Cracker jokes aren't funny. Yet when it flutters out from my paper hat, I feel obliged to read it out loud.
“What do you call an elderly snowman?” I pause. “A puddle.”
Most groan, some roll their eyes, but Aunt Iris, who'd been at the sherry, laughs.
I smile at her silliness, watching as her cheeks grow redder, until…BANG!
She vanishes, and my vision darkens. I wipe her blood off my face and realise the table is swimming in it.
I spot her eyeball floating in the gravy boat and her ear in my champagne glass.
Cracker jokes aren't funny.
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