WARNING! Parents, the story you are about to read involves graphic images and behaviors that may not be suitable for all ages. The names have not been changed to protect the guilty. No live animals were injured as a result of this incident. Close cover before striking. Apply ointment to infected area. Keep out of reach of children. Do not place near open flame. Do not insert into ear or nose. Do not remove tag under penalty of law. I'm sorry. When I start warning someone about something, I tend to get carried away. But, seriously, this is a rather disturbing story.

For our first Thanksgiving in Kansas City, many years, dollars, kids and calories ago, my wife, Jessica, and I were excited to have her parents visit from Wisconsin. We had never prepared a turkey before, unless you count me putting on a tuxedo for the wedding ceremony, so we had a bit of apprehension. Channel 9 had generously given all employees a turkey that year so that was a great and helpful thing. However, we didn't quite clue in to the whole "let the frozen bird thaw out" step. We put the no-so-little critter in the oven early and cranked it up to 3000 degrees or so. In the late morning, we checked it and discovered the outside was burned to a crisp while the inside was still frozen solid. It looked like Superman's ice fortress in there. Clearly, this bird was cooked, figuratively speaking.

I got a strong sense of foreboding as we pulled it out of the oven and took it to the back patio. If the charred carcass had teeth and eyebrows, I just know it would've been sneering at us. At the time, we had a little Chihuahua-dachshund mix named Jingles who thought he was about to get the world's largest rawhide bone but we kept him in the house. It just didn't seem right or respectful to allow this once majestic, albeit homely, beast to become a chew toy.

Well, Jessica's family arrived and, thanks to her mother and a new non-frozen turkey from the store, we had a wonderful meal and time together. Later that day, after the outside of the first attempt had cooled, I put it in a garbage bag and whisked it away. But, it was not through with us just yet. Left behind, on the concrete, was a clear outline of the bird. We tried scrubbing with hot water, soap...even bleach. It was still there. Obviously, we had received some sort of Edgar Allen Poe-ltry. Eventually, we even tried to paint over it with gray, concrete paint. The outline still bled through. Now, it was not the kind of thing you hear about on the news where a grilled cheese sandwich or foggy window pane takes on the likeness of some religious figure. If anything, this ghostly image looked like Art Garfunkle playing the bagpipes. Mostly, it looked like an evil Turkey Zombie. It was there for the rest of the time we lived in that house. When we sold the place, we told the buyers that it was a flaw in the concrete...rather than in our own inner Julia Childs, that caused the lingering silhouette.

Well, we've had more luck with turkeys in the succeeding Thanksgivings and have only happy memories of that house. However, there are some times, as the holiday winds down and the leftovers are in the fridge, that I'm sure I hear the haunting gobble of that first bird and see a faint outline of the half-frozen, half-baked foul creature on our current patio. My wife insists it is just the way the light hits it, but I'm staying vigilant.

Quoth the turkey "Nevermore!"