It was October 26th, and I was at the supermarket grabbing a few things I would need for Halloween, before it closed. Specifically candy to hand out to the kids in my neighborhood. While I was there, I picked up a few other things that I needed, as well. I grabbed some new body wash, as well as some ice cream sandwiches. While I was picking up the ice cream sandwiches, I figured that I might as well grab a gallon of milk, since I was already back there. So, I went over to the refrigerators that held the milk and began looking for a gallon with a distant expiration date. To my dismay, they were nearly all sold out of milk. I sifted through the selection of milk that they did have, only finding deeply discounted gallons of milk, that expired in only a day or two. I like my milk and all, but downing a whole gallon in 48 hours seemed like a bit of a stretch.
Eventually, I came across a gallon thatâs expiration date was October 31st. Halloween, how do you like that? I donât think Iâve ever had a gallon of milk that was set to expire on a holiday, not that I keep track of that kind of thing. Although, come to think of it, I may have had one a few years back that expired on Arbor Day. It doesnât really matter. I grabbed the gallon of milk, threw it in my cart, and headed towards the check-out.
I got home and put away my groceries. When I put the gallon of milk in the fridge, I could have sworn it was pulsating. It was late, and I figured it must have just been my eyes playing tricks on me. So, I just headed to bed.
The next morning, I had a serious hankering for some cereal. I poured the cereal in the bowl and went to grab the milk. I got the milk out of the fridge, but when I tried to open it, I couldnât get the cap off. It was really stuck on there. I googled methods for getting stubborn caps off of bottles, and tried just about all of them, but nothing worked. I got mad, and in a fit of rage, struck it on the counter. Not the best idea Iâve ever had. Now, you would have figured that the plastic container would have exploded on impact, and I would have been left with a mess to clean up, but to my surprise, it didnât burst. Had I bought the worldâs only impenetrable milk carton? Whatever, I thought, and I just ate the cereal, sans milk. I put the milk carton back in the fridge, figuring that I could maybe open it later. However, when I put it back in the refrigerator, it had begun pulsating again. What is this? I donât know if youâve ever flipped off a carton of milk before, but I sure have.
I had forgotten about the milk for a couple of days, until the night before Halloween, when I was looking through the fridge. I moved some things around, before laying eyes on the enigmatic gallon of milk, and noticed that this time, it was glowing slightly. This is getting even more strange, I thought. Having not even so much as opened the gallon of milk, yet, and with its expiration date fast approaching, I just threw it in the trash. Figuring it wasnât going to get drank, not that I would want to drink it, anyway, and was only two and a half bucks wasted. Iâll run out and get another, less problematic gallon of milk, in a few days.
The next day was October 31st, Halloween, and everything was pretty par for the course. The neighborhood was replete with decked out houses, sporting all manner of ghosts, and goblins, and jack-o-lanterns. It truly was my favorite holiday.
The day went on like normal, with nothing of note really happening. As it got later on in the evening, trick-or-treaters began showing up at my door.
âTrick or treat!â They would yell. Before I would make my way to my front door, to give them their candy. I saw princesses, vampires, pirates, a multitude of superheroes, and even one kid dressed as a toaster. Hey, itâs Halloween, you can be whatever you want, even a kitchen appliance.
I packed it in around 9:00 PM, figuring that I likely wouldnât be getting any more trick-or-treaters. I began to nod off on my couch, before remembering that it was garbage day, the following day, and I had forgotten to take the trash out.
When I went over to the trashcan, and opened the lid, I saw that the gallon of milk was no longer inside. This was confusing to say the least. I mean, itâs not like it sprouted legs, and walked away, right?
Just then I heard a shrill whine from behind me. I turned around to see the gallon of milk on the kitchen floor, glowing and pulsating. I was frozen in place, not knowing what to do. It let out another whine, before it started chasing me. It chased me all around the kitchen, squealing an unholy squeal. Things were starting to get weird. The gallon of milk then cornered me and started inching closer. When it got within a couple of feet, I gave it a swift kick in the label. It let out a grunt and flew a couple of feet in the air, and I crumbled to the ground in pain, clutching at my now throbbing foot. What was this milk made out of, cement? I looked around, not being able to locate the milk. I got up slowly, favoring my injured foot, which I was now pretty sure was broken.
I hobbled upstairs, and barricaded myself in my room. After not too long, there came a banging at my door. I crawled over to my gun cabinet, pulled out my shotgun, and loaded it. It didnât sound like my door could take much more stress. So, preparing for the worst, I hid on the other side of my bed, to outwit the gallon of milk. After three more good slams against the door, it gave way, and the gallon of milk barged its way inside. As it made its way through my room, I could hear it making these odd, low gurgling sounds. I could hear it getting closer, and closer, when finally, I sprang up from behind the bed, and began firing at the gallon of milk. I was blasting holes in my floor, but didnât even care, I finally had the milk on the run. It scurried away from me, eventually tumbling down the stairs. I would have run after it, if it werenât for my bum foot. So, I scooted down the stairs on my butt, in the manliest way possible. While I was making my way downstairs, still holding the shotgun, I inadvertently discharged a round, that blasted a hole in the ceiling. Damn, only one round left. I had to make it count.
When I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I stood up on my one good foot, and began hopping, while still holding the shotgun. As I rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, I fell flat on my face, and dropped the gun. The damn gallon of milk had set up a trip line. That cunning bastard of a dairy product. When I looked up, I saw the gallon of milk ahead of me, now wielding a knife. Not sure how since it didnât have hands. It charged at me as fast as it could. Being in a prone position, and not knowing what else to do, I waited for it to get within striking distance, and I lunged forward, punching it with all my might. The knife went flying, the milk fell over, and Iâm pretty sure my hand was broken now, too. I looked over at the gallon of milk, which was now not moving. Guess I showed it who was boss.
I got up, and shambled my way over to the couch, and collapsed on it. I got out my cellphone, and called the police to report the attempted murder, by way of dairy. They didnât believe me, assuming I was pranking them, and warned me about wasting the emergency serviceâs time and resources, before hanging up on me. Despondently, I set the phone down on the couch beside me. I then grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV, figuring I might be able to catch a good horror movie. I found one and settled in to watch it. Not two minutes later, a horrendous screech came from the kitchen. It was the gallon of milk, now glowing something fierce. Oh no, I thought. I got up slowly, hopped over to it, and began cussing out a dairy product for only the ninth time in my life. When I was done hurling insults, and swearing at it, the gallon of milk let out an absurdly high-pitch scream of a sound, that could wake the dead, and probably kill the living. The gallon of milk lurched up at me, and we began wrestling around the living room. The tenacious gallon of milk just would not quit. When I eventually gained the upper hand, I threw it across the room, and made a break for the back door. I hopped on my one good foot out the back door, and through the backyard, until I felt a shooting pain in my leg, and fell to the ground. I looked down to see what had happened, and to my shock and horror, my leg was caught in a beartrap. The gallon of milk had set up a beartrap in my backyard. How? When? I swear, this is the last time I buy mutant dairy products.
I looked up to see the gallon of milk slowly, and forebodingly making its way through the backyard, towards me, now brandishing a Colt .45. Where did it keep getting all these weapons from? Well, it doesnât really matter now, I suppose. This was it for me. I had nowhere to go. I was trapped, and a gallon of milk with a gun was coming ever closer. Thatâs when it all became crystal clear. It wasnât the milk that was set to expire on October 31st. It was me.
Credit : Steven Allen
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