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Professor Hosselhof's Home Truth by Harry F. Kane

Professor Hosselhoff’s Home Truth

by Harry F. Kane
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Page 1

The shades were pulled, the lights were dimmed; the gathered kids fell silent as the huge plasma screen lit up and cute penguins began wobbling hither and thither in their icy habitats. 

After a few minutes, the scenes changed: lion pups played with each other and then were mauled by a male lion; a scheming cuckoo left its egg in someone else’s nest; a bad-tempered chimp suddenly run off with another chimp’s child.  

The kids made noises of cute fuzziness and delighted disgust in all the right places. 

Ten feet behind the last row of chairs two bigger chairs had been placed, right by the wall. Principal Higgins sat on one, Professor Hosselhoff on the other. The professor leaned over to the principal just when a grown sea lion thwacked a baby sea lion on the head.  

“As you see, Mr. Higgins,” whispered the professor, “we have inserted footage from both the animal and insect kingdom, of what we humans would call instances of bullying, or family abuse.” 

“I can see that,” nodded the principal with some distaste, as he watched a female praying mantis eat up its male partner after the end of the mating ritual. 

“The theory being,” continued the professor, “that when the children will see that this sort of thing goes on all over the place, with birds and fish and bunnies, they will realize that they don’t have to hide it, that it’s okay to talk about such things.” 

“Humph,” said the principle.  

The films ended, as such films do, with a butterfly climbing out of its cocoon, spreading its wings and flying away into the sunrise. The lights went on. The kids got up; giggling, talking, jostling.  

Hosselhoff cleared his throat and the principal stood up reluctantly. “Children!” he said in his booming voice, “does anyone have anything to tell us relating to the, erm, wonderful film we’ve just seen?” 

A few vague “No’s” drifted back from the leaving children; most just shook their heads. One boy came over. 

“Ah, Timmy,” said the principal, “good, take a seat.” 

The boy sat on one of the small chairs, facing the two men. 

“Hi, Timmy,” said the professor, “my name is Jeremy.” 

“Hi,” said Timmy. 

“So,” the professor raised his eyebrows, “you have anything to tell us?” 

“Go ahead, Timmy, don’t be afraid,” boomed the principal. 

“Well,” said Timmy, “as I watched all that stuff about the insects, and the animals, I thought of something that happened at home.” 

“Ah!” said the professor and shot the principal a meaningful look. 

“Mom told me not to tell anyone, because no one would understand or believe me,” continued the boy, “but after seeing this film I realized that it happens all over the place.” 

“Yes, yes?” said both men, leaning forward eagerly. 

“Well,” Timmy faltered for a second, but continued. “The other day… The other day Mom ate Dad.”


About the Author

Harry F. Kane

Harry Kane is the author of Shudder and the Bad Ass Bible. His family-friendly alter ego Edward Keller is the author of Sounds of Distant Oceans, Brain Storm, Planetfall on Albaid, and Autumn Magic, Playground Sky.

Story Discussion

Stories by Harry F. Kane

Professor Hosselhof's Home Truth by Harry F. Kane

Professor Hosselhoff’s Harvest of Doom

The grizzled, leather-faced peasants watched with distrust as the professor and his two assistants assembled the apparatus. It was basically a thermos-shaped box on a tripod, connected to a fridge-like contraption of coils and wires, which in turn was connected to the truck’s generator.

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The Perished by Harry F. Kane

The Perished

For years, the Perished community survived by the skin of their teeth. Huge tomatoes, shriveled pumpkins, and gnarly beet roots were the vegetables which would grow. The livestock had gradually died out; all but the six-legged descendants of Mary the sheep.

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Professor Hosselhof's Home Truth by Harry F. Kane

Professor Hosselhoff’s Harvest of Doom

The grizzled, leather-faced peasants watched with distrust as the professor and his two assistants assembled the apparatus. It was basically a thermos-shaped box on a tripod, connected to a fridge-like contraption of coils and wires, which in turn was connected to the truck’s generator.

Read More
The Perished by Harry F. Kane

The Perished

For years, the Perished community survived by the skin of their teeth. Huge tomatoes, shriveled pumpkins, and gnarly beet roots were the vegetables which would grow. The livestock had gradually died out; all but the six-legged descendants of Mary the sheep.

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Finger Food by Gary Ives

Finger Food

My second day outta stir had gone down so smooth, like greased tracks smooth. The Social Services lady, Mrs. Nixon, had liked me. I could sense it. Twenty-two years at Attica was equivalent to a Ph.D. in reading emotions. Yeah twenty-two years served on a life sentence. Me, I’d gone down hard for offing a shitbag Puerto Rican who’d burned me for two kilos. I played up to the near-sighted old hen.

“Yes ma’am, whatever it takes, ma’am. All I want, really… what I need… is employment. I understand that’s the key, Mrs. Nixon. You get me a jay… oh… bee, job, and I swear by the Holy Bible ain’t no way Tony Spallano is ever gonna go back to them bad old ways. No ma’am.”

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