June Short Story of the Month

LAST MEAL

 

Tom looked around for a sign reading “please wait to be seated” or something similar. Not seeing any such thing, he sat down. The bar looked tempting, especially when Tom remembered that he hadn’t had a drink in over a year. A year and two months, actually, but who was counting?

Instead, he found himself a booth by the window. Never much of a view in these places, but he always needed a seat by the window anyway. Just the kind of guy he was, he supposed.

Judging by the assortment of single-serving jams between the ketchup and the salt, this was one of those breakfast-all-day places and Tom liked that. There was still a remnant of old maple syrup on the seat when he sat down and, hell, Tom liked that too.

He waited a good five minutes and still a waitress didn’t show. He tapped his fingers against the table, even whistled to see if anyone would hear. Apparently, no one did.

Well, he thought, fuck this. I can get a cup of coffee at Haggerty’s if I have to. But the plain and simple truth was that Haggerty, loveable old bastard though he was, made the shittiest coffee that Tom had ever put to his lips. If this was what he had to endure for a decent cup, or even the hope of a decent cup, then that was that. So be it.

Finally, someone appeared. Tom knew he must have looked like one of those Scooby Doo characters when she appeared (Ruh-Roh, Raggie!) but the fact was, you just didn’t get this kind of a woman in this part of Maine. Hell, even in the whole state you’d have to be pretty damn lucky to find one that looked like this.

She looked young, but mature. Darker complexion, darker hair. There was no way she was from around here, and he didn’t know quite how he knew that, but he did.

“What can I get you, hon?” she had a sweet voice, but used it like a woman well beyond her years.

“Coffee,” he said, “some eggs and hash.”

She smiled, so cute and warm it made him feel like a kid again. “I’ll put that right in for you,” she said.

He nodded, and she turned away and trotted off into the kitchen. As she moved, his eyes couldn’t help but wander down the way of her ass.

(Ree-hee-hee)

Only when she was gone did Tom return her smile. He liked a place where he could get eggs and hash at this time of night.

The place fell so quiet, so suddenly, that Tom perked up (almost startled) when he discovered that he could hear his meal being cooked up in the kitchen.

Was he the only one here?

As he turned his head around the corner, just to see, it looked like that was the case. There was not a single other person in this whole diner. He wondered what that said for the food.

She returned almost immediately with his coffee, the best he’d had in a while, but not (as the sign exclaimed) the best in the state.

“Thanks,” he said, simply, and this time she was the one who said nothing.

He took another sip. More silence, another good five minutes went by. The quiet was beginning to unnerve him, but he didn’t know why. Considering Tom lived alone, one would think that he’d have grown used to the quiet a long time ago.

But that was a plain lie. Any bachelor knew that no matter how many years running single you were, you never got used to the quiet. Not ever.

It relieved him then, more than he’d expected, to hear the door open. He couldn’t see around the corner, but that was his own fault. Tom always, by habit or something deeper, opted for the most isolated place he could find. So here he was in the back corner of a tiny little diner in the middle of nowhere, Maine.

“It’s a nightmare out there,” the man Tom couldn’t see said.

It was true, but Tom had forgot it had even been raining.

“Yeah,” he heard the waitress say, “weatherman said it’d be rough.”

“Am I the first one?” the man said, after a moment.

The waitress paused. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“We’ve got another guy here,” she said, then, “oh, that won’t be a problem, will it?”

There was an uneasiness that Tom could feel even from his corner before the man said, “problem? No, not at all. The more the merrier, right?”

He chuckled after that, but to Tom it just felt cold. The chuckle sent a shudder down his spine, but he had no idea why. The guy sounded like another sweet old man, one of the many that seemed to litter the area, but at the same time didn’t sound like a sweet old man. Not at all.

“You ordering now?” the waitress asked, “or will you wait for the others?”

Tom imagined the old man had a beard, and imagined he was stroking it right about now, indecisive.

“Ah, hell,” the old man said, “suppose I’d better go and do the polite thing.”

The waitress retreated back into the kitchen. Tom saw her go back in, but she didn’t see him. Didn’t even cast him a glance.

Eggs and hash. Not a hard meal to make. Something that he could have done in five minutes at home, but he had been on the road and hungry as hell. Home was still a good hour to an hour and a half away.

The old man began to whistle. Somehow it was sound even more unnerving than his laughter. It made Tom’s bowels yearn to be emptied. Instead he ignored it. No use shitting before he’d even eaten anything. And anyway, there was no reason, not that Tom could see, to be afraid of anything. This was just another diner in western Maine, something he’d seen a hell of a lot of in his time, and though he hadn’t been here long he still failed to see any standout differences. None. This place didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, and hell, judging by the waitress it even had a few benefits over his usual fare.

Yeah, it didn’t look a bit strange.

But, he thought to himself, it still makes your shit feel pretty weak, doesn’t it, Tom old buddy?

The door opened again. He could hear the waitress in the kitchen drop everything she was doing and rush back out to greet whoever had just entered.

A thought occurred to him that he knew should have occurred before: was she the only one here?

If so, the girl was a trooper. Out here alone, serving whoever came in, all by herself on a rainy, drizzly night like this. Yessir, a real trooper.

On the other hand, he’d had to seat himself. He’d let it go. Girl couldn’t be expected to do every little damn thing when she was the only one here.

But she wasn’t. There was the old man, and now someone else had entered.

“Hi, there,” she greeted.

“Hello yourself,” a thicker, deeper voice than the old man. Tom imagined this to be a big guy, maybe 300 pounds. He knew, of course, that he could just peek around the corner and see for himself, but he didn’t.

Tom heard the old man get up. “Biggs, you huge bastard!” he joked, “what took you so long?”

The big man (Biggs, if you could believe it) sighed. “What do you think happened, Monty? Got caught in that godforsaken storm!”

Rain had to have picked up since Tom sat down. Wouldn’t that be a wonder to drive back in.

The waitress appeared beside him again, startling him. “Here you go,” she said, “sorry for the wait.” She said the last part more genuine than any waitress he’d ever heard, like it was a real American tragedy.

“It’s no problem, sweetheart,” he said. From the look of the meal, it most certainly wasn’t. Tom was delighted to see now that the corn-beef hash was homemade, something he’d really only seen once or twice in any Maine restaurant. It was a true pleasure to find it in front of him now.

She walked over to the men on the other side. She was light on her feet, but it wasn’t a big place, and Tom could still hear her. “Just you guys?” she asked.

“’fraid not,” said Biggs. “One more on the way.”

“Ok,” she said. Tom heard her spin around on her feet, back to the kitchen, but old man Monty whistled for her to come on back.

“I think we know what the old lady’ll have,” he said, “we can probably go ahead and order now.”

“Sure thing,” the waitress said. “I figured you’d go for the usual anyway.”

Ah. Just as Tom figured. They were regulars. He’d never been so fortunate as to have a regular place. Maybe he’d never been in one place long enough, maybe it was the people. Maybe it was him.

Tom had to at least acknowledge the possibility. Maybe it just simply wasn’t that he was nervous around people, that he shied away from them. Maybe the fact was that it was the other way around. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Biggs grunted.

Tom tried to stop listening, and thinking for that matter, and continued to eat.

“No one knows us like you, honey,” Biggs said, his voice too loud, too commanding, for Tom to simply ignore.

“Thanks,” she said, her tone like a high school girl, probably mocking the old fellas. Without seeing, there was only so much Tom could get out of the conversation.

A conversation that, as of yet, didn’t involve him at all.

“The usual,” Monty agreed, “a couple juicy steaks, but the lady will want hers super-rare. You got that?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, “shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“And when we say juicy,” Biggs added, for clarity, “we mean juicy.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” the waitress eased him, “our cows are well-fed.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

An uneasiness came over Tom once again. They talked and laughed like a couple of good ol’ boys, the (few) kinds of people that Tom admired. But something about the way they spoke, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, couldn’t really put into words.

It just didn’t feel natural. None of this, despite sounding like every other diner he’d been in (and he’d put in a few stops just today alone) felt right.

Once more, the door opened, and Tom heard a woman shuffle in.

“Oh my,” she declared, “Oh, my, my, my. It’s a doosie out there.”

“We know,” Monty said.

“I don’t remember the last time it was this bad,” she sat down as she spoke, Tom could hear the mass of Biggs’s wait shifting to allow her room.

“Well,” Biggs said, teasing, “that doesn’t surprise me. You don’t remember much.”

“Oh, Biggs you old bully,” she laughed to herself, “you haven’t changed a bit.”

“He’s aged,” Monty put in, “that’s pretty clear.”

“Well yes,” she said, “but haven’t we all?”

They were silent, for a moment, but it didn’t feel unwelcome. They sounded like no more than a bunch of old friends catching up, and Tom had no idea why he was getting so worked up about it. There were friends he himself had had a long time ago, and would give anything to see again. It was natural.

But now, within the conversation he had no choice but to overhear, it felt anything but. In the back, he could hear the waitress shuffling around. Just shuffling.

He didn’t hear anything being cooked. Well, if he was right and she was the only one back there, then he had to cut her some slack, didn’t he?

On the other hand, Tom had a nervousness coming over him that there was no real way to explain, and he would like that check now, thank you very much.

She appeared again, smiling.

“Hi,” he said to her, “think I’m about ready for that check now.”

“You sure?”

He had, in his head, a basic response to his own statement, and that sure as hell wasn’t it. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, “yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, it’s just, it’s a hell of a storm out there?”

It was at that, and he couldn’t argue. “Yeah,” he said, “so it is.”

“Now, why don’t you stay around a little longer, maybe, ok? Just until the storm dies down. Not too much to ask is it? You’re in fine company.”

Looking at her again, he couldn’t argue with that either. “Ok,” Tom said hesitantly, “just for a few minutes more, though.”

“Of course,” she flashed him, once more, that irresistible smile. This girl worked hard for her tips. “Now, you must be awful lonely over here in this corner.”

He opened his mouth in protest, but she put her hand up, continuing.

“Awful lonely,” she repeated, “why don’t you come over to the other side, join in with the old folks. They’re regulars, you see.”

“Well,” Tom stammered, “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“Nonsense,” she said, “I’ll cook something up and we could all have a nice meal together, how would that be?”

Again, the smile. A nice meal together, huh? “You know,” Tom said, “that doesn’t sound too bad.”

She took his plates and led him around the corner, he followed her like an obedient puppy, and he heard the old folks chuckling to each other, and maybe they didn’t sound so bad after all.

He turned the corner, and the smell got him first. To be frank, old people had a certain smell. It was very noticeable and very strong. He was smelling it now, but there was something else. Some kind of undercurrent. It was strong, unpleasant, but he couldn’t quite place it. Honorable guy that he was, he bit his lip and took it, though as he walked toward them, it only got stronger.

Their clothes were the first thing he noticed, as walking up behind him, he couldn’t see their faces. He was struck by the oddness; the clothes were all dirty. They looked not only moth-eaten, but earth-eaten. As if by worms, by nature and decay.

God, why would he think that?

“Isn’t he a handsome one?” the woman said, without turning to look at Tom. She and Biggs had their backs to him, and Biggs (as giant as Tom had believed) obscured Tom’s view of Monty.

“Indeed he is,” said Monty, “come on, son. Won’t you have a seat?”

“Go ahead,” the waitress whispered in his ear.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he needed her permission for, but he took it.

Hesitantly, he approached. Tom had never, since he was as young as he could remember, been very good at meeting new people.

“Come on, boy,” Biggs said, “we don’t bite.” He outstretched his hand, pointing to the table beside theirs. The hand, for whatever reason, just wouldn’t register in Tom’s mind.

Tom placed a hand on the backrest of the booth, the waitress helped him, pushing his shoulders down.

“Pleased to meet you, young fella,” one of them said. Tom turned.

He felt a scream rising in his throat, maybe he let it out, and if it did escape his throat, it took his mind with it.

The woman smiled at him. Biggs and Monty turned, smiling as well. Their clothes were decaying, and he hadn’t thought anything too peculiar of that. But their skin was the same. Gray, worn, in some places it was peeling away. Like old cheese on a sandwich that’s been sitting out a day or two.

Her teeth were brown, and he could see them in her smile through a hole that had worn in her cheek. But her eyes, Christ Jesus her eyes. They were white, glazed over. He remembered visiting his great-grandmother in the hospital, having to see her just after she died. And the eyes were just the same as he was seeing now. Hollow. Despite this woman’s tone, her mannerisms, there was no life in her eyes.

Biggs gave him a nod. His skin was darker, in some places blackened. Bloated. In some places, Tom could see behind Biggs’s flesh, into the rotted meat that lay underneath.

And Monty, he had no beard. There was barely anything left to him at all. He was like a mummy, skin stretched thinly over skeleton and nothing more. He looked, at first, like an old holocaust picture. But as he turned, Tom could see that on one side of his face there was not even skin left. There was nothing. Just rotted over bone and the dark, hollow pit of an eye socket.

Tom, oblivious to the knowledge that he was whimpering like a baby, sank back in his seat.

“Oh, no, no,” the waitress said, sympathetic, “don’t be alarmed. Gosh, I’m sorry if they gave you a fright. I guess I’m just used to it. They’re regulars, you see, just like I said. They’ve been coming here a long time.”

“Long time,” the woman repeated.

“My parents used to serve them,” the waitress went on, “and my grandparents before them. You’re a local, aren’t you, mister? You know how important tradition can be to folks around here.”

Tom screamed, he heard it now.

“Oh, shush,” Monty scolded him, “there’s no call for that. How would you feel if we went off screaming at you?”

“It don’t matter much,” Biggs said. “After all, he ain’t here just to keep us company.”

“You were right, though, missy,” Monty added, running a finger along his permanent, skeletal grin. “Your cows are indeed well-fed.”

“So,” the waitress said, “you’re ready to put in your order, I take it?”

Biggs stared directly at Tom, running a black, half-rotted tongue over his mouth. “Famished,” he said.

The waitress pulled a razor from her pocket and held out Tom’s shaking arm. He didn’t fight. “Ok, then,” she said, cutting open his wrist, the blood just breaking the surface, “can I start you off with something to drink?”