Family Feeding

"Where, oh where is my little twinkle-bit? Where is my
twinikywhittle, my little turlekey mookachoo?" Grandma stomped into the
room, flicking the light on and off.
"Turkle my little nunuk scratchet, my colletymiggle," she crowed.
I stayed hidden behind the settee, it stank of cat piss a little but it
was better to stay tucked away until the initial hit of her medicine
wore off. She crashed around a bit more, it sounded as though she had
her stick or an umbrella, viciously beating around the furniture.
"Whackety whicker, shbuzz doh, buh." Her huge bulk flopped onto the
setee and a great guff of stale dust puffed into my face. I coughed a
little and scrambled out. It was safe. Grandma was slumped, glazed-eyed
with dribble pooling on her left tit.
The blood had already started seeping into the hall so I had to be
quick. Grabbing the bin bags and tape from under the sink, I made a
pathway from the kitchen to the top of the cellar stairs.
The first one was an older bird, about 60, nothing too bad, just a bit
of rough butchery around the face and neck. I tipped her off the chair
onto the bags, grabbed the ankles and dragged her into the hall. The
second one caught me by surprise a little; from the right side he was
normal - just some blood-spattered stiff - but the left side of his
face and torso were completely missing. I got what I could onto the
bags and started hunting around for the rest of him. After a couple of
minutes I'd found the electric knife and whisk and worked out how so
much visceral mush was coating the floor, table and halfway up one
wall.
I kicked the cellar door open, the bright light cutting a shaft down
the stairs to the landing, and let equilibrium roll the bodies
down.
There were still about 15 pints of gore to slop up from the kitchen
floor and some pamphlets and a clipboard on the table; the saturated
blood left them indecipherable so I folded them up with the tablecloth.
Most of the traces of violence were gone after a firm wipe with the
dishcloth and a final mop.
"Keithy dear." Grandma's call snapped me back. Shit, I'd forgotten to
mop her down.
"Yes Gran?"
"I feel like I've had one of me funny turns again."
I took her in a couple of ibuprofen with a cup of tea. By dinner time
she'd stopped twitching and was settled down in front of the tv.
There was a firm ring on the doorbell, and the clamour started
downstairs.
"Shut up Dad." I yelled, and stamped on the floorboards; he howled a
couple of times then whimpered to himself.
They were Christians and only too happy to share a cuppa with Grandma.
I put the kettle on and loaded her cup with another 100mg of PCP.
"I'll be in the living room if you need anything." I slipped out and
took my place behind the settee.