It was a peaceful Saturday morning in the Johnson household. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and Mrs. Johnson was enjoying a rare moment of serenity with her coffee. That tranquility, however, was about to be obliterated.
In the living room, six-year-old Sterly was on his third rewatch of Thomas the Tank Engine: A Very Thomas Christmas. His chubby fingers had carefully popped the VHS tape into the old, slightly temperamental player. All was well until—disaster struck.
The screen flickered. The sound warped into a demonic garble. Then, silence.
"NOOO!" Sterly screeched, leaping off the couch like a panicked cat. He raced to the VHS player, his little fists banging on it like it had personally wronged him.
"THOMAS! WHAT'S HAPPENING TO YOU?" he howled.
Mrs. Johnson heard the cry and winced. The peaceful moment was officially over.
"Sterly, what's wrong now?" she called from the kitchen, already bracing for chaos.
"The VEEEEEHESSHHHH IS EATING THOMAS! IT'S EATING HIIIIIM!" Sterly screamed as if Thomas himself were being digested by a VHS monster.
Mrs. Johnson walked into the living room, mug still in hand, and saw her son sobbing on the floor, his face bright red and streaked with tears.
"Sterly, calm down! It's just a tape—"
"HE'S DEAD!" Sterly wailed, his tiny lungs operating at full capacity. "YOU HAVE TO SAVE HIM, MOM! GET HIM OUT!"
Mrs. Johnson sighed, setting her coffee down. She crouched to examine the VHS player. Sure enough, the tape was stuck.
"It's jammed," she said.
Sterly's face contorted into an expression of pure horror. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he shrieked, the kind of shriek that could wake the dead. He threw himself to the ground and began rolling in circles, flailing like a fish out of water.
"Sterly, you're being ridiculous—"
"DON'T SAY THAT ABOUT ME! YOU'RE THE RIDICULOUS ONE!" he screamed, his voice somehow hitting a higher octave.
"Sterly, it's just a tape," Mrs. Johnson tried to reason, though she was already regretting every decision that had led her to this moment. "I'll get it out—"
"NOOOO, YOU'LL BREAK HIM! YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE TRAINS!" Sterly accused, pointing a trembling finger at her.
At this point, Mrs. Johnson was ready to eject Sterly instead of the VHS. She grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen and carefully jimmied the tape loose.
"There, it's out," she said, holding up the slightly crumpled tape.
Sterly gasped. "YOU'VE RUINED HIM! YOU'VE KILLED THOMAS!"
"Sterly, for the love of—he's not dead!" she snapped.
"Yes, he is! He's—" He suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Wait...you can fix him, right?"
Mrs. Johnson sighed. "I don't know. Maybe."
"FIX. HIM. NOW." Sterly demanded, arms crossed like a tiny dictator.
Mrs. Johnson, now entirely out of patience, handed the mangled tape back to him. "You want him fixed? Ask your dad. He's the one who bought this ancient thing."
Sterly blinked, processing this betrayal. Then, like clockwork, he dropped to the floor and unleashed a fresh round of banshee wails.
"YOU'RE THE WORST MOM EVERRRRRR!"
Mrs. Johnson grabbed her coffee, now cold, and walked out of the room. From behind her, Sterly's shrieks echoed, shaking the walls.
"DAD! DAAAAAAAAAD! THOMAS IS DYING!"
Mr. Johnson, who had been hiding in the garage, sighed. It was going to be a long day.
