 A quick note from Scott Donnelly. The following story was written by fellow indie author and friend Steve Kane in 2020 for an earlier version of MicroTerrors, but was ultimately confirmed by Steve for a November 2023 release on February 20 of this year. Seven days later, Steve's life as well as his sons were tragically and senselessly taken from this world. Steve was a wonderful soul, a very talented writer, and I'm honored to have him leave his fingerprints on MicroTerrors. Please enjoy Steve's story, wishbone. Spine-tingling spooks. MicroTerrors are family-friendly frights for those ages eight and up, and while our stories are for younger years, we are still talking about things that go bump in the night, and some children may not be able to handle what others can. Parental consent is recommended. Now for tonight's MicroTerror. Wishbone by Steve Kane. Everything smelled delicious. There was roasted turkey, cornbread stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallows and raisins on top, green beans with bits of ham cooked in, homemade buttermilk biscuits and cranberry sauce. The cranberry sauce was the kind that had real berries, not that jelly to stuff. The house was awash with the aroma of Thanksgiving. Toby's stomach was rumbling as he set the table, plates, glasses, napkins, knives, forks, trivets for hot plates, salt and pepper, and butter, plus hot sauce for Uncle Lou. Toby's older brother Wayne and their dad were in the living room watching football, of course, and could not be bothered to help out in the kitchen or dining room. The Browns were playing some team in Navy Blue Jerseys with a C on their helmets. We guessed the Browns were losing, since all he heard from the living room were groans, expletives, and the occasional belch or other bodily air expulsions. Toby didn't care for public displays of air, and he didn't care for sports in general. He knew he'd be expected to be outside later that afternoon for the annual family game of football. It was cloudy, and he was hoping for rain, praying for rain. It was always a free-for-all out on the lawn. Gina and Harley, his cousins, would always tackle him, even though it was touch football. Sometimes, just for fun, his own brother would tackle him, and everyone would laugh, including his father and his Uncle Lou. Please rain, Toby prayed to the gods of Thanksgiving. In return, there was a low rumble of thunder. Yes, Toby thought. The doorbell rang, and Toby's heart pounded heavy in his chest. They're here, he groaned. His mother asked him to go answer the door. Toby looked at her pleadingly, but she just gave him the go-ahead signal with her oven-mittant hand. Head down, Toby walked down the hall past the living room to the front door. He peeked out the door window, and at first he thought they were being invaded by aliens. Turns out it was just Uncle Lou, Aunt Celine, and his horrible cousins Harley and Gina. He chuckled to himself when he thought of his secret nickname for Harley, Hurley, as in, I'm gonna hurl. He didn't have a nickname for his other cousin. Gina was bad enough sounding by itself. He opened the door cautiously, but it was forced open by Harley, who plowed his way in, followed by Gina, who was a foot taller and hairier than her little brother. They both towered over Toby, who felt like the shrimp they called him. Uncle Lou strutted in with the nauseating odors of aqua-velva and slim gyms. He tussled Toby's hair, muttered a, hey kiddo, and joined his dad Wayne and the cousin's cruel around the tube. Aunt Celine was a little better, but she was evil by osmosis. She bent down, gave Toby a hug, and said, happy Thanksgiving, and waltzed into the kitchen. Toby stood at the door for a moment, looking at the dark clouds, please rain. Behind the clouds he could see the sun trying to peek out. He closed and locked the door, turned, and trudged back down the hall. After pouring milk for himself and the other kids, the family gathered into the dining room for dinner. Toby's mother and aunt had a glass of wine each, and his father and Uncle Lou had cans of beer. The football game in the living room was forgotten. The Browns had no chance. Toby's dad had carved the turkey, and it was heaped on a plate. To the side, on a smaller dish was the turkey's wishbone. The bone looked like an upside-down V with a little notch on the end. Toby was excited. This year was his and Wayne's turn to do the wishbone. Last year was his cousin's turn. They alternated each year. Toby's mother motioned to Toby and Wayne, and they stood up and went to the head of the table. Wayne picked up the wishbone off the plate and held one end out to Toby. He grasped it with his left hand. Now, boys, make a wish, Toby's father said. The boys looked at each other and Wayne grinned. He was bigger. He was stronger. Of course he was going to get the bigger piece of the wishbone. He always did. Are you ready? Wayne asked his brother. Toby looked around the room at all the faces of his family. They were all staring at him. Harley had stuck a piece of turkey and was chomping on it. Not yet. I haven't wished. Hurry up! Gina snarled. I'm hungry. Yeah, me too. Chimed Harley. And I'm ready to play football. You ready, tackling dummy? Toby looked around again. He was nervous. Wayne was smiling and his teeth looked like fangs. Everyone at the table looked like monsters. Wayne, Toby's dad, Toby's mom, Harley, Gina, Aunt Celine, Uncle Lou, they all looked like hideous monster aliens. Football! Chanted Gina. And everyone joined in. Football! Football! Football! Football! No! Toby cried. I hate football. I hate it. He tried to pull on the wishbone, but Wayne held on. Football! Football! Football! I hate it! Football! Football! Football! Football! The voices grew louder. No! shouted Toby. Wayne was snarling and his teeth stretched out of his mouth down past his chin. Football! Football! Football! Football! Shut up! The family had taken up knives and forks that were banging them on the table in time with their chanting, which grew steadily louder. Football! Football! Football! Football! Football! Football! Football! Football! Football! Football! Football! I hate football, Toby yelled. If you all love football so much, you should all be footballs. I wish you were footballs. Toby yanked on the wishbone. Wayne yanked back. They pulled and pulled, and the wishbone snapped. Wayne fell backwards onto the dining room table. Turkey gravy and stuffing went flying through the air. Toby's mother screamed. Then everything went silent. Toby looked down at his greasy hand. He had the largest piece of the wishbone. He smiled and looked around at the now messy dining room. None of his family members were there. Where were they? He looked again. In his father's chair sat a brown oval piece of leather with white laces on top. It was a football. Toby went around the table. In each chair was a football where one of his family members had sat. On the floor next to the refrigerator was another football where Wayne had fallen. His entire family were footballs. Toby looked again at the wishbone in his hand. It had worked. Toby didn't know whether he should be happy or horrified. He decided on happy. He grabbed a piece of turkey from the plates and put it in his mouth. It was delicious. He took a bite of stuffing from the serving spoon. It was delicious. He ate a bite of cranberry sauce with real berries. It was delicious. Everything was wonderful. When he had tried a bit of everything and was full, Toby belched loudly. He rounded up all the footballs into a black garbage bag and went out into the backyard. It had begun to lightly snow. No rain. He took a ball out of the bag. He didn't know who was who, but he pretended this one was Wayne. He held the ball in front of him, dropped it and raised his leg to punt the ball. He missed and the ball hit the ground. He picked it up again and tried it again. This time his foot hit the ball and the ball rose 10 feet in the air and landed a few feet away. It felt good. He took another ball out of the bag, Gina. He held it out in front of him, dropped it and punted. The ball sailed about 20 feet into the air and about 15 feet away. Not bad. Toby smiled and took another ball out of the bag. Hurley. He punted again. This one soared over the house into the front yard. Toby raised his hands in the air like he was signaling a touchdown. Score! He screamed at the top of his lungs. He knew that wasn't right, but it was his football game, his rules. One by one, Toby removed the balls from the bag and punted them, naming them as they flew. Finally, the bag was empty. He held the last ball in his small hands. Mom. He held the ball out in front of him, but he didn't drop it. Mom. He looked down at the brown leather. He ran his fingers over the white lacing. Mom. He pulled the ball back in and held it against his chest. Hugging it tightly. A tear rolled down his cheek. Mom. What had he done? Back inside the house, Toby looked around the dining room at the massacre that had been dinner. He looked at the empty chairs. He looked at the mess of gravy on the table and the floor. He was no longer hungry. His part of the wishbone sat on the edge of the table where he had left it. Wayne's piece was on the floor. He picked up both pieces and held them in his right hand, his left hand holding the mom football. Toby was crying. He was tired. Toby put both pieces of the wishbone in his back pocket and climbed the stairs, holding on to the handrail as he went. His room was warm and inviting. He climbed into bed and closed his eyes. The football was tucked under his arm. Toby! A voice called out. It was his mother's voice. He jerked away and the football he'd been holding fell to the floor. What? He thought, what's going on? He heard his mother's voice again. Toby, can you come down please? I need you to set the table. Toby rubbed his eyes and looked at the football on his bedroom floor. It had a red bow wrapped around it. There was a little card that Toby hadn't noticed. He picked it up and read it. Toby, I got you a new football. I know you don't like to play, but it will be fun this year. I'll make sure Gina and Harley go easy on you. Signed Wayne. Toby's mouth was a gape. Wayne had never really been nice to him. He picked up the football and looked at it. It was brand new and shiny. It felt smooth. It was smaller than their other football and it felt just right for his small hands. He held it close to him and smiled. Coming mom, Toby yelled as he started out of his room and ran down the steps. He could smell all the Thanksgiving food and his stomach growled. On the way to the kitchen Toby passed the living room and looked in. His dad and Wayne were watching the game. Chicago, Toby said out loud, the bears. Wayne looked up and saw Toby holding the football. He gave him a wink. You like it? Wayne asked. I love it. Toby replied. Thank you. Wayne nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Toby went into the dining room to set the table. His aunt, uncle and cousins would be there soon. For listening to Microtarrows, join us each Saturday for another scary story. For more fun, visit our website at microtarrows.com. Where we will also have spooky games you can print out and play. Like wicked word searches, mysterious mazes and more. Microtarrows.com is also where you can find us on your favorite social media and even send in your own scary story for us to tell. Plus, you'll learn more about our author Scott Donnelly who has other horrors for both young and old. I hope you'll join me again soon for Microtarrows, scary stories for kids.