Little Food Shop of Horrors
So I had a job interview recently across town, and once it was over I was famished. I decided to stop in the local neighborhood to eat, even though I wasn't familiar with the area. It was a seedy part of town, with lots of dilapidated buildings and blight. I was too hungry to care that the streets were so desolate and spooky, though. I went into the first little restaurant I saw.
The man behind the counter was like something out of a nightmare. He was probably about seventy years old, hunchbacked, with greasy hair, pock-marked cheeks. Half of his face was terribly scarred, as if he'd been burned in some terrible accident. He was blind in one eye. He asked if he could help me, in this terrifying rattle of a voice that I will never, ever forget.
I was the only person in the shop. I knew immediately that something terrible was going to happen if I stayed, but I pushed the thoughts of what horrors may lie in front of me aside and chalked them up to imagination. I really wanted to just bolt out of the door, but I didn't want to seem rude. Surely this must be a nice guy? He'd just had a hard life. There's no way he could be a maniac. There's no way he could try to hurt me. At least, that's what I told myself.
I ordered a cheeseburger and fries to go. The man leered at me as he took my order, and I finally noticed his rotten teeth as his putrid breath fell upon my face. "Coming right up," he rasped. He went back to the grill and began preparing my food. I could see him back there, watching me as he sharpened a knife. I'll never forget the grin on his face as long as I live.
Again, I remained against my better judgement. He came back, holding a greasy paper bag in one hand... and the knife in the other. "Here you go," he rattled, holding out the bag. I held out a trembling hand to take it, fearing he would slash me when I did. Amazingly, he did not. I paid for the meal, and, shaken, I left the shop with my food. 'Silly guy,' I thought to myself. 'What an overactive imagination you have.'
I got on the bus, finally calming down from the experience, and opened up the bag containing my food. I unwrapped my burger and took a bite. That's when I knew that I didn't escape the terror that I'd thought was only in my imagination. The response was immediate—I doubled over, vomiting on the floor of the bus. "No, no. God, no!" I cried, as tears began to stream down my cheeks. The burger had fallen from my hand, and was now laying open-face beside my puddle of puke. Any shred of innocence left within me was shattered in that moment. All of my fears culminated into this singular experience. I shuddered in revulsion as I beheld the object of my terror, a palpable stain of nightmare burned into my senses. I don't remember much about what happened afterward. The bus driver found me passed out on the floor of the bus, and said he was chilled by the discovery. Like a man possessed, I had apparently dipped my finger into my own vomit and smeared a single word on the wall:
MAYONNAISE.
Credited to CorvusCallidus
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