Halloween One Shots

MIDNIGHT FAST FOOD (Winner)

Contest Profile: FoodKart

Midnight. I was driving home, having just completed a double shift at the arcade. I was starving. Driving down Main Street, I knew full well that the only thing left in my refrigerator was mustard. I'd finished off the ketchup yesterday. Just ketchup. Nothing else. My pay had just come through. Not that it mattered. No shops in this small, backwater town stayed open past 8pm.

Well, that wasn't exactly right. There was one 24-hour fast food joint on the edge of town. Frank's Diner. On any given day I would be more than happy to go there. They had this grilled gourmet bologna burger that just blew your socks off. And it was served with these loaded waffle fries deep fried in bacon grease that made you think you'd died and gone to heaven. How he got that much bacon grease to fill his deep fryers while keeping his prices reasonable was still a mystery. It was an awesome dive, no doubt about that, but no one in their right mind chose to go there in the middle of the night.

It was all because of that mascot. It was some alien mix of a Muppet with giant eyes popping out of its head and a gruesome clawed monster with a huge mouth and a lopsided grin. It wasn't all bad having it welcome you during the day, but it was creepy as hell interacting with that thing at night, even though you knew it was just some poor sod inside the costume trying their best to earn a wage in tough conditions. People said that mascot was cursed. I didn't know anyone who'd worn the mascot costume. No one I know did. A strange thing in a small town. However, it was understandable that it was kept a secret. Whoever was under there would face eternal ridicule otherwise.

My stomach lurched painfully and growled, making my decision for me. I was going to stop indulging this childish fear of a bogeyman mascot and do the adult thing: feed myself gobs of greasy, tasty, drool-worthy morsels of food-like substances. I'd even ask for extra lettuce on the burger, just to be on the healthy side. Maybe get a diet Coke as well. My stomach growled again, in approval.

I waited a few moments before getting out of the car. The mascot was standing outside the diner door, just watching me. It smiled wide. I'd never seen it do that before. How did they make it look so realistic? There were Halloween decorations all around. They'd probably just modified the mascot suit to freak out diners for Halloween. It worked.

"He's looking extra creepy," I said, walking through the door that the mascot held open.

The boy behind the counter looked up. His eyes widened in surprise.

"You shouldn't be here!" he whisper-screamed from across the counter.

"What?" I threw back. My stomach growled again, demanding. "The sign says you're open twenty-four hours, three sixty-five days."

"We just need to close for an hour or so," he replied, trying to compose himself while sending furtive glances to the offices behind him. "To clean... um... fix, something... broken."

"Give me two burgers and I'll be out of your hair," I said. I couldn't leave now. Besides, there was no sign saying anything was wrong or broken.

"Just leave and come back in an hour," he pleaded.

"I'm not leaving!" I said, hangry. "Is there a supervisor I can speak to?"

The door slammed shut behind me. The boy looked past my shoulder and his eyes went even wider. I turned. The mascot wasn't just smiling now. He was guffawing. His mouth wide open! Revealing a toothless, gummy cavern, dripping wet with drool, and ending in a deep, dark hole.

Wild thoughts ran through my mind. Frank was always being asked about his bologna. About the secret recipe. Why it tasted so good. How he got all that bacon grease. So much bacon grease. I remembered that movie, Soylent Green. I remembered the phrase, "Soylent Green is people!". Frank's bologna is people! Frank's bologna was about to be me!

"Alright, boy! It's time to..." said a voice as Frank walked out of the offices in the back. "What the hell is a customer doing in here?!"

"I tried to get her to leave!" the boy whined.

Frank cussed.

I turned to him, my face no doubt as white as a sheet. That mascot's mouth was still expanding behind me. I could hear it stretch. Frank had two baseball bats. He handed one to me.

"Alright, Karen," he said gruffly.

"Hey!" I yelled back, taking offense.

"You make sure you get as many of those buggers as you can!" Frank continued, ignoring my outrage, and looking past me towards the mascot. "And don't let them bite you!"

"What?"

That's when I heard them. It began as a small rumble that built up to a mighty roar. I turned to find pudgy, basketball sized creatures with mean beady eyes and small mouths full of razor-sharp teeth tumbling out of the door-sized mascot's mouth in a wave. One jumped to attack me. I bludgeoned it. It fell in a heap, joining dozens of others that Frank and the counter boy had already taken care of. About twenty minutes later, the mascot burped then closed its mouth and presumed its usual persona of an unassuming costumed caricature.

I was covered in greasy goop.

Frank was picking up the carcasses, packing them in coolers and storing them in the freezer. Behind me, I heard some sizzling and then a bell. I turned.

"Order up," said the boy, nonchalantly. "Two bologna burgers. Did you want some loaded waffle fries with that?"

I smelt like bacon. My stomach growled, even hungrier than before. I looked up at the kid.

"Yeah, I'll take some fries," I said, pulling out my card. "Two servings, please. And a diet Coke. Thanks."