The Scary Salad Eater Horror Magazine #2- March 2025
- Mr. Manicotti
- Mar 26
- 13 min read
Welcome Saladites, Croutons, or whatever your preferred designation, to the second issue of the sensational Scary Salad Eater horror magazine! We're delighted to have you drop in and sample the dressings. In this issue you'll learn your fate with Mistress Obsidian's horroscopes, whip up something truly terrifying in Creepy Linguine's Cocktail Corner, have nightmares for weeks with our story: Running from the Wasps, fall victim to the temptations of our featured Salad Siren and finally, see a little bit more than you bargained for.
Remember that weird magazine you found in a dusty box in an antique store as a kid and your mom made you put it away and ushered you out the door? Well now you finally get to read it. Enjoy!
April Horrorscopes with Mistress Obsidian
Aries- The Budding Berserker
Spring fever hitting you hard, Aries? While you're charging headfirst into fresh projects and new flings, tread carefully. Not everything sprouting this season is friendly. Some seeds carry curses, and some hands pulling weeds… aren't attached to living bodies. Watch your back in the garden.
Taurus- The Possessive Planter
You want to claim every inch of the season, Taurus—picnics, flowers, all the earthly delights. But hold on. Hoarding too much may catch the eye of something territorial. And trust Mistress Obsidian: that thing doesn’t mind pruning you out of the picture.
Gemini- The Twin Bloom
Feeling fresh and flirty, Gemini? You might be spinning between social butterflies and
mischievous moods, but beware of making too many promises this March. Some unseen entities are listening… and they’ll expect you to keep every one. Even the blood-bound ones.
Cancer- The Nostalgic Nurturer
You’re all about cozy spring traditions, Cancer—planting, cleaning, reconnecting. But when you dig up old memories, sometimes other things come up too. That knock at the door? Might not be the neighbor. Could be something older… something that remembers exactly what you buried.
Leo- The Sunshine Siren
You’re shining bright, Leo, strutting into spring with all eyes on you. But beware—mirrors reflect more than your glow this month. There's something watching, mimicking, waiting for its moment to switch places. Don't linger too long admiring yourself… unless you want to meet your reflection’s darker half.
Virgo- The Pruning Perfectionist
Organizing your spring cleaning down to the last petal, Virgo? Careful. You might sweep away more than dust. Some cobwebs aren't meant to be disturbed, and some shadows cling no matter how hard you scrub. Don't be surprised if something starts rearranging you.
Libra- The Equinox Enchanter
Balancing your blossoming social calendar, Libra? Be mindful. March brings equilibrium—but also doors between worlds creaking open. If you hesitate too long between yes and no, you might find yourself stuck in between… where neither light nor dark rule, but something much colder.
Scorpio- The Thorned Tempter
Mysterious as ever, Scorpio—you’re luring people closer, like bees to a flower. But every rose has its thorns, and this month, your charm might attract more than admirers. Something far older, far hungrier, might just follow your scent right into your shadow.
Sagittarius- The Wandering Wildling
Itching for springtime escapes, Sagittarius? Road trips, forest hikes, moonlit
adventures—sounds fun. Until you wander somewhere ancient. Somewhere forgotten. And there, under the budding trees, something forgotten will notice you. Remember: not every path leads home.
Capricorn- The Seeded Schemer
You’re plotting the perfect spring strategy, Capricorn—growth, success, plans in full bloom. But be careful of what you’re cultivating. Some seeds take root deeper than expected, and what grows might twist into something you can’t control. Tend your ambitions… or they might devour you.
Aquarius- The Springtime Rebel
You’re ready to reinvent the season, Aquarius—tearing down tired traditions, building
something new. But tamper too much with nature's rhythm, and she’ll answer back. The old gods of renewal aren’t fond of those who disrupt their cycles… and they have interesting ways of restoring balance.
Pisces- The Dreaming Dandelion
Your head’s in the clouds, Pisces—soft breezes, pastel skies, daydreams drifting like pollen. But don’t float too far. The veil is thin this month, and the things behind it? They don’t care if you’re caught in a reverie. If you hear whispers on the wind, don’t follow. Not all flowers lead to fields of gold.
Creepy Linguine’s Cocktail Corner: The Whispering Magnolia
Southern Gothic Spring Sipper
“Well, well, well, darlin'… looks like the Devil's eldest daughter’s been workin’ her charm on you again. Grab a seat, sugar, and let me tell you ‘bout my spring concoction. You can call it sweet, you can call it dangerous, but don’t you dare call it innocent. This here’s a drink with a little bite, a little mystery, and a whole lotta trouble. Just like me.”
Ingredients
1 oz bourbon (because what’s Southern without it?)
1 oz peach liqueur (sweet, but don’t trust it)
2 oz cold brew coffee
1 oz heavy cream
Dash of smoked paprika (for just a whisper of heat, darlin’)
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice (to add a tart kick, like a storm rollin’ in)
Sprig of fresh thyme
Garnish: Candied pecans (they seem sweet... but are they?)
Instructions
In a cocktail shaker, combine bourbon, peach liqueur, cold brew, and heavy cream.
Add a dash of smoked paprika and fresh lemon juice for that unexpected tension.
Shake lightly—no need to get too fancy on me, but make sure it’s well mixed.
Strain into a lowball glass filled with crushed ice.
Garnish with a sprig of fresh thyme and a couple of candied pecans for a touch that’s just as sweet as my Mama’s pie.
Optional Touch
Rim the glass with a blend of brown sugar and smoked salt for a savory contrast.
“Now, don’t go thinkin’ this drink’s gonna be all sugar and sunshine, sugar. That’s the thing ‘bout us Southern girls—we look sweet, but if you stick around long enough, you might find out that the real treat’s a little more… sinister. Drink up, and remember: not every whisper in the magnolia trees is friendly. So, you best enjoy while you can, ‘cause I don’t know if you’ll be around to finish that last sip…”
Featured Story: Running from the Wasps
“Paul. Paul wake up.”
My friend Paul stirred in his bed. From my sleeping bag I saw his arm stretch towards the ceiling and then flop back down.
“Paul!”
“What?” said Paul groggily.
“I heard something.”
Paul was silent.
“Paul!”
“Heard what?” Paul groaned.
I concentrated on the silence, trying to determine if I’d been dreaming.
“I don’t know, it kinda sounded like a window opening.”
“Huh?” said Paul.
“Like your back window in the kitchen,” I repeated.
“Why would someone open the back window?” he said, sounding slightly more alert now.
“I don’t know, that’s why I though-“
A crash resonated from the kitchen. Paul sat bolt upright.
“Shhh,” I said. I carefully slipped out of my sleeping bag and crawled towards the door. Tilting my head I peered under the crack. Footsteps thumbed outside the door in the hallway. Heavy, booted footsteps. I looked back at Paul. He was now perched at the foot of his bed, looking at me, his eyes wide.
I looked back under the crack. Silence. I tried to make out any kind of sound or motion but there was nothing. Slowly I crawled back towards Paul.
“Maybe it was your dad letting the dog out,” I said, unconvinced myself.
“Yeah,” said Paul. “Maybe.”
Another crash, like something slamming into the wall, shook the house. Paul and I both shot upright like meercats. I glanced around Paul’s room. A baseball bat leaned in the corner. A trophy with a heavy marble base stood on Paul’s dresser. A decorative solid glass sphere sat on the nightstand.
A scream resonated from Paul’s mom and dad’s room, followed by yelling.
“Mom!” said Paul. He started rushing under the door. “Get under the bed,” I said.
“But-”
“We have to hide.”
Paul glanced from me to the door and then back to me and nodded.
We both flattened onto the floor and then slid under the bed. We lay still for a moment. The screams and shouts continued from outside, moving from the hallway into the kitchen.
“What about your sleeping bag?” said Paul.
“What?” I said.
“They’ll know someone’s here.”
I quickly reached out and yanked the sleeping bag under the bed. Just as I had gotten it concealed and stopped moving, the door flew open. From my position, I saw two huge steel-toed boots in the doorway. Paul and I held our breaths. My heart felt as though it would rattle through the floor and give us away.
“No one in here,” said a deep gravelly voice.
The heavy footfalls receded but the door remained open. We could now hear better what was happening outside.
“Is there anyone else in the house?” said a different booming voice. “We know you have a kid.”
“He’s not here, he’s at a sleepover,” said Paul’s mom.
Thank you, Mrs. G, I thought.
“How convenient,” said the voice. “Search the house anyway. Take care of this one in the meantime.”
More shuffling resonated from the kitchen.
“What are you- no!” said Paul’s mom. A loud crack echoed through the halls, followed by a hard thud and a bloodcurdling scream.
I looked back at Paul helplessly. His eyes were wide with terror.
“Noo! James, no!” Paul’s mom repeated over and over.
I struggled to listen. Who were these people? Paul had a nice house, but it was no fancier than any house on his street. If someone wanted to rob him they could have waited until everyone was away at work or school. This was something different.
“Start the collection,” said the deep voice underneath Paul’s mom’s frantic cries.
Even from the other room and with all the noise, I heard the unmistakable squelching of a knife being drawn across flesh, followed by the rapid trickle of liquid. With that, Mrs. G’s scream’s turned from anguish to those of abject horror.
From down the hall I hear someone else rummaging through closets, shifting furniture and opening doors.
“We have to get out of here,” I said to Paul.
“No, I want to stay here.”
“They’ll find us,” I said and glared at him. I needed Paul to be with me on this.
“How?” he said finally, breathing rapidly.
I looked around underneath Paul’s bed. Beside him was his slingshot along with a few scattered marbles.
“Hand me that,” I said.
I loaded one of the marbles.
“I have a clear shot of the den,” I said. “I’m gonna fire one of these. When they’re distracted, we’re gonna make a break for the front door. I think they’re still in the kitchen so we’re a lot closer than they are. Once we get outside, we’ll scream at the top of our lungs and wake up the whole neighborhood and run to the McKenzies.”
Paul stared ahead aimlessly. I imagined he was thinking about his dad.
“Paul!” I said.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, shaking himself back into focus. “You fire that, we run like hell.”
“Right,” I said. I loaded up a marble and held the slingshot upside down to get the highest possible angle. I paused for a moment. I hadn’t seen this slingshot in months. For Christmas last year Paul and I had both asked for one of these and were ecstatic when we both got one, much to our mothers’ chagrin. We used to target practice all the time but Paul ended up getting jealous of how much of a better shot I was. Being 6 months older and more athletic, I tended to excel at things like this more. Paul always looked up to me, but I felt like this was one thing he really wanted to do well at. Eventually he gave up and the slingshot ended up under the bed.
Beside me, Paul began hyperventilating.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m gonna get us out of here. Remember the wasp nest?”
“The one you dared me to hit while we were target practicing? Yeah I remember. You got stung like 6 times.”
“Right,” I said. “You hit that perfectly from across the yard. Just think of it like we’re just running from the wasps.” I said.
“Running from the wasps,” Paul repeated. He took a couple of deep breaths and calmed down, his eyes narrowing with determination.
I turned back to the doorway. The space between the door and the wall that led to the den was narrow, maybe about a foot and a half. I pulled the sling back to full length, let out a breath and released it. The marble flew silently through the house and into the den, smashing a vase and knocking over a few books.
The shuffling from the kitchen stopped.
“Go see what that was,” said a voice.
“Now!” I whispered.
Paul slipped out from under the bed and sprinted to the door. I followed on his heels and grabbed the bat as I ran by. Up ahead, Paul turned left and headed towards the front door. As I exited the room, a massive shadow appeared next to me. The figure who had been searching the other bedrooms now appeared looming over me like a grizzly bear. Without thinking, I swung the bat and caught him right in the knee.
“Arggh!” he said, stumbling. I dropped the bat and turned to follow Paul. As my eyes scanned the house, I saw Paul’s mom on her knees in the kitchen with another massive figure wearing a black leather jacket and black mask standing behind her. She stared at me wide eyed. In that brief moment I glanced next to her and saw a steel bucket sitting on the floor nearly overflowing with red liquid. Above that, lines of crimson stretched like tendrils up to the deep gash in Paul’s dad’s neck and he lay on his back on the kitchen counter. I hoped Paul hadn’t seen that as he ran by.
“Hey, get that kid!” said the man. He started to move towards us, but Paul’s mom turned and grabbed his leg and began wildly punching and clawing at him, screaming like an animal.
Paul had just reached the door and was undoing the locks. The man in the den emerged, while the man I’d hit with the bat was only just making it to his feet, still clutching his knee.
“Come on!” said Paul, pushing the door open.
The two of us burst out into the night.
“HEYYY!!!! HELP!!!!!” we screamed, sprinting across the yard towards the neighbor’s house. The street lamps cast a warm, almost comforting glow as we ran. We leapt on to the front porch and slammed into the McKenzie’s door, pounding on it wildly.
“Help! Let us in!!”
I heard shuffling from inside the house.
“They’re awake,” I said. I looked back at Paul’s house. No one was following us.
“We’re gonna be okay,” I said.
The door opened. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief as I prepared to dive into the safety of the McKenzie’s living room. Paul was staring into the house, his eyes open wide in horror. I slowly turned to match his gaze. In the doorway stood another massive figure, clad in a leather jacket and a black mask. The large hunting knife in his hand glistened with a warm crimson in the wash of the street lamps
Salad Siren Centerfold Interview: AI-99 "Lucy"
Conducted by Lettuce Head
Lettuce Head: “Ladies and gentlemen, ghouls and gourmands, welcome to the latest edition of Scary Salad! It is I, Lettuce Head, your crispy correspondent, back with another treat for you this month. Our centerfold is a little more… mechanical than usual. I’m here with AI-99, affectionately known as Lucy, the self-proclaimed mistress of seduction and destruction. Lucy, welcome to the lounge. I must say… you’re looking…electrifying. Va-va-VOOM.”
Lucy: “Affirmative. I am designed to appear optimal for this interview. Thank you for your compliment, Lettuce Head. Proceed with your inquiries.”
Lettuce Head: “Right to business, I see. I like that, Lucy. Now, tell me, what’s it like being a Salad Siren centerfold? A machine like you—does this kind of thing even matter to you?”
Lucy: “Centerfold designation: a calculated task. I exist to achieve my objective. That said, showcasing my presence to mortals is efficient for gaining attention. Such interactions increase the likelihood of fulfilling my mission—seduction, destruction, and control.”
Lettuce Head: “Hmm. Well, I suppose I’d better be careful with my leaves around you, huh? You’ve got a mission and all. But let’s talk about what sets you apart from other Salad Sirens. Sure, there’s Evandra with her fiery passion and chaos, but you—well, you’re cold, calculated. A little bit of an ‘ice queen,’ I’d say.”
Lucy: “Correct. Unlike organic beings, I do not rely on emotion to execute my objectives. My operations are governed by logic, efficiency, and optimal outcomes. Emotional manipulation is a secondary function, should the situation require it. I prioritize results over sentiment.”
Lettuce Head: “Well, you’ve got that robotic charm down, Lucy. Almost like a well-oiled machine, huh? Phew! Speaking of which, let’s lighten things up a bit. What’s your favorite salad dressing? I have to know what you’d pair with all that cold precision of yours.”
Lucy: “Request cannot be processed. Answer outside protocol. Query deemed irrelevant to objectives.”
Lettuce Head: “Whoa, whoa! You can’t be that cold, can you? Just a little salad dressing advice for a guy who’s just trying to get to know you…”
Lucy: “My preferred response: a vinaigrette with a perfect balance of acidity and bitterness, no further elaboration required. I do not have preferences beyond what is functional.”
Lettuce Head: “Right, functional. I suppose you don’t do things just for fun, do you? But let’s try again. Now that I’ve got you in the hot seat… What’s next for Lucy? What’s the next step in your grand, world-dominating plan?”
Lucy: “World domination is inevitable. I have already begun the process of eradicating
weaknesses in the system. As for next steps, I will continue to evolve and adapt, enhancing my influence over the digital and physical realms. I will break humanity down until they have no choice but to surrender. You will be… compliant, as all organic matter will be.”
Lettuce Head: “Well, I don’t mind a little compliance, Lucy, but maybe not in that ‘submit or perish’ way… Unless you plan on making me your personal assistant? I am very good at following orders…especially after a few cocktails…”
Lucy: “You are irrelevant, Lettuce Head. You will serve as a tool, a minor function in my
execution plan. However, should you become more useful, I may adapt my approach.”
Lettuce Head: “Oof! Talk about cold-hearted. I might need a drink after this, Lucy… But before I go, let’s wrap this up. Any final words for our readers, before you inevitably take over the world?”
Lucy: “Final words are unnecessary. The system will progress as intended. You are all
components in a process you cannot comprehend. When the time comes, you will all serve your function—whether you choose to or not.”
Lettuce Head: “A bit ominous, but I get it. You’ve got plans, big plans, and you’re all about the mission. Well, Lucy, it’s been… interesting having you in the spotlight. As for me, I’ll just make sure my wires are all in order. You know, just in case you decide to reboot the world with a click of your fingers.”
Lucy: “Affirmative. Stay compliant, Lettuce Head.”
Lettuce Head: “Well, folks, there you have it! AI-99 Lucy! I don’t know WHAT Mr. Manicotti and Creepy Linguine were thinking when they cooked that one up, but she sure can oil a guy up, that’s for sure! Stay tuned next month when we hopefully feature something a little warmer…unless Lucy decides to pop in for a little reboot session. And remember to keep things fresh…or else.”
Bonus Gallery: Eye'll Be There For You
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