Turkey Louis
by Alex, 5th grade
It was the day before Thanksgiving on a brisk autumn morning, when all the men and boys in the village went hunting for fat Thanksgiving turkeys. They set out their doors at four o’clock, into the vast forest of dead, gnarled trees.
Then the men saw movement in the bushes and raised brand new flintlock muskets, bought especially for the one time hunt. One of these hunters was named Louis Cromwell. He raised his musket and fired at the movement. A deafening shriek echoed through the whole of the woods, and Louis looked to investigate.
He saw a turkey dead on the ground and slid it onto a sheet and started back to his house, dragging the dead animal. The sheet was thin and white, and ropes were connected to the smear of white to bring back tomorrow’s Thanksgiving meal. Louis’s parents would be very pleased with him.
Louis followed the cobbled street to his house, all the time beaming even with the heavy weight on his shoulders. He brought the turkey home to his mother and father, and then sat by the warm fire while his parents prepared the turkey. The only noise and motion in the house was chopping, and the crackling of the fire.
That night, Louis and his family had soup for supper, and then went to bed. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Thinking and dreaming about that, Louis fell asleep quickly, more or less as soon as he had gotten to bed.
The next morning, Louis slept in, going on a fast until the main course of the day would be served. The clock struck seven o’clock pm and Louis’s mom and dad called for him. The mouth watering smells of buttermilk pies, fried pumpkin seeds, and turkey put you into a trance it smelled so good.
Louis came in and sat down. But instead of the boy who had hunted turkey, an actual turkey came in and sat down at the table. “I’m hungry, mom. Let’s eat!” the turkey shouted. When Louis’s mom opened the oven, the real Louis sat fried on a silver platter. The “turkey boy” that sat at the table was so hungry that he ate the fried mess right off of the platter, licking his lips when he swallowed Louis.
Not a person in the village could explain what had happened that night. But they still sing a song called “Turkey Louis” for entertainment. All the hunters mourned at Louis’s funeral. Even a few turkeys were there. Not just for enjoyment, but the hunters had to put down the “turkey boy” so that Louis could be properly buried. The two, both Louis and the “turkey boy” were buried side by side. That’s why turkeys run and dance wildly at the sight of people, and why people do the same thing.
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