General Hospital spoilers promise that this year’s Quartermaine Thanksgiving is primed to unleash a level of holiday chaos only this legendary Port Charles family could deliver.

What starts as a hopeful, picture-perfect morning quickly unravels into a spiraling comedy of errors—one that pulls Harrison Chase into the center of a decades-long disaster he never believed was real.

Determined, logical, and desperate to make his first Thanksgiving as a married man unforgettable in all the right ways, Chase soon finds himself battling a foe far more powerful than reason: the infamous Quartermaine family curse.

From the moment Chase and Brook Lynn Quartermaine step into the mansion kitchen, the mood feels deceptively calm. Morning light slants across polished counters, and the house is still—quiet in a way that only lasts until the Quartermaines begin waking up, filling the halls with their trademark blend of competing opinions, emotional outbursts, and passionate debates that start earlier than the coffee brewing in the pot. Brook Lynn moves around the kitchen with familiar ease, watching her husband with a mix of affection and amusement as he sizes up the raw turkey like a crime scene in need of analysis.

Brook Lynn, with three decades of holiday trauma etched into her memory, warns him gently—but firmly—that no turkey has ever made it out of this house intact. Fires, falls, missing dishes, surprise power outages, animals, arguments, and even a rogue flock of geese once derailed Thanksgiving. Every year ends in the same predictable chaos: disaster in the kitchen, panic in the dining room, and an emergency pizza order before dessert. It’s tradition. It’s legacy. It’s the Quartermaine way.

But Chase, ever the rational officer of the law, refuses to accept that a “curse” is anything more than family exaggeration. He insists the failures are nothing but coincidence, statistical flukes strengthened by collective memory and overly dramatic retellings. Brook Lynn simply raises an eyebrow—because she has heard this denial before. Every outsider says the same thing… right before the curse strikes.

Still, she lets Chase carry his confidence like armor. He works with laser focus, seasoning and stuffing the bird with a precision usually reserved for police reports and interrogations. The aroma soon fills the kitchen, promising a perfect holiday meal. The couple move around each other in easy rhythm, united in effort and optimism.

But neither notices the quiet figure at the doorway: Outback, the family dog, who has been sitting silently for several minutes, eyes locked on the turkey with unwavering dedication.

The mansion grows louder as the day unfolds. Laughter spills down the halls, footsteps echo, and relatives gather in the living room, swapping stories and predictions about when the annual disaster will strike. Brook Lynn teases Chase lightly as he pulls the turkey from the oven—a masterpiece of crisp golden skin and glistening herbs. Even she admits it looks perfect. For a flicker of a moment, she lets herself hope Chase might actually do it. Maybe—just maybe—the curse could be broken.

Together, they lift the platter with steady hands and carry the turkey toward the dining room. Family chatter falls to stunned silence. Tracy leans forward in disbelief. Ned stares as if witnessing a supernatural event. Olivia gasps. Monica’s jaw drops. The turkey has made it. Intact. Whole. Beautiful.

An astonished murmur sweeps the room. For the first time in years, it seems the Quartermaines might actually experience a normal, peaceful Thanksgiving.

But peace never lasts long in this house.

As Chase lifts the carving knife, pride swelling in his chest, Brook Lynn hears a faint sound behind her—a barely-there scrabble of paws. She glances back, sees nothing, and turns her attention to the table again.

Then, in one gravity-defying leap, Outback launches into the air like a furry missile.

Gasps erupt. Time slows. Chase lunges forward, but the dog’s jaws snap around the turkey with a precision rivaling Chase’s own. The platter clatters. Carrots and garnish scatter. And in a blur of chaos, Outback bolts out of the room—dragging the entire turkey across the polished floor with triumphant canine enthusiasm.

Chase stands frozen, devastation etched across his face. His perfect plan crumbles before him. After one stunned beat, he sprints after the dog—but slips on a fallen sprig of parsley, losing crucial seconds. The Quartermaines explode into laughter so loud it shakes the chandelier. For them, this is not disaster. This is destiny.

Eventually, Chase returns—breathless, hair disheveled, and empty-handed. The sound of Outback gleefully devouring his hard work echoes from somewhere down the hall. The family bursts into another round of hysterics, already recounting the event with increasingly exaggerated flourishes.

Brook Lynn tries not to laugh—she really does—but even she can’t deny the poetic perfection of the moment. Chase, however, is crushed. To him, this isn’t funny. It’s a catastrophic failure, a complete collapse of every ounce of effort he put into proving the curse wrong.

He slumps into his chair, demoralized, while pizza is once again declared the official Thanksgiving entrée. But as the laughter settles and the stories begin flowing, something shifts for Chase. He starts to see the pattern not as a curse but as a shared family legacy—one that binds the Quartermaines together with humor, resilience, and tradition stronger than any perfectly roasted turkey.

Still, when Outback strolls back into the room later—tail wagging, belly round, absolutely unapologetic—Chase can only stare in a blend of defeat and grudging admiration. The dog won. The curse won. And the Quartermaines couldn’t be happier.

By the time the pizza arrives and everyone digs in, the mood has transformed from chaos to warmth. Brook Lynn rests her head on Chase’s shoulder, whispering that he did everything right. He smiles—finally—admitting that he might try again next year… if only to settle the score with the most cunning dog in Port Charles.

And somewhere in the hallway, Outback curls up for a victorious nap—already dreaming of next Thanksgiving.