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The following week, on my way back from Tallahassee, I stopped again at the pork store. The old man was glad to see me, explaining he had been worried about me getting home. I couldn't understand his concern, but I was glad some one cared. We talked for a while about things in general, then we got down to the subject of bacon. I told him of my friend in the Virgin Islands and how strange it was I had never heard from him again. His reaction was strange, to say the least. He just smiled and said, "I can understand this." He invited me to look over his operation and we walked out to the smoke house as the old man explained in detail just how he imported the wood and smoked everything himself. He made great issue of the fact he used old time-proven methods and absolutely no chemicals. Even the animals he slaughtered for his inventory were killed in a most humane way. By the time he was finished, I couldn't wait to buy several pounds of bacon to try on the kids. We would have bacon for dinner. It just looked and smelled too good to pass up. When the kids got home from school, I placed my prize on the counter and unwrapped it for all to see. In truth the bacon was beautiful. I explained to the kids about having this prize bacon for dinner and there was unanimous agreement. Dragging out my biggest and best iron frying pan, I made ready to cook up about two pounds of this culinary delight. The kids sat there watching me with hungry anticipation written all over their faces. The bacon began to sizzle and snap in the frying pan. The smell of this bacon was just great. As I waved the fork over it, I turned to the kids to watch the expression on their faces. Seldom had I seen them more excited about a meal. Suddenly the expression on their faces turned from anticipation to round-eyed surprise. They sat bolt upright and stared past me at the frying pan. I followed their gaze to the pan. There, weaving back and forth, snapping at my fork was a strip of bacon. I recoiled in horror, not believing my eyes. Cautiously I poked the fork back toward the frying pan. The bacon strip reared back like a snake and struck at the implement. There was an audible thud as the bacon made contact with it. The force of the strike nearly knocked the fork out of my hand. This was all quite real. Between the force of the strike and my own recoil, I found myself with my back against the sink on the other side of the kitchen. I froze there and watched what was happening on top of the stove with a kind of morbid fascination. As I watched, the other bacon strips in the pan began moving about. The first strip of bacon, now fully animated, slithered out of the pan onto the top of the stove, still hissing and snapping at me. The others followed, and soon the whole top of the stove was covered by bacon strips, all of which hissed and snapped at anything that moved anywhere near them. It seemed the heat of the stove warmed the bacon. As it did so the bacon became more supple and animated. I had seen bacon move about in the pan on many occasions, but this was ridiculous. Normal bacon would curl and bend a little but never crawl out of the pan. The kids had come around the counter for a closer look. Now the bacon was slithering down off the stove and advancing on us in a menacing way. Pushing the kids along before me, I retreated to the dining room. Smoke began pouring from the unattended frying pan on top of the stove. I had left the heat on under the pan and the grease in it was about to burn. The confusion created by the smoke and the moving bacon caused a near panic in our otherwise quiet household. If I didn't turn the heat off under the pan, it would soon burst into flames. I had to get to the stove and turn off the heat, before the whole place went up in flames. Continued On Next Page (bacon, Page 3) ... AUTHOR: Robert P. Herbst TAGS: Literary Work story Home time living life BOOKMARK: Digg it | Add to Del.ICIO | Add to FARK ACTIONS: Comment Save Print Register free acount |
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