray’s expression changed.  His eyes went to the ground.

"Well...," he began. He shifted his weight and looked uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his head nervously before he said, "there's the gnome."

Mr. Davis frowned. "Excuse me?"

“The Garden Gnome outside,” said Mr. Gray. “The neighbors think it's possessed."

 Mrs. Davis burst out laughing. "Are you kidding me? The garden gnome is possessed?"

She went outside to the front yard and bent down to examine it. The paint was weathered, and there was a small chip on the hat.  He didn’t look very dangerous to her. "It's adorable!"  She exclaimed. "He just needs a little paint. He's not possessed, he's neglected."

Mr. Davis laughed. He told Mr. Gray that they would take the house. Mrs. Davis bent down and whispered in a low voice, addressing the gnome. "I'll take care of you if you take care of me, okay?"

She winked at the old gnome and left with her husband.

The couple bought the home and as promised, Mrs. Davis gave the gnome a good washing and patched the small chip on the hat. After, she gave the Gnome, who she named Gus, a new paint job. She found a nice shady spot for him under the Japanese Maple so he would be somewhat protected from the elements.  "There!  Good as new!  You look fabulous, Gus."

Weeks went by, and every time Mrs. Davis passed by Gus she would always say hi, as if he were a pet. When she tended the Maple tree and the flowers, she would always give him a wash to keep him like new.

One night, when Mr. Davis was away on business, a robber broke into the house. He threatened Mrs. Davis and began smacking her around demanding money. She fell from the violence of his attack.  She backed away from him until she was against the wall in the kitchen.  The robber came after her to attack her again.  Suddenly, Mrs. Davis heard a loud thud. A small yelp left the robber’s lips.  His head jerked forward and then he fell dead at her feet. Blood began to pool from the back of the robber’s head onto the white tiled kitchen floor.

Lying face down next to the robber was Gus the Garden Gnome, as if someone had thrown him at the robber’s head. Mrs. Davis steadied herself and got up.  She looked around but saw no one else in the house besides herself, the dead robber and Gus.  When she was able to gain some composure, she called the police. After she hung up, she stared at the garden gnome laying on the floor, not touching him so as not to get finger prints on him. She remembered what Mr. Gray had said about the neighbors thinking he was possessed.  She also remembered the bargain she lightheartedly struck with the lawn ornament.  Could it all be true?  "Thanks for keeping you end of the deal," she said to him.

The next day, Gus the Garden Gnome was in his usual place under the Japanese Maple tree. All of the blood had been lovingly washed away by Mrs. Davis.  As he rested under the Japanese Maple, he seemed to have a wider smile on his face as he stood guard of the Davis home.    

End

 

All rights reserved.  Copyright © 2016 by Out of this World Publishing, LLC.

Photo Courtesy of Pixabay