story eggs

must end with: "it's antichrist twins!"

setup courtesy of Jess of collegehumor:

two lesbians, Jen and Karen, lost their chihuahua in a weird desert accident. their lives were empty and sad. they were so forlorn and they decided they were in a good place to have a child. they couldn't afford adoption however. so they thought 'we were going to steal babies'. (they turned out their pockets but only lint and paper clips fell out) they stole a pram with two little babies in it from olive garden. they thought, 'ooh.. that baby looks delicious.' 'wait a minute, are we evil witches?' 'let's just follow this feeling!' so they take the babies and drive back to the apartment. they preheat the oven and get out olive oil and four different kinds of spices. (it's a recipe from Epicurious. you take out the turkey and put in the baby — but it is a longer cooking time so they adjusted the cooking time) - they were going to put the babies into the oven but they noticed weird smiles on their faces. the whole house started to shake, and all the pots and pans started to fall off the wall, and the knives came out of the drawers, and started to fling around the room, and stuck on the wall Addams-Family-style, and the babies laughed. and here's where i come in because Jess doesn't commit to putting babies in an oven, on a game show watchable by a sizable audience, but i don't mind :)

- - - - -

we put the babies into the oven, oiled and spiced, bathed in marinade.

the apartment kept shaking, from a ruptured little tremor, to a concerning shake, like it came from deep within the earth, like we were on top of some live wire. crash! came the sound of porcelain breaking from upstairs!

'Kooky neighbours,' Jen glanced at Karen. 'Yeah.'

There's sharp little banging noises, coming from the oven now. It is dark inside, the window's smeared with grease and sugar. The din ceases, and this sizzling, sizzling grows... Burning red smoke starts to seep out the cracks of the oven's door, setting off the smoke alarm.

'something's cooking in the oven!' Karen shouts as Jen grabs the nearest flat thing to fan at the alarm.

Pop! A shrivelled, blackened little hand snakes out the top of the oven's door. The other one follows, twisting and pulling, until the baby's crispened head emerges, its eyes glowing like coals, and from its mouth breathes a foul breath of methane.

The other one emerges with Jen and Karen watching on in horror. It holds a hand in front of the first baby's mouth, and snaps its fingers. It sparks!

Before the apartment was shredded by the flames, we only had time to scream, 'it's antichrist twins!'

—
Watching people tell scary stories on the fly on a game show, where the only requirement is ending on a specific sentence. I think I'd have good ideas, they would need practice knowing that I was a) on a zoom call — because the show was recorded in 2020 — and b) being recorded and c) going to be streamed by thousands of people.