A lot of people are pleasantly surprised when they come to my hometown due to the quality of milkshakes in every business in town. The local council even set up a walking tour that lets people visit each business in one go.
I woke up this morning to the pink mist floating over the town hall and knew that the annual ritual was today. I checked my fridge and was annoyed with myself as the only milk I had was two days out of date. I cursed my own stupidity for not planning ahead better as I knew that the ritual was coming up.
I grabbed my wallet and rushed out the door while passing a sideways glance at the beautiful strawberries lining my garden. They looked perfect and would hopefully bring out the flavor that I intended.
I reached the local supermarket in record time and walked into a scene of utter chaos. Dozens of people were crowding the aisles and I witnessed a few fights break out. The fruits and vegetables had almost been stripped clean. I had to push past a few people to reach the dairy aisle and I almost screamed when I saw that there was no milk left.
I gazed around in panic until I spotted Mrs Davis who had been my English teacher when I was eleven. She was 93 and looked like a small gust of wind could knock her over. She had a large carton of milk nestled amongst her other groceries.
I waited until she left her cart to grab something and snatched the milk before quickly walking away. I looked at her from the far end of the aisle and could see the tears flowing down her face when she realised that someone had stolen her milk. I considered giving her back the milk but remembered that survival of the fittest was the only way to survive the ritual.
I arrived home and stopped dead in my tracks as my garden had been picked clean as there wasn’t a strawberry in sight. I sat inside contemplating my options knowing that I didn’t have much time before it got dark.
I knew that there was only one thing left that could work. I grabbed the butcher knife that I had gotten in case of emergencies. I steadied myself and took a few deep breaths and brought the knife down onto the chopping board. It felt like a dream as I watched as my severed fingers rolled across the counter.
I placed my stumps of fingers on top of the grill and tried to stifle a scream as I cauterized the cuts. I quickly threw my fingers into a blender and added the milk. I watched in regret as the fluid in the blender went red as my fingers were torn apart.
I had just finished pouring the milkshake into a glass when I heard the sounds of fingers scraping against my front door. I added a small umbrella and some marshmallows into my milkshake before making my way to the door.
I carefully pulled open the door and almost vomited due to the stench of rotting meat that now assailed my nostrils. I was careful not to lock eyes with the person standing outside as I knew they sometimes took offense to this.
I recognised him as he used to be my milkman years ago until he suffered a fatal heart attack while delivering milk. His milk truck rolled down a hill and smashed into a telephone pole.
His face was mostly rotted away and his neck was mostly bones and sinew. I spotted movement in his eye sockets and raised my gaze for a moment to see hundreds of maggots moving around inside.
I raised the milkshake up towards him and he reached up with his arm and grabbed it. His fingers brushed against my flesh for a second and I fought back the urge to just turn around and run.
He brought the milkshake up to his mouth and took one small drink. I watched in fascination as the liquid just poured down his clothing. He lowered the drink and I quickly snatched it out of his hands. He gave me a bony thumbs up before turning around and began moving towards the next house on the street.
I saw the bodies of the Smith boys walking into my yard and closed the door as I knew they liked their traditions. This was going to be a long night and I hoped that they would all enjoy my offering
The next morning I awoke and went down to the town square to find out the gossip. I felt terrible after discovering that Mrs Davis had been killed last night but knew it was her own fault for not being more observant. I wondered if she would be coming to my house next year, while staring over at the cemetery as the townspeople once again covered the graves