Gather round the campfire, children. Draw close to each other for warmth, and comfort. For you will need both when you hear the next tale I bring to you. It is a true story, and it is in these that you will find the most horrible things you cannot imagine.
One late summer day in 1945, as the Colorado clouds hung heavily pregnant with an overdue storm, farmer Lloyd Olsen took his axe in hand and went forth to the chicken pen with an empty stomach and fowl murder in his heart. This was the day that would change his life, and the life of the chicken named Mike, forever.
Rough hands held down the panicked rooster as the axe blade glinted in the dim sunlight. With a dull "clomp" the weapon severed the head and it fell to the ground, beak reflexively gasping for breath, as the body flapped and flopped across the ground like... well, like a chicken with it's head cut off. But this time, the inevitable stillness did not follow. No, children... this time, the headless body of Mike gained it's feet, and unsteadily began to WALK ACROSS THE CHICKEN PEN.
Shhhhh... settle down, children.
A gasp escaped the lips of the horrified farmer. Sweat beaded down his blanched face as he yelled for his waiting wife to come witness the nightmarish miracle. Pecking with a non-existent head (as the cat had pounced on the decapitated morsel and eaten it), Mike recovered from the execution and was looking for food as he always had. If anything, he seemed more spry, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Sadly, one day as the farmer and his wife toured the country showing off their new meal ticket, someone forgot to bring the suction dropper and that night Mike endured a second death as he choked on the thick mucus. Blame each other though they might, it didn't change the fact that Mike no longer trod this world, and they returned home... their lives somehow less brighter without Mike's cheerful example of overcoming all odds.
But this was still not the end of the rooster that refused to die... no, his restless spirit still roams the countryside, looking for his missing head. It has been rumored to appear on dark nights like this one, his ghostly, headless apparition flapping its wings and making a wet, slimy gurgling noise through its neck as though still trying to crow. Trying... to... crow.
If you listen closely now, children, you can almost hear it... shh... listen...
This recreation using special effects and an actress is slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect.