Welcome back to the PLAYGROUND.
I’m proud to present the first UNCANNY FICTION of 2026—and what a shocker it is. This tale is all but guaranteed to make you question whatever you’re being served at your next family gathering.
If it unsettles you, disturbs you, or lingers a little too long after the last line, don’t keep it to yourself. Please, share it, and spread the word to help carry the PLAYGROUND message forward—where strange stories live, and discomfort is part of the invitation.
“You’ve hardly touched your food since we sat down, dear. What’s the matter with it?” Mother looked at me with practiced concern from across the family table. Between us, candles that had been lit early to bolster fading light still tiptoing through the windows. They flickered against china plates, and family crests worked into the cloth beneath our hands.
“The meat’s good,” Father grumbled. “Something’s wrong with him.”
“No-no, I apologize. That’s not it.” I replied, mustering a voice to be heard. “You’ve made a delicious supper, Mother. I’m just surprised at the trouble you both went through for me. I can’t recall the last time we ate Father’s special meat.”
Father snorted, groaning in his chair. “Can’t you tell, Susan? He’s eager to leave us. Return to his beloved university,” He couldn’t help but lay years of irritations off his tongue. “Stop pestering the boy. Let us eat in peace. Right, John?”
I glanced from my place with a forced, wry smile from my lips, but neither noticed. To my left, my sisters Alice and Charlotte had already begun to dig in. Father’s special meat sat steaming in the center of the table, dark and glossy, making my mouth salivate. I picked apart my own piece and placed it into my mouth. As far as I could remember, our family ate this particular meal with bare hands. Neither parent would allow cutlery, as it was family tradition. His meat, father proclaimed, was primal. He never explained, and we never asked, especially after promising to kill any one of us if ever we found out its origin. Mother, of course, knew but remained tight-lipped for fear of our safety. There was a sharpness in his eyes when he talked about it, so dangerous that my younger sisters and I never pressed any further. All we did was eat, as we were told.
Whatever it was, it was good. No, better than good, it tasted divine. Chicken? Perhaps Pork? The tender fibers resisted slightly before giving way to warm and slick juices between my teeth. There was a density there I couldn’t place, a depth of flavor lingering on my tongue. Familiar, somehow. Father had only served this special meat, as he called it, seven times across my life. So, I couldn’t help but extend my stay when, out of the blue, Mother told me she was cooking it again. However, now that we were gathered together, the taste alone couldn’t prevent my mind from wandering to what awaited me at university.
“Back to your studies, I’ll expect. Shouldn’t you have left two days ago?” Father growled out from his chair.
“That’s correct, Sir. Though I’m thinking of staying longer.”
A smirk danced across his face, but he didn’t look up from the drink he’d taken to wash the meat down his throat. “Not dreading that damned professor of yours?”
The meat slipped from my fingers. I don’t know whose gasp louder— mine or my mother’s. “How did you…?” I trailed off, mind racing to understand his intentions.
“A word of warning, John.” He said, savoring his tone, as if enjoying his own voice. “When confiding in another, giving away dirty little secrets, make damn sure there’s a punishment waiting for them if they talk.” Father finally glanced at Mother. “She can’t keep her mouth shut.”
The room tilted. As I stared at the woman seated opposite me, the woman who mirrored my own disbelief, memories of the prior week came to me. Our clandestine time in the study, cramped over the smoldering fire pit. My voice shook as I spoke of that professor’s fury—how careless remarks had turned my studies into torment. The way his eyes lingered on me in lectures. The bold humiliations in front of my peers. I hated that man for what he put me through, but felt powerless to do anything. My conclusion was to quit studying at the university.
“Your father will never allow such a thing.” Mother whispered in hushed tones, freezing whenever footsteps passed in the rooms overhead.
“I implore you, Mother. I’m at my wits’ end.” I pleaded with her. “I can’t take it anymore,” We agreed I would stay at the home for longer than intended, but leave should Father grow suspicious.
“Oh, John. Am I truly that hard to talk to?” Father’s words snapped me back to our meal. The memories evaporated like frail leaves as I looked upon my half-chewed meat. I was dumbfounded that he knew. Father didn’t give me the chance to respond, throwing his words at me while rising from his chair. “A Hövermann! A Hövermann! Five generations of the hardest-working men built from God’s green Earth, and you’re the result of our labors. A boy who’s frightened by a schoolmaster! Did you not hold your ground? Grandfather, well, we all know about his famous temper. He would have knocked that sniveling bookworm to the floor!” Father grew in stature as he yelled. He slammed another piece of meat into his mouth. Chomped. It seemed to calm him momentarily. “John, I’m only offended,” he spoke between bites, mouth full, “that you didn’t come to me sooner. You’re my only heir, since your brother vanished, left us to the wolves.” He finally slumped back into his chair. “At least eat, meat’s getting cold.”
“No…I don’t want another…”
“EAT IT!”
Father’s face loomed upon mine, red and slick with sweat, the smell of grease and spirits thick on his breath. “Damn sons of mine..” For a moment, I thought he would strike me. Instead, he leaned back, “You remind me of David. Before he disappeared. Had the same look on his face four years ago, as you do now. Bold, defiant. Does your own bloodline disgust you that much?” Then he chuckled through his nose and wiped his hands on a cloth already darkened with old stains. Then a grin appeared, growing in intensity. “How could I be related to you both? Always the same,” he said. “Always thinking you’re above the family, until you taste our meat.”
Mother reached across the table then. Not to me—to the platter. She turned it slightly, presenting a different cut. Leaner. Pale at the center. The steam curled in soft threads. “Try this piece,” she said with a warmth lost to Father. “It’ll sit easier.” I wanted to shake my head, but my hands betrayed me. They moved before I could stop them, fingers sinking into the fibers. The meat pulled apart with a sound like damp paper. It was warm. Too warm.
“There now,” Father muttered, already drinking again. “Feels good in your belly, doesn’t it?”
I brought it to my mouth. It was richer than before. Dense. Familiar in ways I couldn’t place. There was a bitterness beneath the salt, something sharp that clung to the back of my tongue. I chewed slowly, waiting for revulsion, for my body to throw it back in disgust. It never came. They both watched me closely. “Stress does that,” Mother said. “Makes the flesh tighter. You can always tell.”
I swallowed.
Father watched me with delight, “John, I think it’s time you knew.”
Knew? Knew what? I wondered wide-eyed, but Father cut my mind from more thinking. “Take the girls into the kitchen, let them finish their meat there.” Mother ushered them without a word, patting me on the shoulder as she passed.
“That professor of yours, the one who’s been giving you trouble.” Father continued after my sisters were out of the room. “You won’t be needing to worry about him anymore.”
“Worry about him? I don’t understand, Father. Why would you say that?” I asked, almost fearing to hear the answer. Mother had left meat on her plate, and I scraped it onto mine. Its flavors seemed to grow in my mouth. Never had I tasted such succulence.
He only shrugged. “Paid him a visit. After Mother informed me of your sulking around this house, like a little girl, refusing to return to your university. Back to the studies I paid for. No Hövermann would dare show weakness. You weren’t going to do anything, so I took matters into my own hands. We’re built from something else, John, as strong as the earth. That blood runs through your veins as much as it does through mine.”
“And where is he now?”
At this, Father relaxed. He savoured the moment, taking in the sheer panic in my eyes. With a grin as big as the Earth itself, he uttered calmly. “Your precious professor? Well, you’ve been eating him for the past hour.”
I erupted, almost overturning the table. “How could you? How could you? A Beast! That’s what you are. A Monster!”
“A Hövermann,” he corrected. “We do what’s necessary, which means removing problems. It was the same with your brother four years ago.”
“My brother?”
“He became a problem. Let me remind you, punishment waits for people who can’t keep family secrets.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But my mouth… It kept chewing, and the meat, my professor, the realization was settling slowly in my stomach. It didn’t horrify me. It comforted me.
I understood why he… they all had always tasted so good.
The taste made sense now—the familiarity, the satisfaction blooming in my chest. I began to laugh, I couldn’t help it. Father laughed with me. All I could do was whisper, and the words horrified me as I said them, but I said them anyway.
“Those fools. They all deserved what came to them.”
And as I chewed, the meat grew sweeter.
I was a Hövermann after all.
Thank you for reading. This has been an UNCANNY FICTION written under the direction of my personal writing philosoph— ENT theory.
If this tale has unsettled you, disturbed, or left a lingering discomfort, don’t keep it to yourself. Please consider sharing and spreading the word to help carry the PLAYGROUND message forward—where strange stories live, and the uncanny is part of the invitation.
What a delicious story!