The Scary Salad Eater #3- May 2025

Mr. Manicotti
May 23
10 min read

Back for more, eh? I see our previous two issues have not sent you running for the hills yet (not that those are particularly safe this time of year). For those of you f̶o̶o̶l̶i̶s̶h brave enough to venture into yet another helping of the Scary Salad Eater, boy have we got a feast for you.

First, mistress obsidian has some wise and foreboding words about your future in her May Horrorscope. Next, Creepy Linguine spices things up with a mixed cocktail sure to put the "heat" back in "oh god, the heat from this mixed drink is melting my esophagus!" The fun doesn't stop there as next up our very own Lettuce Head interviews Sandra, this month's Salad Siren. Put your mind at unease with Creepy Linguine's original short chiller story, Gary and the Eye, and finally remember how horrifying the ocean is with our bonus gallery.

Enjoy!

May Horrorscopes with Mistress Obsidian

“New life is blooming... but not all of it wants to stay buried.”

Ah, sweet May. The flowers are blooming, the air is heavy with lilac and lies, and you,

darling Scary Salad Eater, are stretching your limbs toward the light. But

beware—this season of growth is also a season of awakening. Beneath the garden beds and picnic blankets, old things stir. Forgotten things. Hungry things.

Mistress Obsidian has read the mossy runes, traced the pollen-dusted bones, and

steeped her tea in moonwater. Her message is clear: enjoy the sunshine—but keep a

blade in your boot. This month, even the sweetest petal may hide a fang.

Now... lean close. Let us see what May has sown for you.

Aries

The Blooming Brawler

Your fire’s burning brighter with the longer days, Aries—but so is your temper. You’ll win the argument, sure. But make sure it’s with someone alive. Not everything you challenge this May is from this world… and some fights never end.

This month, your energy feels boundless, like a wild flame in the wind. But even fire needs fuel—and something strange has started feeding off your rage. Next time your fists clench or your voice rises, look around. See if something else flares with you. You might not be burning

alone.

Taurus

The Velvet Root

May is your season of lush indulgence, Taurus—sweet fruits, soft moss, warm nights. You’re reveling in the tactile pleasures, claiming every inch of your garden and soul. But something else has taken root—uninvited, slow, and deep.

It’s wrapping around your favorite chair, blooming under your pillow, whispering in the drip of your watering can. You thought it was a vine. It’s not. You thought it needed sun. It doesn’t. And when it finally blossoms, it won’t smell like roses. It’ll smell like you.

Gemini

The Mirror-Bound Moth

You're fluttering from event to event, Gemini, wings full of gossip and glitter. But beware reflective surfaces. There’s a version of you that didn’t survive something… and it’s been aching for a second chance.

Lately, you’ve noticed odd lags in your reflection. Little gestures you don’t remember making. Smiles that last a second too long. It’s charming, it’s curious—it’s dangerous. That thing behind the glass isn’t a ghost. It’s a Gemini. A darker one. And it’s already memorizing your life.

Cancer

The Hearthbound Haunt

You’re nesting hard this May, Cancer—sweeping out corners, airing old linens, making your home a sanctuary. But homes remember. They remember lullabies, arguments, blood spilled and secrets kept. And yours has started whispering back.

The draft in the hallway isn’t from a cracked window. That rocking chair wasn’t swaying

yesterday. And when you lit that candle in the basement? You invited something to dinner. It’s hungry for comfort… and you’ve set the table perfectly.

Leo

The Mayfire Masquerader

You’re radiant this month, Leo—throwing picnics, dancing in the moonlight, and basking in every gaze. But there’s something in the shadows mimicking you with perfect poise. And it’s begun arriving first.

You hear rumors of things you don’t remember doing—flirting with strangers you never met, promising things you’d never say. The worst part? People believe it was you. This isn't identity theft, darling. This is a performance. And your understudy has learned all your lines… except the one that ends the act.

Virgo

The Dust-Fed Devotee

Your spring rituals are exact, Virgo—lavender sachets, alphabetized herbs, pristine floors. But this time, something noticed. Something in the dust motes. Something in the patterns you clean into the grout.

It’s a creature of rules, and now it’s following yours. Every time you arrange things just so, it moves closer. It likes your methods. It wants order. It wants control. Soon, it may offer you a choice: perfection… or permanence. Either way, you won’t be leaving the house.

Libra

The Court of Crows

Balance is your birthright, Libra—but this May, the scales are tipping. You’ve been making too many decisions, stepping into too many roles. And the unseen tribunal is watching.

They don’t like your indecision. Nor your attempts to keep the peace. They want verdicts. They want loyalty. And they’ve sent omens—feathers in your path, coins landing on their edges, black-eyed birds outside your window. You must choose soon. Because if you don’t, they’ll choose for you.

Scorpio

The Petal-Veiled Predator

You’re magnetic this month, Scorpio—sultry, mysterious, blooming like a deadly nightshade.

And oh, how they come running. But not all who circle you are admirers. One is ancient. One remembers your scent from lifetimes ago.

They don’t knock. They drip in, like perfume through cracks in the wall. You feel them in the ache behind your eyes, in the hunger that wakes you at 3:33 a.m. They aren’t a lover. They aren’t a foe. They’re a mirror of what you’ve become. And they want to bloom with you—forever.

Sagittarius

The Trailbound Echo

Adventure calls, Sagittarius—and you’re answering with reckless joy, skipping stones and snapping selfies on forgotten paths. But one path doesn’t want to be remembered. And now, it’s remembering you.

There’s a rhythm in your footsteps now—echoed a beat too late. You thought it was just wildlife. But wildlife doesn’t hum lullabies you’ve never learned. Whatever it is, it’s following your scent through moss and bark. And once you look over your shoulder… you’ll never stop looking again.

Capricorn

The Architect’s Curse

You’re laying plans this May—perfect rows of intentions, growth charts, and investments. But the ground beneath your strategy is ancient. And it does not like being mapped. Your calendar begins shifting on its own. Deadlines bloom with unfamiliar ink. Old journals reappear with new entries. Something is building with you—or maybe through you. Look closely at your blueprints. One of those rooms isn’t real. Yet. But it’s being furnished in your name.

Aquarius

The Blooming Heretic

Rebellion is your ritual, Aquarius. You’re planting ideas like wildflowers—strange, beautiful, chaotic. But one seed was never yours. One idea didn’t come from your mind. It came through it.

Now, you find symbols in your tea leaves, equations in bird calls, strangers quoting your dreams back to you. You’ve become a prophet of a forgotten thing, and the more you resist, the stronger it blossoms. You didn’t ask to be chosen. But it’s too late. The altar’s already built—and your name is etched in stone.

Pisces

The Dewdrop Oracle

Your daydreams are thick as fog, Pisces—gentle, fragrant, full of golden warmth. But some clouds carry omens. Some dreams carry teeth. And this month, the veil slips more than usual.

You wake with soil under your nails. Water seeps from places it shouldn’t. The lullaby in your ears speaks a language older than time, but you understand it anyway. There’s a door in the garden no one else sees. Something is knocking from the other side. And you? You’ve already started to answer in your sleep.

May has gifted you blossoms, breezes… and omens. But don’t get too comfortable in the warmth. The soil is soft now, and it remembers every footprint. Every sin. Every secret.

You’ve tilled the garden. Something else will decide what grows.

Until next time, Scary Salad Eaters—

Sleep with one eye open. The roots are listening.

Creepy Linguine's Cocktail Corner: La Diabla Rosa

The Devi's Eldest Daughter does Cinco de Mayo... her way.

Well bless your heart for showin’ up thirsty, sugar. Now, I know most folks’ll be reachin’ for margaritas and mariachi, but I like my celebrations with a little more hellfire. This ain’t no beachside breeze—this is a desert storm of sin, spice, and secrets. You wanna dance with the Devil’s daughter? Then let’s set your soul on fire…

Ingredients

● 1 oz mezcal

● 1 oz blood orange juice (for that sweet, bleeding heart)

● 1/2 oz hibiscus syrup

● 1/2 oz Ancho Reyes chile liqueur

● 1/2 oz fresh lime juice (sharp as a serpent’s grin)

● 1 dash mole bitters

● Tajín and black lava salt for rim

● Garnish: dried blood orange wheel + fresh chili pepper (if you dare)

Instructions

Rim a rocks glass with Tajín and black lava salt—because a little pain with your pleasure never hurt nobody.
In a shaker with ice, combine mezcal, blood orange juice, hibiscus syrup, chile liqueur, lime juice, and bitters.
Shake until your hands feel like they’re conjurin’ something unholy.
Strain over fresh ice in your rimmed glass.
Garnish with that dried blood orange wheel and a little red chili, sittin’ there like a warning no one’s gonna heed.

Optional Touch

Float a few dried hibiscus petals on top. They’ll bloom… just before they sink.

Now sip slow, darlin’. This one’s got a burn that creeps up on ya—like bad decisions and old flames. One drink and you’ll be smilin’. Two drinks and you’ll be speakin’ in tongues. Three?

Well… let’s just say I hope you made peace with your maker, sugar.

Here’s to May, mischief, and makin’ memories you won’t live long enough to regret. ¡Salud, sinners.

Salad Siren Centerfold Interview: Sandra

Conducted by Lettuce Head

Lettuce Head: “Ladies, gentlemen, creeps, and casseroles, welcome back to another tangy treat from Scary Salad! It’s me, Lettuce Head—your favorite leafy lackey—and I’m sittin’ here across from this month’s centerfold: the impeccably polished, suspiciously cheerful, and positively blood-spattered beauty, Sandra. Sandra, welcome to the lounge, and might I say… you look like a dream pulled straight from a Better Homes & Gardens nightmare.”

Sandra: “Oh, bless your little heart, Mr. Head! Isn’t that just the nicest thing anyone’s said since the neighbors stopped asking why my husband ‘went away on business’ last July. Now, would you like a lemonade or a lobotomy? I make both from scratch!”

Lettuce Head: “I’ll… circle back to that. So tell me, Sandra, what’s it like being selected as this month’s Salad Siren centerfold? That apron’s lookin’ freshly starched, but I get the feelin’ you’ve been up to more than just baking cookies.”

Sandra: “Oh, I just think it's swell! It’s so important to show that homemakers can still have ambition, don’t you agree? Why, just yesterday I organized my spice rack, deep-cleaned the linoleum, and sent a door-to-door salesman straight to the afterlife—all before supper!”

Lettuce Head: “Efficiency! I respect that. And between the casserole killings and vacuum vengeance, what would you say sets you apart from our other sirens?”

Sandra: “Well sugar, I may not have wings or scales or whatever that floozy Evandra’s sportin’, but I’ve got charm, elbow grease, and a meat cleaver that never quits. Other girls seduce with fire—I seduce with my seven-layer Jell-O mold. And then I strike. Just like Mama taught me.”

Lettuce Head: “Seven-layer Jell-O… and murder. I mean, that’s range. And if I may—just for fun—what’s your favorite salad dressing?”

Sandra: “Oh, I adore a classic French dressing. Bold, tangy, just sweet enough to keep you from askin’ too many questions. Plus, it hides blood spatters so well. Presentation is everything, you know.”

Lettuce Head: “Of course! Nothing ruins a dinner party like unsightly evidence. Speaking of which—what’s next for you, Sandra? Got any big plans now that you’ve graced our glossy greens?”

Sandra: “Oh heavens, yes! I’m starting a new project: ‘Axe and You Shall Receive’—it’s a radio show for women who want to reclaim their power and maybe… eliminate a few obstacles along the way. Picture Leave It to Beaver, but with more blunt force trauma. Isn’t that darling?”

Lettuce Head: “Absolutely precious… and terrifying. Any final words for our readers before we, um, back away slowly?”

Sandra: “Well, sugarplum, I just want folks to remember: behind every successful woman is a spotless home… and probably a shallow grave out back. Be good now—or be gone!”

Lettuce Head: “Ha-ha… ha. Charming! Utterly charming. Well, folks, there you have

it—Sandra, the slice-and-serve siren of suburbia! I’d say keep an eye out, but frankly, she might already be at your door with a bundt cake and a grudge. Join us next month for another killer centerfold, and remember: keep it fresh, or she might preserve you herself.”

Gary and the Eye

By Creepy Linguine

Gary first saw the eye on a Tuesday.

He was standing in front of the breakroom microwave, watching his plastic container of leftover chili spin slowly like a sad, lukewarm carousel, when it appeared. About the size of a grapefruit, veiny, wet-looking, and floating effortlessly in the air. A single, unblinking eyeball.

It hovered silently behind him.

“The printer is broken again, Gary,” it said in a low, toneless voice.

Gary dropped his plastic fork.

It never went away.

He tried to ignore it, of course. Everyone does at first. He assumed it was stress, or lack of sleep, or the manifestation of some deeply repressed trauma he’d probably read about in a Reddit comment once. He even told himself it was a dream for the first few days.

But it kept showing up.

Hovering behind him in line at the DMV:

“Your tags expired last month, Gary.”

Floating outside the bathroom stall at work:

“You’ve eaten Taco Bell three times this week, Gary.”

Appearing above the couch as he watched reruns of a show he’d already seen four times:

“You never finished your novel, Gary.”

He didn’t know why it chose him. He wasn’t special. He worked in IT, microwaved things with cheese in them, and had exactly one plant that was mostly dead.

The eye didn’t scream or threaten or try to possess him. It just… noticed things. It floated quietly and observed, and when it spoke, it spoke with the steady disappointment of a DMV worker who knows you didn’t bring the right form, and has already called the next number.

At first, he yelled at it.

“GO AWAY!” he’d bark at 2 a.m. as it floated at the foot of his bed, watching him scroll social media.

“You’re not real!” he hissed once in the post office, drawing several concerned glances.

He even tried splashing it with holy water once, but it only blinked.

“Your last Amazon order was three impulse purchases, Gary,” it informed him, completely unfazed.

Eventually, he gave up.

It was a Tuesday again (he was beginning to suspect Tuesdays were cursed) and Gary came home to find the eye already floating above the couch. He tossed his jacket over a chair, opened the fridge, pulled out two beers, and hesitated.

Then, with a shrug, he set one on the coffee table, in front of the eye, and flopped down to crack his own.

The eye hovered silently next to him.

They watched the game in relative peace. Gary sipped his beer. The eye didn’t move much, didn’t comment on the plays, didn’t blink during the halftime commercials where cartoon animals tried to sell him sedans and depression medication.

It almost felt… normal.

Then, in the middle of the third quarter, the eye rotated slightly in midair and spoke.

“You haven’t called your mother back, Gary.”

Gary took a long, slow sip of his beer.

“I know,” he muttered, eyes on the screen. “I know.”

And the eye hovered beside him, unblinking, as the game went on.