Maxwell Stegner, originally from Ukiah, California, is a celebrated author and knife maker, now living in the Bay Area with his family. His debut novel, the first in the 'Behind the Curtain' trilogy, was a resounding success, sparking a passion for writing that continues to thrive. Maxwell's works, primarily in literary fiction, captivate readers with their immersive narratives and intricate world-building. His storytelling, much like his knife making, is a craft that requires patience, precision, and a keen eye for detail. As he continues his writing journey, Maxwell invites readers to join him in exploring the depths of human emotion and experience through his stories.
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UNPLUGGED TOASTER
by
Maxwell Stegner
"No one believed me, and then it happened again," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the creaking of the old floorboards. The room was dimly lit, with flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.
Jake, Samantha, and James, my so-called friends, were all in attendance. They sat around me in a semi-circle, their expressions a cocktail of skepticism and amusement. The air was thick with tension, broken only by their sporadic laughter at my expense.
"Oh, come on, David. You're telling me your toaster is possessed?" Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "What's next? The fridge is a portal to another dimension?"
"I wouldn't joke about that, Jake," I warned, the unease evident in my voice. "Last night, my bagel popped out with a pentagram burnt on it."
Samantha rolled her eyes. "Really, David? Now you're just reaching."
But despite their disbelief, one by one, my friends started to feel the chill creeping in. The laughter died down as an eerie silence settled over us. The room became cold, the air heavy.
Suddenly, the power cut out, plunging us into darkness. The group erupted into nervous laughter, but it was short-lived. One by one, the laughter died down until only the sound of ragged breaths filled the room.
"David, this isn't funny anymore," Samantha whimpered, her voice shaky.
"No one believed me," I repeated, the words echoing around the room.
Suddenly, an evil whisper filled the room. "No one believed you, and now they will pay."
The room fell into a deathly stillness, as if the air itself was afraid to make a sound. Then, one by one, an ear-piercing scream shattered the silence. The sound was chilling and gut-wrenching, filling the air with a sense of dread. But it was quickly silenced, replaced by a pungent odor of my friends being cooked alive and the sharp click of a toaster popping. The acrid stench of charred flesh and hair filled my nostrils, making my stomach churn with disgust and nausea as bile reached the top of my throat.
Panic spread through my remaining friends like wildfire as they scrambled to their feet, their faces drained of color. Jake's horrified screams were drowned out by the crackling of flames as he was pulled towards the toaster by some unseen force.
Samantha and James desperately tried to escape, but it was too late. The room seemed to twist and warp around them, trapping them inside like helpless prey in a sinister game.
I could only watch in horror as Samantha was lifted off her feet and thrown towards the toaster, her body bending and contorting in unnatural ways before being devoured by the flames. James turned to me with pleading eyes, but there was nothing I could do to save him. He met the same gruesome fate as his companions, his anguished cries echoing in my ears even after he disappeared into the fiery maw.
As I sat there, alone in the darkness, surrounded by the sickening smell of burnt flesh, I knew that the toaster had finally succeeded in its vengeful plan. It had taken revenge on those who had doubted me, leaving behind a desecrated appliance as evidence of its evil intentions. And as the last embers died down, I couldn't help but wonder what other horrors this demonic machine had in store for me.
One by one, my friends vanished into thin air without a trace. And each time, they left behind only the faint smell burnt meat, a haunting reminder of the terrifying fate that had befallen them.
"No one believed me," I whispered, the room now eerily silent save for the hum of the toaster. I was alone, surrounded by an uncanny darkness and the chilling reminder that my once skeptical friends were now nothing more than a horrifying memory.
I sat on the ground, shaking and shivering from the bone-chilling cold that seemed to have enveloped the entire house. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt flesh and the pungent stench of blood.
I couldn't shake the image of my friends' bodies twisting and contorting, being crushed into the shapes of bread before being sucked into the toaster. I could still hear the sound of their skin sizzling and popping, the sickening crunch of their bones breaking, and their anguished cries for help.
And then there was the toaster, humming menacingly in the darkness. Its stainless steel exterior now stained with blood and the remnants of my friends' bodies. The once innocent appliance had become a twisted, demonic entity, seemingly alive with a malevolent energy.
I slowly rose from the chair, my hands trembling and my heart pounding in my chest. The room felt like it was closing in on me, the darkness swallowing me whole. I needed to escape. I needed to get out of here.
I stumbled towards the door, my mind racing with thoughts and images of my friends' gruesome demise. I fumbled with the doorknob, my hands shaking uncontrollably. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to turn the knob and push the door open.
Stepping out into the hall, I was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the house. The whispers of the walls seemed to have stopped, the darkness of the rooms not seeming quite so oppressive. But I knew that it was only temporary.
As I made my way down the stairs, I could hear the toaster humming in the background. It was still there, waiting for me.
"No one believed me," I repeated, my voice hollow. I was left alone with my fear, my regret, and the haunted toaster that had claimed my friends. It was a chilling reminder that sometimes, the most terrifying horrors are the ones lurking in our own homes, waiting for the right moment to strike.
“Did I unplug the toaster before I left?”