Welcome to micro Terrors, scary stories for kids where it's always the spooky season,
full of chills, thrills, and spine tingling spooks. Micro Terrors are
family friendly frights for those ages eight and up, and while our stories are
for younger years, we are still talking about things that go bump in the
night, and some children may not be able to handle what others can.
Parental consent is recommended now for tonights micro terror. It came from the neighbor's
garden by Scott Donnelly. Mom, where's my leftover sub sandwich? I clamored,
rummaging through the fridge like I was already a teenager. I'd been thinking
about that sub ever since I'd gotten to school, and now that I was
home, I needed it. I needed the three meats, the cheese,
the mayo. It was swimming in Italian dressing somewhere in the fridge, but
I just couldn't find it. Did Dad eat it? I yelled to my
mom, who hadn't even responded to my first question. Dad ate it,
didn't He backed away from the fridge, feeling defeated. Of course, my
dad ate it. He ate everything without asking. Left over lasagna tacos butter.
He ate it all. I closed the fridge just as my mom entered
the kitchen. Did you say something, sweetie, she asked, said a
plastic bag down on the counter. Never mind, I said, Travis Deck's
door just picked these from his garden, fresh carrots, She said. Perfect
timing too. I'm making beef stew tonight. We'd better eat as much as
we can tonight before Dad gets to it tomorrow. I muttered, sarcastically under
my breath. My mom didn't respond. She just opened the bag and shuffled
through the carrots to make sure there was enough for the stew. Right then,
her cell phone rang in the next room. That's probably your dad.
Now you should be home from work any minute now. Oh good, I
said, keeping the sarcasm up. I better have a snack now then,
before I miss my opportunity. My mom chuckled as she left the kitchen,
but I felt like she didn't even know what she was chuckling about. I
heard her answer the phone in the living room, and it sounded like it
was indeed my dad. I opened the fridge again, this time accepting the
fact that I might have to settle for a pudding or yogurt. I didn't
want those. I wanted my sub Just then I heard a soft rustling behind
me, a crinkling of plastic. I turned around and saw the bag of
freshly picked carrots from the neighbor moving across the counter. My eyes went wide.
Uh. I trailed off. Then the bag rolled over, spilling a
dirty carrot or two onto the countertop. I jumped back. Something was in
that bag, A rodent of some kind, perhaps a chipmunk, a mole.
Wait, of course, a rabbit. Rabbits liked carrots. They loved
them. Somehow, a rabbit had slipped into the bag unnoticed and was eating
the carrots. It was like a dad version of a rabbit eating everyone else's
food. I don't think so, Dad, a rabbit, I shouted,
smacking my hand down on the bag, do stop it, and then opening
it up. Mom, I shouted, we're about to have a rabbit running
around. I stopped talking when I peered in the bag. There was no
rabbit, just carrots. Was I going crazy? I know what I saw
I saw. I stopped again when something bizarre happened inside the bag. I
saw an eyeball small like a googly eye, then another one opened and another.
Soon there were five squishy eyes blinking at me, all at different times.
They were on one of the carrots. A sideway's mouth filled with chipped
orange teeth opened on it next, and then it hissed at me. I
lifted my hand from the bag and backed away, not believing what I was
seeing. The bag moved again as the carrot deformed with two orange trunks acting
his legs came scampering out of the bag and onto the counter. It turned
one way and then the other, taking in its surroundings. It finally focused
on me and hissed again. Its eyes dipped, and then it lunged off
the counter. I ducked, and it flew directly over me, blasting into
my mom just as she was walking back into the kitchen. She screamed as
the carrot clung to her dress and quickly climbed up to her face. It
hissed at her too, as she screamed again louder I had to act quickly.
I grabbed the closest thing to me, a frying pan, and wildly
swung at the carrot. I accidentally blasted my mom across the face. She
fell to the ground, and I panicked Oh no, Mom, I yelled,
dropping the frying pan and kneeling down at my mom's side. The carrot
hit the ground too, but scurried away into the living room. I helped
my mom set up. She was clearly dazed by the sudden blast. What
happened, she said, barely able to speak. It was a carrot,
I said, with five eyes and a mouth. What are you talking about,
she stammered. In the living room, the radio turned on. Oh
my god, I said, it's listening to music. The radio changed channels
until a hard rock station blared. It's jamming, I exclaimed. I stood
up and barged into the living room. On the shelf was our radio.
The carriage stood next to it, rocking out to the song, but turned
and faced me. When I entered the room. Its eyes dipped and it
hissed at me, again, launching itself across the entirety of the room.
I was able to duck just in time, but once again it collided with
my mom and wrapped itself up in her hair. She screamed and started running
around the living room in circles as the rock music continued to jam. What
kind of freak vegetables try of us? Growing next door, and why would
he even consider giving us one of them? Next time he needed his lawn
mode or yard raked. He had another thing coming. Stop drop and roll,
mom, I shouted. She heard me and dropped to the ground and
rolled around until she hit the wall. The carrot dislodged from her hair and
scampered back into the kitchen check down, but lost track of it. I
scoured the floor, the counters, the top of the fridge. Nothing.
I opened a drawer and pulled out a meat cleaver, the perfect carrot chopping
tool. I heard the front door open and my dad walked in. Oh,
my favorite song. I heard him say, honey, why are you
on the floor. Why is your hair all messed up? Dad? Watch
out, there's a carrot loose, I yelled at him. He came into
the kitchen and sat his work bag down on the counter. Carrot, He
asked, what are you talking about? It has eyes? I screamed,
five of them. My dad squinted, are you talking about a potato?
Potatoes have eyes, son, not carrots. Remember we've been through this before.
The carrot beamed out from the fruit basket on the counter and straight at
my dad's face. Everything fell into slow motion. No, he screamed.
Instinctively. I swung the meat cleaver through the air and seamlessly hit my target.
Blade sliced down through the carrot, splitting it in half. It hit
the floor. Both sides of it went limp. I took a deep breath
before getting on my knees and chopping the rest of it up until it was
nothing but a fine orange dust. My dad stood and shock. My mom
remained sprawled out on the floor, her hair a wreck, and me.
I caught my breath while still on my knees, put the meat cleaver in
my hand. I wasn't sure if it was a freak of nature, grown
on cursed grounds, bad fertilizer, or just Travis conducting bizarre experiments to create
super creepy foods. The one thing was for sure, I would never eat
anything else that ever came out of my neighbor's garden. I looked up to
make sure my dad was okay, and that's when my worst fear had been
realized. My dad had found my leftover sub sandwich from somewhere in the fridge.
I was already sinking his teeth down into his first bite. Thank you
for listening. To micro Terrors join us each Saturday for another scary story.
For more fun, visit our website at microterrors dot com, where we will
also have spooky games you can print out and play like Wicked word searches,
mysterious mazes, and more. Microterrors dot com is also where you can find
us on your favorite social media and even send in your own scary story for
us to tell. Plus, you'll learn more about our author, Scott Donnelly,
who has other horrors for both young and old. I hope you'll join
me again soon for micro Terrors scary stories for kids