65 THE RESTAURANT  

jasonabadboy4u 30M
48 posts
6/17/2006 1:58 am
65 THE RESTAURANT

65 THE RESTAURANT
Jerry slurped up his bowl of stew like a man who hadn't eaten in six days. In fact, it had only been a few hours, but driving around in the backwoods in the middle of a monstrous thunderstorm looking for the interstate and getting hopelessly lost, had somehow awakened his appetite. He found the dingy little diner entirely by accident. It was off on an unpaved road, barely more than a muddy trail, and it looked so decrepit he at first thought it had been abandoned. Even more strange, he found the restaurant was near a real crematory. In a way it was. When he stepped inside, he saw that he was the only customer. As he walked into the front hall which was turned into a gallery of horror. There were paintings hung up. The paintings depicted ghastly scenes of the days of the black death. Heckling skeletons were constructing caskets and putting the newly dead inside of them and then burying them. The interior smelled of burnt meat, and the menu reflected it. As he sat down he gazed in awe fascination into the walls of the restaurant. They were made of Plexiglas that housed what looked like a giant ant farm. He could even see the ants inside crawling about on their tasks. He wondered what inspired this idea for a restaurant, probably a dream he thought. But through it all Jerry wasn't intimated or too picky, he would take what he could get. The stew had a rich, savory broth, with succulent bits of meat swimming in it. It seemed almost too good for the surroundings. He was glad he had taken the waitress's recommendation. Her heavy accent had prevented him from understanding anything else she said. "What's good?" he had asked. "Stew's good," she had said. "What's in it?" he had asked. "Stew's good," she had said. Well, okay, the stew WAS good. And Jerry spent most of his meal silently trying to match the ingredients to the accent of the waitress. Romania? He was almost done with the stew, and nowhere nearer an answer, when he crunched down on something hard. He tried to spit it out, but it had forced itself partly between his teeth and he had to work a finger in to extricate it. It was a bone!-but not like any bone he had seen before. It had a triangular shape, sort of like . . . . what did they call those little bones in the spine? Vertebrae? Jerry had never seen one this small before. He was puzzling over his discovery when he happened to look down at his spoon. Sticking to the congealed goo on its edge was a hair. Too long to be one of his own. Too short to be from the waitress. As though perfectly timed, he heard a loud snarl from the kitchen that ended with a definitive- sounding scream, and after that came a loud THUNK!. Like something being chopped with a meat cleaver. The scream was shrill but short, as if it had been cut off abruptly. He spit out the bit of food left in his mouth and pushed back in his chair, retching. This had to be some sick joke he thought to himself. Things like this your only hear about in urban legends! He was repulsed. But more than anything else he was scared! Sure, there were tribes that ate there own family, but that was to celebrate the deceased, as to to inherit the dead person's soul into your own. But things like that never happen here. Jerry bellowed for the waitress, and when she didn't come out from the kitchen he bellowed for her again. Still no response. He knew he shouldn't just get up and leave without paying. But he couldn't resist giving these primitives a piece of his mind. Walking back behind the counter, he peered through the round window in the swinging kitchen doors, determined to get someone's attention. The windows were dirty on the inside, and he couldn't see a thing. He was disgusted at the unsanitary appearance of the inner kitchen. Pushing gently, Jerry opened the doors just wide enough to slip through. The kitchen looked like prep areas he remembered from his teenage years working at fast-food joints: stainless steel tables, utility sinks for washing dishes, a deep fryer, and a huge stove with multiple burners. The place was as deserted as the front serving area. An open pot hissing on the stove billowed steam around the kitchen. Jerry looked into it cautiously and could make out lumps of something blanched bobbing in a boiling froth. The smell coming from the pot was acrid, and Jerry felt his stomach lurch instinctively. He called out a "Hello?" but there was still no answer. A doorway in the back revealed a narrow hall leading to a dimly lit room. On his way to it, Jerry passed a butcher's block. A cleaver an a set of filleting knives were lying on its blade-scored surface. He had no doubt that this was where they prepared the mysterious meat. But where was the bloody mess? There didn't appear to be anyone in the back room, either. The bulk of the space was taken up by a walk-in refrigerator, and Jerry saw that the door was slightly ajar. If the waitress had stepped inside to retrieve something, she wouldn't have heard him yelling. He pulled the door back. There wasn't much to look at inside. A few cuts of meat, including a rack of short ribs, hung along the side. Jerry looked closer and got that clutching feeling in his stomach again. He was looking at a human rib cage! It had been expertly dressed out and cleaned. A few ribs on the lower left side had been taken out by a sharp edge. Arms dangled from meat hooks. Jerry counted three of them. The bicep of one had been expertly de-fleshed. He didn't even want to guess what the loop of sausage casings hanging next to it contained. This wasn't a refrigerator-it was a slaughterhouse! Gagging, he backed through the door---and felt something sharp enter his back. Before he could even react, it had angled upward and jiggled swiftly to the left and the right. Something seemed to open inside him. With a gasp he pulled forward, turning on his heel, clutching the side of the refrigerator door as his legs gave out beneath him. He just had time to see a large man in a bloodstained cook's apron brandishing the wicked boning knife he had backed into. The man had a cruel smile on his face. The first thought that came to his mind was DEAD MEAT. Several people were standing behind the cook: the waitress and others in the kitchen garb. They all had the same crazed look in their eyes. HUNGER! When Jerry had walked into this little greasy spoon, he had wondered, as he always did about places that had no business, how they managed to stay alive. He knew now. Jerry's final thoughts were of what kind of dinner special HIS meat would be turned into, just before he blackened into his final journey.


Become a member to create a blog