Tell Time: 2 minutes
Scare Rating: 1 of 5 Frights
“Did you get the mail?”
Tom walked into the kitchen from the porch, slapping a thin stack of envelopes against his palm by way of an answer.
“Pretty sure it’s all bills,” he said, sorting the junk mail onto the counter and flipping through the rest. He paused when he got to the bottom.
“Oh, great! Our DNA test results arrived!”
Becky glanced up at the twin envelopes he held up, then did a double take.
“DoggoDNA?!” she exclaimed. “Did you use a canine breed test service for our DNA tests?”
“Sure did!” Tom replied with pride. “Saved $100 for each of us to do so. Pretty sure it’s the same lab that does all the testing. I’m no sucker – why should I pay a premium for a human DNA test? DNA is DNA!”
Becky said nothing, beyond what her sickly expression conveyed. Moist beads of sweat peppered her furrowed brow.
“Here, let’s open each others’,” Tom said. He snatched her envelope from the counter and slid his across in exchange. “It will be fun!”
She watched, silently, as he excitedly tore the envelope open and started to scan her report. As his eyes passed over the bar charts and data-filled narrative, Becky started to tremble, and a low whimper escaped from her closed throat.
“Ok, let’s see … 19% Scandinavian, sure … your grandma was Scandinavian,” Tom read. “28% Iberian peninsula, what is that, Spain?”
He glanced up at Becky, to see which of her features were most “Iberian.” He scanned her browline, he cheek structure, the shape of her ears, for clues. Instead, he found her cute, squat nose and somber, tear-filled eyes.
Confused, not knowing what was wrong, or what to say, he turned back to the report.
“3% Greek,” he read, “and …”
Tom looked at his wife, then back at the page in his hands. She burst into tears, her deep cries growing in intensity into a woeful howl.
Tom understood. Those mysterious late nights out alone, each month. The torn clothing. The strong appetite for meat, always cooked rare. It finally made sense. He set the paper down and cautiously walked around the counter to console his sobbing, whimpering bride.
The report read “Wolf, 50%”