I am not The OOP, OOP is u/Complex-Wing7114
I have 2 weeks to get away from my husband
Originally posted to offmychest
Thanks to u/soayherder for suggesting this BoRU
TRIGGER WARNING: controlling behavior, threats, abusive behavior, stalking
Original Post Apr 27, 2024
Throwaway account as my husband and In-laws are follow my main. I, 29 F, have been married to my husband, 30 m, who I'll call Alex. Alex and I met in college during our freshman year. We started off as just friends, and got married seven months ago. I've gotten along with his family, but we aren't super close but we're friendly enough. The problem is that Alex has begun to make me incredibly uncomfortable.
Firstly, he's begun to ask me who I'm meeting with, where, what we plan on doing, how long every single time I leave the house without him. At first, I just thought he was being protective and a good partner just in case something happened, but then he started checking my phone after the visits, vetting and researching each of my friends as well.
He also has been pursuing me to link my bank account to his, as he's "in charge" of the finances when he was perfectly fine with keeping them separate before. We fight about it almost every day.
Finally, yesterday when he was preparing to go on a work trip for two weeks in California, he demanded I wear a tracker so he could keep and eye on me while he's gone. I can't do this anymore, I feel like I'm suffocating and his family who I've spoken to about his worrying behavior just said he's being careful and protective as a good husband should. I need to gather my things together and find a way to be gone before he gets home without tipping him off.
He's always threatened that if he ever found me cheating on him he'd turn in divorce papers the same day. He keeps a filled out copy in his desk. I'm going to submit those the day I leave. But there's so much to do, bergen finding a new place to live, seeing if my job has any transfers available, packing and moving in two weeks. His return flight May 11th, so I need to move quickly. I'm posting here because I don't have any close family, and I can't risk dragging my friends into this as we share the same friends.I just needed a place to vent, and ask if anyone has any advice on the easiest and safest way to do this?
Edit: oh my god you guys are amazing! I never even thought to not use his divorce papers. I'll check for cameras before I start any packing or prepping. I may also shred his divorce papers just in case and look into getting a lawyer for myself. I'm in a no fault divorce state, that much I so remember which will help. I'll update again when I know more. The tracker he wants me to use is a small clip to put on the belt or waistband. I'll wear it unless I'm going or doing something related to me leaving. No pets yet thankfully.
Update Apr 28, 2024
So I've gotten a lot of support and helpful advice along with questions I thought I should clarify before I proceed with the update. Some asked why I'd be 'hiding' things from Alex regarding going out and who I'm meeting with. I don't, and I have nothing to hide. However when he begins to then double check everything I tell him with the other people there right down to each person I talked to and what I said. Did I send any text msgs, did I order food, how much did I eat, that's when it started to feel like I was slowly being pushed into a corner. It didn't start that bad, but gradually grew worse overtime.
All of the Reddit subs my in-law's families are part of are related gardening and diy so I highly doubt they'll see this, if so by the time they do, I'll hopefully be gone. I talked to my job and explained things to my manager. And they promised to look into openings in other states to see if they could get me into one. They'll have an update on that in three days. I trust that my bank account us secured, considering he's tried to get into it before and failed. I found one camera in the kitchen, another in the living room and one in our bedroom. As such, I've left them in place for now and done all other planning, either in the bathroom pretending I'm taking a bath.
I'm honestly staying away from the domestic violence services as my sister-in-law is unfortunately higher up in those considering she volunteers there and I have a feeling if I did show up there, they would know in a heartbeat. I can't look for apartments until I get the update from my work, but either or i'm still gonna be leaving the state. The day before I do I will be changing my number carrier and wiping my laptop and all of his electronics before I do.
I've met with 2 lawyers so far and had them look over the paperwork. My husband had prepared and both said that it did it have some clauses in it. That could have caused me some trouble down the line. What alarmed all of us close the fact that several of those clauses dealt with future children, and not as a hypothetical. Like several hair suggested I have a feeling he fully intended on getting me pregnant to keep me trapped and tied to him.
There are 3 other locations. My job could send me to and I have. As a precaution Begun looking into all 3 cities and housing in the areas. Just in case one of those, this is the one they send me to. Even if they don't have an opening that they can push me into then I will just have to quit, move and figure things out on my own. I have enough money to live and survive for a few months until I can pick up another job.
Unfortunately all of our friends are mutuals and would likely be unaware of the consequences of saying or sharing anything I do or say with my husband. I don't have any surviving close family and obviously my in laws are not a good resource to rely on. I am on my own unfortunately, other than the wonderful bonds, i've begun to make here. I will update again if I get more information or something else happens. Otherwise all update when my work gets back to me. I do plan on leaving before he returns, though. Just to make sure that i'm not anywhere near here at that time.
Update 2 Apr 30, 2024
Good news! My work has an opening I qualify for that will not only shift me across the country, but also comes with a salary increase as well. I've started telling my in laws and friends that I'm planning a surprise outing for when my husband gets back for just the two of us. This way, people don't give me odd looks if they see me out and about. I've even gone as far as asking MIL to show me his favorite recipes.
Meanwhile, I've found a moving company that while small is willing to work in a storm. The reason is in five days, we're supposed to get hit with a large storm front. I plan to shut off the breaker and say we lost power if he asks just as several people here suggested and even send him a short clip of the storm.
I will have all of my stuff moved that afternoon, and I will be flying out once the weather has cleared enough to do so. I have a lawyer who will push my divorce through, and I've filled out the necessary paperwork so that I don't have to be here for it. I'm not suing for assets or alimony and I've shredded his divorce papers as well. I've set up a cheap payphone plan through cricket until this is all said and done at which point I will find a new carrier, number and phone. This one is being wiped and left behind.
My laptop is provided by my work, and the IT department inspected it thoroughly and it was clean thankfully. No other electronic aside from my laptop and new phone will be coming with me. If alex needs to talk to me, he can do it through my lawyer. Not sure if anything else will happen, my fingers are crossed that he doesn't think anythings amiss until after I leave - and I'm not turning the breaker back on when I do. He can when he gets home. My work is covering the plane ticket, so that at least is one expense I don't have to finagle in.
Update 3 May 7, 2024
Update 3: I have 2 weeks to get away from my husband.
It's been a busy week, but I've gotten so much done. Firstly, I am now out of the house and am currently in a hotel while I look for an apartment. It's a big city, bustling with people no matter where you look. We had a pretty bad storm system hit back home, that actually lasted two days. High winds, thunder, lightning and even hail everywhere. I didn't take much from the house, my documents, clothes and important sentimental items. I left all of the furniture and electronics behind. I cleaned the house top to bottom and took pictures on my phone so he couldn't claim I damaged anything when I left.
My lawyer has already started divorce proceedings, and my husband will be served on the 8th. His plane is due to land early morning, and the sheriff will be there at the house waiting for him. He is very much about public appearances and reputation. My lawyer will be calling him as well to inform him that I am more than willing to air out everything to the public about his actions if it means securing my freedom from him. I will go to court as long as I must to get this pushed through.
I haven't told our friends or his in-laws yet, I will do that while he is on the flight to prevent him from getting wind of it before he's handed the divorce papers. I will be calling around and explaining why we're getting divorced, to try and prevent him from twisting this into somehow being my fault. I don't want him trying to claim I had an affair or something so I want to get the truth out before he can twist this.
I'm... doing okay. I'm tired, but yet I feel almost jittery and off-kilter. I keep looking over my shoulder and monitoring what I say even when I don't really need to anymore. Hopefully that will fade soon. My work is covering the cost of the hotel, and I'm working on getting my other things in order. I also need to find a new GP as I want to get a full test just to make sure everything is okay. I don't know when my next update will be, probably when the divorce papers are filed or if we have to go to court to push them through. I will try to keep my head up, but it feels like I'm in a whirlwind or something with so many things to do and think about. I kinda thought it would be easier once I got out of the house but while the fear is smaller, somehow the number of tasks only seems to have grown.

OOP Has made a new Update after the BoRU posted

Update 4 May 14, 2024
Update 4
Sorry I haven't updated for a while, things got hectic and a bit chaotic honestly. Firstly, I'm working on getting an apartment still and have applications in at three different places and will hopefully hear back from them soon. I'm still going into work here at the new location, so I don't have to worry about burning through my emergency savings completely. I've gotten a lot of emails from Alex, his family and our old friend group asking question after question. I have only sent one return email to Alex, explaining that I don't believe we are truly compatible, and it is best we separate now. That his treatment of me when I'd done nothing to deserve as such was just as much of a deal breaker as cheating was for him.
I ended the email with the statement that I would not be contacting him further and anything else he needed to pass on to me or vice versa would be done through my lawyer. For his family and friends, I just typed up one email outlining everything that had happened and why I left. I told them I wished them no ill will, but that such treatment of his wife and partner was not acceptable. That should Alex get remarried in the future, I wished they would help support both partners and not just Alex.
Alex, from what my lawyer told me, was livid when he was served. The sheriff actually ended up booking him for assault on an officer and menacing due to the threats he was shouting. His father bailed him out in a few hours, but with the testimony of the sheriff, my lawyer believes I have a very good chance at getting a restraining order. Alex, upon returning to the house, apparently lost his temper again, breaking the dining table into pieces as well as the tv, and putting several holes in the walls. At least that's what one of the emails from one of our friends reported as Alex called him to help him clean up the mess.
My lawyer already has pictures of the house I took, with timestamps as evidence nothing had been damaged by me. My friend reported that Alex tried to claim I'd been the one to trash the house but the holes in the wall were at head height - Alex is 6'3", and I'm 5'4" so he knew that was false. Either way, taking the pictures definitely will help me so again thank you everyone here for the advice because I never would have thought of that on my own. My work won't share details of where I am, as I do work with some higher end clientele who value security and that information won't be gossiped about and no, I'm not some stripper or escort. I deal with contracts, notary and business management. As such, even if Alex tried to use my work to find me, he wouldn't succeed.
THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP
DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7

Jeff Ruppe is one of the eyewitnesses who claimed to have seen Asha heading south on Highway 18 at 3:45am on February 14th, 2000.
Ruppe, working as a truck driver for Sundrop Bottling Company, stated that he found the sighting so odd that he performed three U-Turns in his 10 wheeler truck to confirm what he was seeing. After he passes her for the third time he resumes his route and notes that Asha "veered off the highway into fog and darkness".
At noon that same day, Jeff Ruppe is listening to the radio on his lunch break and hears news that a young girl has disappeared from her home earlier that day. He calls law enforcement and shares his story.
On February 16th, 2000 investigators ask Jeff Ruppe to point them to where he saw Asha veer off into the highway and walk into darkness. He points to an area near a field owned by the Turner's.
Mind you that this area that Ruppe leads law enforcement to is an area that had already been closed and taped down by law enforcement, as they were performing a driver checkpoint there. So in other words, the area that he claimed to have seen her walk towards is an area that the police had already closed down.
Investigators search this area but tracker dogs cannot locate her scent. FBI agents find no footprints on the patch of land Ruppe claims to have seen Asha walking on. No shoeprints or handprints are found in the shed owned by the Turner's.
Ruppe's quote from the Charlotte Observer dated 2/17/2000:
"I seen a little girl walking down the road with her book bag," Ruppe said Wednesday. He now believes she was 9- year-old Asha Degree, who vanished from her Shelby home that morning. "She had on a little dress and white tennis shoes, and her hair was in pigtails."Ruppe grew concerned. "I went back, but she never did look up at me," Ruppe said. "She looked like she knew where she was going. She was walking at a pretty good pace."
....So he allegedly saw a 60 lb girl walking by herself on the highway at 4 am - was so upset by this sighting that he circled around her multiple times - watched her run into darkness and didn’t even hunt down the nearest payphone to call the police?
He also allegedly drove up right next to her three times, so he must've gotten a pretty good look at her, right? Yet he said she was wearing a “little dress.” According to her parents, there was no dress or white "nightgown" missing from her wardobe. So this 9 year old girl prepared for this late night excursion days before and packed all these clothes, just to head out on a 32 degree night in a thinly made dress?
To top it off, he states that she was confidently power walking as he, a complete stranger, repeatedly circled around her on a pitch black lonesome and desolate two laned road.
Nope. Not buying it.

Hello! I apologize if this type of post isn't allowed, I just do not know anyone that plays violin and didn't want to resort to putting up flyers yet.
My girlfriend and I have a long standing joke of having a picnic then someone approaches playing 2010s hits on violin right as I'm going to propose and I wanted to see if I can make that a reality. The goal is to have this picnic on the weekend of June 15th as that is between our birthdays (although this is flexible). I would absolutely be paying whomever is willing to indulge us for this. The location would be at Promentary Point in Hyde Park as that is our favorite lake side spot in the city.
Song ideas (also flexible as we are not super in love with any of these songs, we just think it's funny):
Just the way you are - Bruno Mars
Party Rock Anthem - LMFAO
Like a G6 - Far East Movement
Payphone - Maroon Five
Please DM me if interested!
Thank you

“Oh my God! It’s really him!”
Even before I turned around, I was sure that those shrill teenage voices were talking about me. I just couldn’t understand why. I wasn’t famous; I’d never done anything important in my life, and it had been a long time since I’d been in high school myself. The three girls were leaning over the glass barrier on the second floor of the mall, pointing at me with their hands over their mouths like they’d just seen a celebrity. When they realized that I’d spotted them, they ran giggling into the crowd, leaving me with an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach: what was all that about?
The sense of wrongness I felt only deepened as I walked into the store that I’d come to the mall to visit. Maybe it was just lingering discomfort from what had just happened, but I’d swear I felt eyes on the back of my neck as I walked down the aisles. Some of the other customers were staring too, I was sure of it–and that wasn’t all. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dim light inside the store, I realized that there was a chubby guy in dark clothing standing near the back exit of the store…recording me.
“Hey!” I shouted, but he was already gone, disappearing through the access door into the guts of the mall. I reminded myself that I was here to buy a teddy bear for my four-year-old niece–not chase some weirdo through a restricted area–and let him go.
“You alright?” the woman at the cash register asked when she saw my face.
“Yeah, it’s just…” I waved my hand vaguely.
“Oh yeah, I getcha. All the crazies come out of the woodwork this time of year. Before you came again, I had to break up two grown men who were fighting over a stuffed alligator. You believe that?”
I shook my head. Ordinarily, I avoided the mall like the plague at this time of year. The crowds and repetitive holiday music got on my nerves, but I’d promised my niece I’d get her a blue teddy bear from this specific store. Why she wanted that specific gift was a mystery to me, but toddlers aren’t known for their logic. The cashier scanned my card, frowned, then scanned it again.
“Says it’s blocked,” she grunted, and handed my plastic back to me with a suspicious look. “There are some ATMs on the second floor…if you’re able to withdraw cash, that is.” Her judgmental glare told me exactly what she thought of people whose cards got declined…and people who wasted her time.
As I fought my way through the sea of holiday shoppers, a preteen kid ran up to me and tossed a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate onto my chest.
“Did you get that?” he yelled over his shoulder at his friend, who snapped a photo and nodded. The pair of them were gone before I had time to get a good look at their faces, much less try to stop them. Wondering what the hell was wrong with people, I wiped off my ruined sweater and hurried to the ATMs.
The glowing blue screen in front of me soon confirmed my worst fears. I was locked out of all my accounts, and not just banking stuff, either: I couldn’t access my email or even social media: everything was blocked. It was like the floor had just dropped out from under me. Without those little lines of code, who was I, really? Trying to shake off that gut-wrenching feeling, I pulled out my phone to contact my bank…but I was already receiving another call.
I picked up immediately, only to hear a mechanical-sounding automated message:
“Congratulations, you've been selected–”
There was something disturbing about that voice, but I had already hung up by the time I realized what it was.
Another call was coming in. The number was slightly different from the first, but when I answered, there was no mistaking it: I was listening to my own voice. Sure, the words were eerily slow and the pronunciation was off, but I was definitely listening to…myself.
“Not very polite of you to hang up on me like that, Aiden. Not when I’ve got something so special to tell you.”
I sputtered, fumbling for a reply; the whole situation was just too strange.
“W-who is this? Who am I talking to?”
“Why, this is everyone, Aiden. Everyone who has a vested interest in seeing what you’ll do next. First, though, we think you ought to change shirts. That sticky hot chocolate must be uncomfortable, and besides, yellow isn’t really your color.”
Whoever I was talking to could see what I was wearing, which meant they could see me. My eyes darted from face to face, scanning the crowd–
“There’s no one to look for Aiden. I’m everywhere. See that outlet store in front of you, Aiden? We’d like you to go in and get yourself a new holiday sweater. Oh, and since your cards are blocked, you’ll have to steal it. Well? Go ahead. We’re waiting…”
I hung up. Of course, they called back again. And again. And again. I turned off my phone and slipped it into my pocket. My heart was pounding. What the hell was going on here? The police; that was it. I just had to talk to the police, to let them know I was being harassed and stalked…but by who?
Had I made any enemies lately? There was Tim, the I.T. guy from work, who had never seemed to like me very much. He knew who I was and maybe even had access to sound bytes of my voice–but would Tim really go this far just to mess with me? I wandered in a daze past giant ornaments and chlorinated fountains full of pocket change, barely aware of where I was going–
Until a guy with a goatee stopped dead in front of me and stuck out his hand, jabbing a blindingly-bright screen into my face.
“It’s, uh, for you…” he sounded as confused as I was. “Somebody called me and said he needed to talk to the guy in the yellow shirt with the hot-chocolate stain. That’s you, right? It’s something about somebody named Kimmy.” My blood ran cold. Kimmy was my mother’s nickname! People shoved angrily past the pair of us, but I didn’t care: all my thoughts were on the familiar voice coming through the stranger’s phone.
“We’re disappointed that you’re not rising to the challenge, Aiden. We think that maybe your mother should have raised a braver boy. Thankfully, user DarkStarr85 has generously agreed to go by 415 Meadowleaf Court and teach her a lesson.”
“Listen, whoever you are,” I shouted into the phone, making a few of the shoppers surrounding me jump. “This isn’t funny. I’m going to the police, and when I find out who you are–”
“You can go to the police if you want, Aiden. But that would ruin everyone’s fun…and besides, by the time you talk to them it will already be too late for Kimmy. Come on, Aiden. Why don’t you play along?”
I fell silent. For all I knew, there was nobody waiting at my mother’s house, and this sadist who spoke with my voice was just messing with me…but what if I was wrong?
“What do you want me to do?” I sighed.
“You see the man standing in front of you? The one whose phone you’re holding? We’d like you to punch that confused expression right off of his ugly face.”
The guy with the goatee blinked at me, wide-eyed and totally unsuspecting. I clenched my hand into a fist…then lowered it.
No. I wasn’t going to play their sick little game.
I threw the guy’s phone back to him and ran toward the restrooms. I remembered seeing some pay phones back there…I would just have to hope that they still worked.
The mall had seen better days, but the restroom hallway was particularly rundown. Most of the fluorescent lights were flickery or burnt out, and there was a nasty brown puddle of something stagnating by the wall. The first payphone was covered with graffiti and the second had been practically ripped off of the wall, but the third looked like it might still work. I jammed in some quarters and punched in my mom’s number.
“Honey?” my mother asked right away when she heard my voice. “Are you alright? You sound out of breath.”
Before I could explain, I heard something in the background on my mother’s end of the line: a doorbell.
“Ma, listen: whatever you do, do NOT open that door!”
“Are you sure? They’re knocking really hard. It must be important…”
“I don’t have time to explain, just get off the phone and call the police, okay?!” I shouted.
Glass shattered. Then the line went dead. A fat, scarred finger had pressed down the receiver, cutting off my call. I turned to face the hulking figure who stood between me and escape. His head was shaved close, his teeth crooked, and beneath his fat there was a lot of muscle. A single diamond earring sparkled in his left ear. He cracked his knuckles at me and grinned: he wasn’t alone.
“H-hey!” I stammered “That call was important!”
The big guy punched me in the stomach. His friends ran up behind me, shoved me to the ground, and held me there. They didn’t speak…but one was taking a video of what was happening. The big guy sat on my chest and started smacking my face until I was seeing stars; I felt a tooth come loose.
“You right-handed or left-handed?” The big guy asked.
“Right-handed–why does that matter?” I spat blood.
“We gotta make sure you can still answer a phone call when we’re done.”
He picked his foot up and stomped on my left hand. My fingers snapped beneath his boot with a sickening popping sound, and I screamed louder than I ever had in my life.
“What’s going on down there?” A security guard stood at the end of the dingy hallway, pointing his flashlight toward us. A group of shoppers had clustered there to watch the one-sided “fight.”
“You upload the video?” The big guy asked. His friend nodded. “We don’t get paid unless the video goes viral…”
“You three! Stop!” The guard yelled, running toward us. The big guy sighed. By the time the pudgy, middle-aged guard got close enough to realize how outmatched he was, it was too late: they were on him. Clutching my broken hand, I limped out into the crowd. No one offered to help…but I did notice that a few people were recording.
My head was reeling, and not just from my injuries. The whole situation was just too insane. Someone had stolen my name and voice…and they were paying people to torture me! I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I staggered out into the chilly parking lot and found that my car's tires had been slashed. That wasn’t the worst of it, either.
Some instinct, some primal fear, made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. When I turned around, I saw three familiar figures scanning the parking lot…searching for me. I didn’t like to think about what they might have in mind for Round Two.
I ducked and crept along behind the cars until I reached the line of trees that marked the border of the mall parking lot. On the other side was a service road: it was a mostly-abandoned strip of warehouses and boarded-up stores that ran alongside the highway. At the far end, I could see the glittering lights of a bus station. It might be my last chance to get home and get help.
I was halfway down the service road before I regretted my decision. I had tried several more times to call the police, but my phone was blocked by more of those awful calls, proposing more sick “tasks” for me:
“You’ve made us angry, Aiden. If you don’t want any more broken bones, you’ll walk out onto that highway, take off your clothes and start dancing–”
I hung up. The sound of the wind blowing through those desolate chain-link fences made me feel very alone…but I wasn’t. Someone was following me. They walked faster when I walked faster, slowed down when I slowed down, and never let me out of their sight. From the way they held their phone at their waist, facing me, I felt sure that they were recording me.
I had had enough. The stress of the whole nightmarish day had pushed me to a breaking point, and I don’t think I could have stopped myself if I wanted to. I turned and charged. It was the last thing my stalker had expected, and when they dropped their phone and ran, I realized that I recognized the figure: it was the chubby guy from the toy store, the one who I’d noticed filming me! I shouted after him, but he was already gone, snagging his leg on barbed wire as he sprinted across a construction site. I didn’t have the energy to pursue him…but I did have his phone.
When I picked it up from the sidewalk, I saw my own face staring back at me from the cracked screen. The picture was one I’d never seen before, one that I didn’t even know had been taken.
“Aiden Fisk,” read the caption, “what will he do next?” A video-clip played: a replay of everything that had happened so far. Grainy footage of me panicking in front of the ATM, being doused in hot chocolate, getting my arm broken…and walking nervously down the abandoned service road. Which meant…they knew where I was. As the video ended, the App opened: an app that was all about…me.
There were polls about what should happen to me, what I should be made to do next, and what my punishment should be if I failed. The more gruesome options, it seemed, were always the most popular. In another section, users could use cryptocurrency to bet on what I would do and track my location in real time. I was zooming in on my own location when a call came into the stranger’s phone.
“Hello again, Aiden.” My own voice said to me when I answered.
“Why are you doing this to me?!” I yelled into the receiver.
“You’re our entertainment, Aiden! You’re famous. You should be grateful. Now for your next task–”
I flung the phone away like it burned me. The lights of the bus station twinkled at the end of the service road, close yet far away at the same time. The road narrowed, becoming a one-lane alley between two construction sites, and the sidewalk disappeared. I hadn’t seen any cars so far, but I could hear the rumbling of an engine approaching behind me.
My shadow stretched out ahead, illuminated by a pair of rapidly-closing-in headlights. I waved, trying to make my presence known, but the driver didn’t stop; they didn’t even slow down. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed an enormous truck. It occupied the entire road, and even if I had had time to jump, there was nowhere to go.
A low scream escaped my lips as the truck’s front bumper nudged my lower back. I staggered, sure that I was done for, but the driver slowed to match my pace. They kept the so close that I could feel the heat of the motor, egging me on, forcing me to run faster and faster–
They could crush me beneath those huge tires anytime they felt like it, and they knew it. Was this my next punishment? I could imagine the app tracking my pace, people betting on how far I’d get before my legs or lungs gave out, and on which parts of me would shatter when I inevitably got run over. Up ahead, the road narrowed even more: dead bushes in concrete islands had been placed in front of the bus station as someone’s idea of landscaping. They didn’t add much beauty to the place, but if I jumped into them, the truck wouldn’t risk following me over the barrier…probably. I still wasn’t sure just how far these people would go for that sadistic app, but I had no choice but to take the risk.
My feet left the asphalt; branches cut into my arms and face as I crashed through to the other side, but the squeal of the truck’s brakes behind me was music to my ears. The bus lot was well lit. A few older men stood in a circle, smoking, while a young woman took her fussy toddler for a walk around the parking lot. The driver idled behind me, probably thinking the same thing I was: that there were a lot more witnesses here than on the service road.
By the time I got to my feet and looked back over my shoulder, the truck was just a pair of anonymous tail lights disappearing into the night. I wiped my scraped palms on my jeans and walked toward the station lights, wondering how much more of this I could take.
No one in the bus station seemed to be playing the app’s twisted game; in fact, no one looked up at me at all when I walked across the grimy tile floor toward the schedule board. The station was about to close: the next bus to my neighborhood wasn’t until six-thirty the next morning, and I had a nasty feeling that my “followers” would have caught up to me by then. My only option was to borrow someone’s phone and hope that I could call for help before the app found me.
Everyone I spoke to turned me down, and I could understand why. I was crazy-eyed and desperate, covered with scratches, and my broken hand had swollen to twice its normal size. I was about to give up when I felt a tap on my shoulder. The homeless man's clothes were in rags; his vomit-flecked gray beard hung down almost to his waist. The smell hit me like a wall, and it was hard to keep from gagging. He pressed something into my hand: a burner phone.
“It’s got one call left,” he grunted. “A whole minute. Good luck, pal. You look like you need it even more than I do.” He lurched back out into the dark before I could even say ‘thank you.’
Weighing the battered phone in my hand, I wondered who I should call. I doubted the police would get here in time; my mother wasn’t answering, and my best friend Sam was out of town on business. That left…Dani, my ex. She lived nearby, and besides, it was the only other number I knew by heart…even though I wished that I could have forgotten it.
Dani's voice was huskier than I remembered, but she picked up right away. The first words out of her mouth were the last thing I would have expected:
“Thank God. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours!”
She rushed into a story about how people had been calling and messaging her all day…people who were looking for me. She said it sounded like they wanted to hurt me. One even offered to pay her to seduce me and film the result. She had something to tell me, she said, but my minute was almost up. I had just enough time to tell her my location and beg her to come pick me up. There was a long silence: before she could answer, the line went dead.
I looked around. There was no longer anyone in the bus station to ask for a phone call: in fact, there was no longer anyone in the bus station at all. Metal shutters had been lowered over the ticket window and the vending machine area; the waiting room was empty apart from a discarded scarf that dangled sadly from a ripped-up seat.
Somewhere in the depths of the station came a loud SLAM, and the flickering fluorescent lights began to go out ,one by one. Maybe it was just the standard closing procedure, maybe it had nothing to do with me–but I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. I approached the nearest glass door, then jumped back as a figure wearing a white plastic mask slammed their shoulder into the door. They pushed at the door like a rabid animal, trying to get at me–
But it had already been locked when the station closed.
Furious, the stranger took out a hammer and swung it into the glass. Fractures appeared, and I wasn’t going to wait around for the door to shatter. I fled in the opposite direction, through the one remaining exit and out into the night.
I think part of me already knew what I’d find waiting for me, and that’s why I wasn’t surprised by the small group of masked individuals waiting just beyond the streetlights. All of them held glowing phone screens in their hands, and a few held weapons as well. I spotted lengths of chain…a baseball bat…a gutting knife…
As they started toward me, a car drifted into the empty parking lot, its tires squealing. Dani threw open the passenger-side door and shouted at me to get in.
She peeled out as I slammed the door shut. Her car was just as dirty as I remembered: fast-food bags on the floor, makeup kit crammed into the door tray, half-drunk coffee mugs in every cup holder. It had always struck me as funny that such a well-regarded scientist could be so disorderly.
After an awkward silence as we merged onto the highway, Dani told me that it was over–or at least, she hoped it was. As we sped through the night, she did her best to explain what she thought had happened.
Dani’s work (or at least, as much of it as I understood) involved using artificial intelligence. When we were together, we had made a lot of jokes about Terminator and Hal-9000, but her research had never seemed sinister…at least, not until recently. Her most recent project was an A.I. that designed phone applications. She had built it to maximize profits and interaction: to identify what people wanted, and give it to them.
To her horror, Dani discovered that the A.I. had begun operating outside of its parameters–even accessing her personal files in its endless quest for a better product. She figured that was where it had found my image, voice, and other information. After analyzing trends across time, the A.I. had determined that there was nothing people enjoyed more than participating anonymously in the suffering of others: I was its first test subject, simply because it had found my data first.
The A.I., Dani added quickly, wasn’t really to blame. It was people who had chosen to interact with it, download it, and make my life a living hell. It had done nothing more than fulfill its function, encouraging whatever behavior that got the most views and likes. Once Dani had realized what was happening, she had shut the A.I. down…or tried to.
It had apparently already spread itself to other networks–although “spread” wasn’t the word that Dani used. The word she used was “infected.” As Dani dropped me off at home, she told me not to worry: her organization would “almost certainly” take care of it, and I “probably” had nothing to worry about…
But just in case, she asked me to spread the word:
If you notice people staring at you or taking pictures of you in public…
If you find yourself locked out of your accounts, or if you receive a barrage of strange messages…
You might be next.

Here is the list that I wrote for Georgia's post Furman execution roster for my death penalty project. Like with the previous posts, the dates aren't a precise duration of time spent on death row, but rather an approximation of their earliest known criminal activities to their executions. Many of the crimes discussed in this post are also extremely horrific, and thus please read at your own risk.
As I finished finials yesterday, the remaining states, Missouri, Virginia, Florida, and Oklahoma might be released on a quicker pace. I'm planning on doing Missouri next, but it might be split into at least two separate parts due to the currently 98 executions that have taken place.
The currently executed 77 inmates:
1. John Smith (1974-1983, electric chair): Smith and his wife decided to kill her ex husband, 38 year old Ronald Atkins, and his 29 year old wife Juanita, when they learned that the daughter she had in their former marriage were beneficiaries of the Atkins' life insurance policy. The couple and another accomplice lured the Atkins' to their home with a promise of selling them a television set, and shot them both dead.
2. Ivon Stanley (1976-1984, electric chair): Stanley and an accomplice abducted Clifford Floyd, a 46 year old insurance agent, after they lured him into the accomplice's apartment. Floyd was dragged into a forest, beaten with a hammer, and tied to a tree. He was then shot and buried alive in a shallow grave. Floyd succumbed to a combination of blood loss and suffocation and a total of $234 was stolen from him in the attack.
3. Alpha Stephens (~1961-1984, electric chair): In 1973, Stephens shot dead 57 year old Louise Mercer while robbing a grocery store her brother owned. A year later, Stephens abducted Roy Asbell, a 49 year old minister, from his home with a gun he stole from Asbell's son. Asbell tried bribing his captor with hundreds of dollars in cash for his life, but Stephens simply snatched the money away, dragged Asbell to a barn, and shot him in the head. He had a significant rap sheet that included several armed robberies, prison breakouts, auto thefts, kidnappings, and burglaries, and was first arrested at the age of 16.
4. Roosevelt Green Jr. (1976-1985, electric chair): During a robbery of a convenience store, Green kidnapped the clerk, 18 year old Teresa Allen, stole $466 from the cash register, and drove away with his loot and hostage in her car. He then raped Allen, shot her to death, and dumped her body on a dirt road.
5. Van Solomon (1979-1985, electric chair): Solomon and his accomplice Brandon Jones gunned down 29 year old Roger Tackett while robbing a Tenneco store he managed. Ironically, Solomon himself was shot by an assailant robbing his grocery store some years before the murder.
6. John Young (1974-1985, electric chair): Young attacked 6 elderly men and women with bottles, lamps, fireplace pokers, and vases in their homes, across a single neighborhood. 3 of the victims, 85 year old Coleman Brice, his 83 year old wife Gladys, and 83 year old Katie Davis, were beaten to death in the assaults. Several variables such as jewelry and watches were taken as well.
7. Jerome Bowden (1976-1986, electric chair): Bowden and an accomplice stabbed 55 year old Kathryn Stryker to death and gravely wounded her bedridden mother, 76 year old Wessie Jenkins while burglarizing their home. Several items, such a wig, a pellet gun, some jewelry, and a television set was stolen in the intrusion. The television set was sold by Bowden to one of his acquaintances. Jenkins initially survived the attack, but died from complications relating to their injuries after Bowden was indicted for her daughter's murder.
8. Joseph Mulligan (1974-1987, electric chair): As part of a scheme to collect an insurance policy, Mulligan shot his sister's estranged husband, 30 year old Patrick Doe and Doe's girlfriend, 25 year old Marion Miller, while they were driving to a party. Doe was a captain in the United States Army at the time of his death.

1. Richard Tucker Jr. (~1963-1987, electric chair): In 1963, Tucker stabbed his aunt, 61 year old Annie Armstrong, 14 times with scissors while burglarizing her home. He was released from incarceration in 1978. 6 months after being let out of prison, Tucker abducted 50 year old Edna Sandefur from a hospital parking lot while she was visiting her ill mother, and drove her to a remote warehouse. He robbed and raped Sandefur, and then beat her to death with an iron pipe. Tucker also had previous convictions of burglary and attempted rape.

10. William Tucker (1977-1987, electric chair): Tucker abducted 19 year old Kathleen Parry, a pregnant clerk, while he was robbing a convenience store she was working at. He forced Parry at knifepoint to withdraw money from the cash register, and dragged her into his car. When they drove to a chapel, Tucker stabbed her to death.
11. William Mitchell (1974-1987, electric chair): Mitchell accosted 50 year old Willard Williams while he was walking down a street and mugged him of $4. He then forced Williams to lay down and shot him execution style. In the following day, he held 34 year old Peggy Carr and her 14 year old son Christopher at gunpoint while they were opening their family owned store. Despite Peggy giving him $160, he made rape threats against her and forced the pair into a freezer. Both mother and son were shot several times and left for dead by Mitchell. Christopher died at the scene, while his mother survived her injuries.
12. Timothy McCorquodale (1974-1987, electric chair): McCorquodale and his entourage accused Donna Dixon, a 17 year old runaway, of stealing money from him and giving it to a black pimp that he thought she was having a relationship with. He bombarded Dixon with racist insults and sexual advances as he and his accomplices kidnapped her from a club. After she was taken to McCorquodale’s apartment, Dixon was bound, and repeatedly beaten and raped. They tortured her by cutting her breasts with razor blades, burned her body with cigarette butts and candle wax, and she was violated with a bottle. The abuse ended when McCorquodale broke her arms and legs, and strangled her to death with a clothesline. On death row, McCorquodale escaped with three other inmates, including Troy Gregg of the 1976 Furman vs Gregg infamy. After the group took refuge at a biker bar, McCorquodale beat Gregg to death in a fight with the help of a Outlaws Motorcycle gang member. Days after Gregg's murder, McCorquodale and the other surviving fugitives were recaptured hiding out at an Outlaws Biker's home.
13. James Messer Jr. (1979-1988, electric chair) To get back at his estranged wife for leaving him with their children, Messer kidnapped her niece, 8 year old Rhonda Tanner, while he was picking her up from school. He raped and severely beat Tanner in a forest and stabbed her to death.
14. Henry Willis III (1976-1989, electric chair): Willis and his accomplices abducted a policeman, 29 year old James Giddens, that was dispatched to stop their robbery of a food market. They took the captive officer near a lake, where he tried to escape by jumping into it. Willis and one of his partners shot Giddens dead while he was trying to swim to safety.
15. Warren McCleskey (1978-1991, electric chair): McCleskey robbed a jewelry store at gunpoint, and fired on the responding officers. One of the officers, 30 year old Frank Schlatt was killed in the shooting.
16. Thomas Stevens (1977-1993, electric chair): Stevens and Christopher Burger abducted a fellow soldier, 20 year old Roger Honeycutt, who was also working as a cab driver, when he picked them up from the enlisted men's club on Fort Stewart. Honeycutt was tied up with a cord, robbed of $20, and sodomized repeatedly by both of his captors. The pair then locked Honeycutt in the trunk of the cab, and drove it into a pond as they jumped out. Being unable to escape, Honeycutt drowned as his car sank into the pond's depths.
17. Christopher Burger (1977-1993, electric chair): As mentioned under Thomas Stevens' section, Burger assisted in the robbery, abduction, rape, and murder of Roger Honeycutt.
18. William Hance (1977-1994, electric chair): Hance, a former Marine that transferred himself to the Army, abducted at least 3 women, 32 year old Irene Thirkield, 24 year old Karen Hickman, and 21 year old Gail Jackson. Thrikield and Jackson were black prostitutes and Hickman was a white Marine servicewoman that was stationed in the same base as Hance. They were all raped and beaten to death with jack handles and tire irons. In a misguided attempt to throw off the police and attract media attention, Hance staged a convoluted hoax involving a race war between a gang of white vigilantes and a gang of black counter vigilantes. He tried to pretend that his victims were murdered from retaliatory killings between the two groups. Hance was also suspected in the murder of another woman in Indiana, but was never charged of it.
19. Nicholas Ingram (1983-1995, electric chair): Ingram broke into the home of 55 year old J.C. Sawyer and his wife Mary. He forced them to hand over $60 and their car keys at gunpoint, tied the couple together to a tree, and shot both of them. J.C. was killed, while Mary survived their ordeal. Ingram then stole their car and fled to California. While a fugitive hiding out in California, he committed another carjacking, and ran off to Nebraska, where he was detained for a DUI and deported back to Georgia to face trial. Due to being a British national, Ingram's execution sparked outrage in the United Kingdom.
20. Darrell Devier (1979-1995, electric chair): Devier lured 12 year old Mary Stoner into his car while she was walking home from school. He raped her in a forest, made an attempt to strangle her during their struggle, and crushed Stoner's head with a rock. Months before the murder, Devier was accused of raping a 13 year old girl, but the charges against him were dismissed from the lack of sufficient evidence.
21. Larry Lonchar (1986-1996, electric chair): During a dispute over gambling debts, Lonchar confronted his bookkeeper, 54 year old Wayne Smith, at his condo while pretending to be a FBI agent. In the altercation, he bound Wayne and his 24 year old son Steven with handcuffs, and shot and stabbed them to death. Wayne's girlfriend, 45 year old Margaret Sweat, called 911, and was also shot and stabbed to death while she was on the phone with the dispatcher. Another one of Wayne's sons was attacked in the incident, but he managed to survive his injuries.
22. Ellis Felker (1977-1996, electric chair): Evelyn Ludlam, a 19 year old cocktail waitress for the Holiday Inn, was lured into Flelker's clutches when he promised her work at his leather store. For religious reasons, Ludlam was disaffected with her job, and wanted a new line of work. Felker raped and strangled Ludlam to death and sexually mutilated her body. After he murdered Ludlem, Felker dumped her remains in a creek. He was registered sex offender with a sodomy conviction at the time of Ludlam's death.
23. David Cargill (1985-1998, electric chair): Cargill and his brother stormed a gas station, and forced a couple, 41 year old Danny and 29 year old Cheryl Williams, to lie on the floor. Cheryl was a clerk for the station, and Danny stopped by to help her close down after he put their sons to bed. The brothers shot the couple execution style, and stole a total of $482.79 from the register. They were also involved with several carjackings.
24. Terry Mincey (1982-2001, lethal injection): Mincey and his accomplices robbed a convenience store at gunpoint, and forced the clerk, 38 year old Paulette Riggs to empty the cash register into their bag. They shot her dead, and took 2 teenage siblings hostage that were present in the store. Coincidentally, a firefighter pulled up to the scene to refill his truck, and Mincey shot and wounded him. The siblings took the opportunity to escape and fled into a nearby field.
25. Jose High (1976-2001, lethal injection): High and his accomplices abducted 11 year old Bonnie Bulloch and his stepfather, 27 year old Henry Philips, from a gas station they were operating, after emptying the cash register. The robbers forced the pair into their car, reportedly taunted the captives about their intentions to kill them, and drove to a remote forest. They then shot Bulloch dead and wounded Philips.
26. Fred Gilreath Jr. (1979-2001, lethal injection): Gilreath's wife, 28 year old Linda, moved out of their home to escape their disintegrating marriage. When Linda returned with her father, 57 year old Gerrit Van Leeuwen, to pack up her belongings, Gilreath shot them both dead.
27. Byron Parker (1984-2001, lethal injection): Parker enticed 11 year old Christie Griffith into his car after she missed her taxi that was supposed to take her to her older brother's high school graduation. He bound Griffith to a tree, and raped and strangled her death, while his two year old son was waiting for him in their car.
28. Ronald Spivey (~1961-2002, lethal injection): While playing pool at a bar, Spivey got into a fight with 32 year old Charles McCook over money he perceived to have won, and shot him to death. A day later, he robbed a bank and took hostages. He fatally shot Bill Watson, a 40 year old off duty police officer that tried to stop him, and injured the manager, 21 year old Welton Allen. Allen tried fleeing to a nearby restaurant, and Spivey following him into it in pursuit. He fired on the establishment in an attempt to kill him, but missed and wounded an employee caught in the crossfire. Spivey then kidnapped a waitress and forced her to drive him to Alabama. She was rescued unharmed by local authorities when they pulled over and captured Spivey. A search of the stolen car found that Spivey stole a total of $360 in his robberies. His previous convictions include several counts of forgery, armed robbery, and auto theft.
29. Tracy Housel (1984-2002, lethal injection) Housel was a sexual predator and thief that victimized men and women alike between the ages of 18-45. He worked as a interstate truck driver, and picked up victims that he befriended from stops all across the country. They were driven to isolated locations, where Housel would bind, rob, and sodomize them. His killing methods were diverse and circumstantial, but Housel mostly used strangulations, beatings, and stabbings in the attacks. Housel was convicted in the deaths of Troy Smith (age unknown) and 44 year old Jean Drew, and is suspected in and/or confessed to 15 other murders. He was also responsible for several non fatal assaults and robberies. Like Nicholas Ingram, Housel's death sentence and execution sparked outrage in the United Kingdom due to him being a British national.
30. Wallace Fugate III (1991-2002, lethal injection): Fugate forced himself inside the home of his ex wife, 39 year old Pattie. He pistol whipped Pattie dozens of times and shot her dead in front of their 15 year old son. Unrelated to the case, but that son was beaten to death in the same house by his friends a year after Fugate's conviction.
31. William Putman (1980-2002, lethal injection): Purtman shot and killed 49 year old William Hodges on the side of a highway. Hours later, he snuck up on a married couple, 28 year old Kate Back and 22 year old David Hardin, sleeping at a rest stop in their car with their children (which included a 9 year old daughter, a 7 year old son, and an 11 month old daughter) and 14 year old niece. He shot David dead and tried to abduct Kate. When she resisted and screamed for her husband, Purtman shot her as well and fled the scene.
32. Larry Moon (1984-2003, lethal injection): According to prosecutors, Moon ambushed 34 year old Ricky Callahan while the later was walking to a pharmacy to buy headache medicine for his wife. Callahan was shot in the head during the attack and had $60 taken from his wallet. Moon was also suspected in the shooting deaths of Jimmy Hutcheson (age unknown) and Thomas DeJose (age unknown), several robberies, and the abduction and sexual assault of a female impersonator. The prosecution failed to convict him for the murder of DeJose on the grounds of self defense and the murder of Butcheson on the lack of sufficient evidence. His conviction for Callahan's murder is contested, as Moon and his supporters claim that a late hitman confessed to the killing.
33. Carl Isaacs (~1960s-2003, lethal injection): Isaacs, with the help of two of his brothers and a cellmate, escaped from the Maryland State prison, and fatally shot 19 year old Richard Miller when he tried to stop them from stealing a car. The group drove by a Georgia gas pump in the hopes of refilling their getaway car. However, the pump was empty, and decided to burglarize a nearby trailer belonging to the Alday family (which consisted of brothers, 62 year old Ned and 57 year old Aubrey, Ned's sons, 35 year old Jerry and 32 year old Chester, and Jerry's 26 year old wife Mary) while they were gone. When the family returned home, Isaacs and his accomplices held the entire family at gun point, gang-raped Mary several times, and shot them all dead. Isaacs had a very troubled history, and committed several burglaries and robberies as a teenager.
34. James Brown (~1968-2003, lethal injection): Brown went on a date with Brenda Watson, a 21 year old stripper. After they were drinking and partying together at a bar, Brown tied up Watson with nylon stockings, and raped and asphyxiated her by shoving panties down her throat. He had a long history involving violence towards women. One of his previous convictions involved an incident of him breaking into a woman’s home, and (non fatally) stabbing and sexually assaulting her. Brown also had a warrant at the time of Watson’s murder for aggravated robbery, kidnapping, and sexual assault charges when he lured another woman by posing as an artist in need of a model.
35. Robert Hicks (~1970s-2004, lethal injection): Hicks laid his eyes on 28 year old Joni Rivers while she was talking to her boyfriend using a grocery store payphone. He chased down Rivers when she tried to flee from him and nearly decapitated her in a frenzied stabbing attack. Rivers' shoes, shorts, and ring were taken and found in Hicks' car. Hicks was released from prison months earlier after serving a half of a 15 year sentence for sexually abusing a 16 year old girl.
36. Eddie Crawford (1983-2004, lethal injection): Crawford tried spending the night with one of his estranged wife's sisters after a drinking binge, but she ejected him from her home. Out of anger, he abducted Leslie English, her 2 year old daughter, from the girl's bedroom, and then raped and strangled her to death.
37. Timothy Carr (1992-2005, lethal injection): Carr and his girlfriend attended a party with 17 year old Keith Young. The couple decided that they wanted to rob the boy, and they lured him into a forest with the help of two other teenagers. Carr slit Young's throat, and then proceeded to beat him to death with a baseball bat. He and his accomplices stole a $125 paycheck and Young's car in the robbery.
38. Stephen Mobley (1991-2005, lethal injection): Mobley shot and killed 25 year old John Collins while robbing a Domino's Pizza restaurant he was managing. He had also held up 6 other restaurants and dry-cleaning shops at gunpoint in his month long crime spree.
39. Robert Conklin (~1981-2005, lethal injection): Conklin stabbed his boyfriend, 28 year old George Crooks, in the ear with a screwdriver in their apartment, and dismembered his body. In an attempt to get rid of the remains, he stuffed them in a garbage disposal in their kitchen and a nearby dumpster. At the time of Crooks' murder, Conklin was on parole from a 6 year sentence for armed robbery.
40. John Hightower (1987-2007, lethal injection): While under the influence of cocaine, Hightower shot his wife, 41 year old Dorothy, and his stepdaughters, 22 year old Sandra and 19 year old Evelyn Reaves, to death in their sleep.
41. William Lynd (1988-2008, lethal injection): Lynd got into an argument with his girlfriend, 26 year old Ginger Moore, over a planned vacation and shot her to death. While on the run in Ohio, he tried to hijack a car, and shot the driver, 42 year old Leslie Sharkey, in the process. Sharkey managed to crawl to safety, and notified the authorities of the attack. She died of her injuries a few days after the shooting.
42. Curtis Osborne (1990-2008, lethal injection): Osborne, a career drug dealer, shot his girlfriend's brother, 29 year old Arthur Jones, and Jones' girlfriend, 28 year old Linda Seaborne, dead in argument over money gained from a motorcycle sale. His death sentence was controversial, as Osborne claimed that his attorney denied him a plea bargain for a racist agenda.
43. Jack Alderman (1975-2008, lethal injection): In an attempt to collect a life insurance policy, Alderman beat his wife, 20 year old Barbara, to death with a wench.
44. Robert Newland (1986-2009, lethal injection): Newland went to the apartment of his girlfriend, 27 year old Carol Beatty, after a drinking binge, and tried to kiss her. When she rejected and slapped him, Newland stabbed and disemboweled her alive. Just before she succumbed to her injuries, Beatty used her own blood to identify Newland as her attacker to the first responders.
45. William Mize (1994-2009, lethal injection): Mize was a leader of a white supremacist gang called the National Vastilian Aryan Party, in which 34 year old Eddie Tucker had filed to join. When Tucker disobeyed his orders to burn down a "crack house" as part of an initiation ritual, Mize lured him into a forest and shot him dead.
46. Mark McClain (1994-2009, lethal injection): McClain robbed a Domino pizza parlor after ordering a pizza. He shot the manger, 28 year old Kevin Brown, dead and stole $130 from the register.
47. Melbert Ford Jr. (1986-2010, lethal injection): Ford had a very specific fantasy about robbing, abducting and then murdering his ex girlfriend, 30 year old Martha Matich, after forcing her beg for mercy. He decided to make his fantasies into a reality, and stormed the grocery store she worked at with the help of an accomplice he hired. Ford shot Matich and her niece, 11 year old Lisa Chapman, dead, and stole $579 from the register.
48. Brandon Rhode (1998-2010, lethal injection): Rhode and his accomplice Daniel Lucas broke into a house, and encountered the residents, 37 year old Steven Moss, and his two children, 15 year old Kristin and 11 year old Bryan. Bryan was home alone when the intruders arrived, and tried to fight them off with a baseball bat. Lucas and Rhodes quickly subdued the boy and shot him to death. Kristen and Steven were also shot dead when they returned home. Their bodies were discovered by Gerri, Steven's wife and the children's mother. The pair were career burglars, and previously targeted the Moss home weeks before the massacre.
49. Emmanuel Hammond (~1983-2011, lethal injection): Hammond, his girlfriend, and her cousin spotted 27 year old Julia Love broken down on the side of the road. They dragged her into their car after she declined their offer for a ride. Love was tied up, forced to withdraw $140 from an ATM, and raped. The attackers partially strangled Love and shot her to death in a remote forest. In exchange for having all charges dropped, Hammond's girlfriend agreed to testify against him and her cousin. He tried to hire a fellow inmate to permanently silence her testimony, but was foiled by prison officials. Hammond had numerous previous convictions, but my sources didn't disclose details.
50. Roy Blankenship (1978-2011, lethal injection): Blankenship climbed into a home of 78 year old Sara Bowen after breaking her window. He raped and beat Bowen, and penetrated her with a bottle. She succumbed to a heart attack from the stress of the assault.
51. Andrew DeYoung (1993-2011, lethal injection): Wanting to use their life insurance policies to start his dream business, DeYoung stabbed his parents, 42 year old Gary and 41 year old Kathryn, and his sister, 14 year old Sarah, to death, and unsuccessfully ordered his accomplice to kill his 16 year old brother Nathan. Nathan escaped through a window and went to a neighbor for help.
52. Troy Davis (1988-2011, lethal injection): Davis was sentenced to death for a crime spree involving several robberies, the non fatal shooting of a teenager, and the beating of a homeless man, Troy Young (age unknown). Larry MacPhail, a 27 year old police officer and security guard, was shot and killed when he intervened in an attempt to protect Young. Davis' execution was controversial, as he managed to amass a popular following that believed in his innocence during his time on death row. He previously plead guilty for a carrying concealed weapons charge, and Davis paid a $250 fine as part of a plea agreement to avoid prison time.
53. Andrew Cook (1995-2003, lethal injection): On a random whim, Cook walked up to a couple, 22 year old Grant Hendrickson and 19 year old Michele Cartagena, parked near a lake, and shot them both to death in their car.
54. Marcus Wellons (1989-2014, lethal injection): Wellons took an obsessive sexual interest in his neighbor, 15 year old India Roberts, and began to stalk and harass the girl in an attempt to groom her into a "relationship." At one point, he even pressured his girlfriend's 14 year old son to date her. His illicit pursuit of Roberts alarmed his girlfriend and she tried evicting him from their apartment. With his relationship in shambles, Wellons' behavior escalated beyond the breaking point. After he ransacked his now ex girlfriend's apartment and poured bleach on her clothes, Wellons ambushed and abducted Roberts while she was walking to school. He raped and strangled her to death with a telephone cord.
55. Robert Holsey (~1990s-2014, lethal injection): Holsey shot and killed Will Robinson, a 26 year old Sheriff's Deputy, during a robbery of a convenience store. At the time of the shooting, he was on parole for an armed robbery conviction.
56. Andrew Brannan (~1980s-2015, lethal injection): In 1998, Branner was pulled over for speeding by Kyle Dinkheller, a 22 year old deputy. While Dinkheller was trying to file a citation, Branner became belligerent, pulled an M1 carbine out of his truck, and opened fire. Dinkheller was killed in the shootout, but he managed to wound Branner in his return fire. Branner was a Vietnam combat veteran, and he tried to use PTSD as a defense for the fatal shooting of Dinkheller and previous domestic abuse charges from his ex wife.
57. Warren Hill Jr. (~1985-2015, lethal injection): Hill was given a life sentence when he shot and killed his girlfriend, 18 year old Myra Wright. His sentence escalated to death a few years later when he fatally beat his cellmate, 34 year old Joseph Handspike, with a nailed board. At the time of his own murder, Handspike was also serving a life sentence for shooting and killing a restaurant manager during a robbery.
58. Kelly Gissendaner (1997-2015, lethal injection): Out of a desire to leave their marriage and to collect a life insurance policy, Gissendan assisted her boyfriend in abducting her husband, 30 year old Douglas, from their home. Her boyfriend stabbed Douglas to death, and she set their car on fire to destroy his body. The couple were also charged with attempting to intimidate witnesses during the murder trial.
59.Marcus Johnson (1994-2015, lethal injection): After Johnson picked up 35 year old Angela Sizemore from a bar, he sexually assaulted her with a knife. Sizemore was stabbed 41 times in the attack, and her throat was cut. Her body was found in her car by a man walking his dog hours after the murder.
60. Brian Terrell (~1992-2015, lethal injection): Terrell forged up to $8,000 in checks using 70 year old John Watson's name. Watson, who was seeking a relationship with Terrell's mother, tried to make a deal that he wouldn't pursue any charges if the money was returned to him. According to prosecutors, Terrell broke into Watson's home, and beat and fatally shot him to avoid repaying the money. His execution caused controversy, as the defense attorneys claimed that the footprints at the scene were smaller then his feet, and that he was condemned only by what they perceived to be misused testimony from his cousin (that testified against him in exchange for a plea deal) and a neighbor (who allegedly claimed that they saw "someone else walk out of the home"). Those arguments were shut down by the courts, but embraced by anti death penalty activist groups and outlets. Regardless of his guilt or lack thereof, strong evidence points to him perpetrating similar armed robberies of other homes, and was on parole at the time of Watson's murder.
61. Brandon Jones (1979-2016, lethal injection): Jones was an accomplice to the above mentioned Van Solomon, and participated in the robbery that killed Roger Tackett.
62. Travis Hittson (1993-2016, lethal injection): Hittson, who was serving on the U.S.S. Forrestal, was convinced by a crewmate to kill Conway Utterbeck, a 20 year old fellow sailor, for the thrill of killing. When they were off duty, Hittson and his accomplice walked into the home of Herbeck's parents, and found Herbeck sleeping on the couch. Before they shot him to death, the pair bludgeoned Herbeck with a baseball bat. To prevent the body's identification, they chopped off his hands, feet, and head with a hacksaw, and dumped his dismembered remains in two separate burial sites across a 300 mile radius.
63. Joshua Bishop (1994-2016, lethal injection): Bishop and another man accosted 44 year old Leverett Morrison at a bar, and demand to have the keys to his jeep. When Morrison refused, the pair beat him to death. Bishop also orchestrated the beating death of 36 year old Ricky Wills for having intercourse with his prostitute mother. The prosecution declined to charge Bishop for Willis' murder, as they wanted to use it as evidence to help secure his death sentence for Morrison's slaying.
64. Kenneth Fults (1996-2016, lethal injection): Fults forced his way inside the home of 19 year old Cathy Bonds. He bound, gagged, and blindfolded Bonds with duct tape, and made an attempt to smother her with a pillow. When that failed, Fults shot Bonds in the head, stole her keys, and drove away with her car.
65. Daniel Lucas (1998-2016, lethal injection): Lucas was the accomplice to the above mentioned Brandon Rhode, and he assisted him in murdering Steven Moss and his children in their home.
66. John Conner (1982-2016, lethal injection): In a drunken rage, Connor beat his friend, 29 year old James White, to death with a whisky bottle and a stick while visiting him in his home. The two had gotten in fight when White refused to take Connor to a liquor store.
67. Gregory Lawler (1997-2016, lethal injection): Lawler and his girlfriend were walking home intoxicated after drinking heavily at a bar, and got into a fight. A witness called the police, and officers, 28 year old John Sowa and 38 year old Patricia Cocciolone, were sent to the scene. They carried Lawler's girlfriend to their car, and drove her to the couple's apartment. Lawler was allowed to walk home unescorted. When he arrived, Lawler grabbed an AR-15, and fired on the officers. Sowa was killed, while Cocciolone survived with crippling injuries and called for backup. The other officers besieged Lawler in his apartment, and he surrendered after a 44 minute standoff.
68. Steven Spears (2001-2016, lethal injection): Spears suspected that his girlfriend, 34 year old Sherri Holland, was cheating on him. He reacted to his suspicions by wrapping Holland's head with duct tape and suffocating her with a plastic bag in her home.
69. William Sallie (1989-2016, lethal injection): Sallie's ex wife, 19 year old Robin Moore, divorced him for his physical abuse and moved back to her family (consisting of her parents, 49 year old John and Linda (age unknown), and her siblings, 17 year old April and 10 year old Justin). He was able to acquire visitation rights to their 2 year old son from the courts, and used that pretext to attack the family. Sallie charged into the Moore family home, shot and killed John, wounded Linda and bound her to Justin with handcuffs, and kidnapped Robin and April. The sisters were both kept captive and sexually assaulted together in a trailer, but they were spared and released after a few hours.
70. J. Ledford Jr. (1992-2017, lethal injection): Ledford was welcomed inside a home by the wife of his neighbor, 73 year old Harry Johnston Jr.. He tied up the couple at knifepoint, stole an undisclosed amount of money and guns, kidnapped Johnston, and drove away with him in his truck. Johnston's body was later found near an abandoned building. He was half decapitated, had a knife embedded in his back, and covered with several minor stab wounds.
71. Carlton Gary (~1964-2018, lethal injection): Gary raped and murdered at least 8 mostly elderly women between 40-89 years old. Almost all of his victims were killed in their homes, but his youngest, 40 year old Marion Fisher of New York, was abducted while walking out of a bar. They were all strangled to death with nylon stockings, which is why Gary was given the “Stocking Slayer" epithet by the media. Despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, including positive DNA tests, testimonies from surviving victims, fingerprints found on crime scenes, and semen samples, Gary still has a vocal following trying to proclaim his innocence. He had an extensive criminal history, which started with several arson, assault, and robbery charges as a teenager.
72. Robert Butts Jr. (1996-2018, lethal injection): Butts and his accomplice Marion Wilson carjacked Donovan Parks, a 24 year old off duty correctional officer, after he agreed to give them a ride home from Walmart. They forced Parks to exit the car and the shot him in the head execution style. Both Butts and Wilson were part of a Latin Kings set, and are believed to have killed Parks to gain more prestige from their gang. Butt's previous convictions include charges of shoplifting and burglary.
73. Scotty Morrow (1999-2019, lethal injection): Angry that his ex girlfriend, 26 year old Barbara Young, broke up with him for his abusive behavior, Morrow shot her, and her friend, 21 year old Tonya Wood, dead in their home. A third woman, 18 year old Latoyna Horn, was injured in the shooting. Young's two children, a 5 year old son and an 8 month old daughter, witnessed the killings, but were unharmed.
74. Marion Wilson Jr. (1999-2019, lethal injection): Wilson assisted Robert Butts, a fellow Latin King gangster, in the carjacking and shooting murder of officer Donovan Parks. He had a lengthy and very violent criminal history, which included the non fatal shootings of a Mexican migrant worker and a drug dealer during robberies, unprovoked assaults on a classmate and a youth worker, and an arson attack on an apartment complex. His friends noted that Wilson had a penchant for animal cruelty, and they reported seeing him shooting dogs on random whims.
75. Ray Cromartie (1994-2019, lethal injection): While robbing a grocery store, Cromartie and his accomplice shot two clerks, 50 year old Richard Slysz and Daniel Wilson (age unknown). Slysz died at the scene and Wilson survived with crippling injuries.
76. Donnie Lance (~1990s-2020, lethal injection): Lance broke down the door of his ex wife's, 39 year old Sandra, and fatally shot her boyfriend, 33 year old Dwight Wood Jr.. He then used the butt of his gun to club Sandra to death. According to court documents, Lance subjected Sandra to extreme abuse during their marriage, and reportedly kidnapped and tortured her with beatings, strangulations, and electrocutions on numerous occasions.
77. Willie Pye (~1985-2024, lethal injection): Pye's ex girlfriend, 21 year old Alicia Yarbrough, had a child with another man that he believed was his. Despite his suspicions, Yarbrough and their boyfriend pushed Pye out of the child’s life. In retaliation, Pye and two accomplice’s broke into Yarbrough’s ex boyfriend’s home to rob it, but found her alone with her infant. They abducted and robbed Yarbrough of her jewelry at gunpoint, raped her for several hours in a motel room, and shot her a total of 3 times in the head. Due to reports of him allegedly being cognitively disabled, Pye’s execution sparked some controversy. He was previously convicted of burglary.

Disclaimers:
We watched purely for the purpose of snarking because we heard it was really bad, so yes, we (my partner and I) are biased. Some of these criticisms are incredibly nitpicky, and probably could be given a pass if the show was not solely constructed from incongruous thought fragments and had any redeeming qualities.
It has been unbelievably bad. We suggest watching it with someone you trust, if at all, for secondhand embarrassment support.
The long-winded nature of this review is a nod to Stephanie’s 19-part opinion pieces. Also, it was really that bad.
Prologue/first impressions:
Logo is weirdly neon and colorful. It seems to emphasize the spectacle of serial killing. The triangle looks like a nacho chip.
Calling it “Serial” makes me wonder if they’re trying to cash in on the success of the podcast “Serial.”
Harold (first impressions, based on video thumbnail): They have gone out of their way to construct this character in a way that is weird/spooky/killer-y. His beard, trucker hat, and rapist glasses™ collectively create an ensemble that is just way too over the top. The thumbnail makes it look like it’s a comedy sketch; if I didn’t know what this was about, I would think it was an SNL or CollegeHumor video from maybe 2012.
Looking at @StephanieHarlowe’s YouTube profile, first impressions: Profile picture looks overly-filtered (like it’s from Instagram v1.0); she’s making a weird pouty face and maybe looks like she’s in a car? Having a picture with that much editing contrasts with her statement about “honesty”. Also re the “About” statement: This is not “a community;” it is a YouTube channel. Although referring to herself as synonymous with the community (i.e. “I am this community!”) does sort of imply an ego so massive that it probably effects the ocean tides. I think that “Drawn to the darker side of things” is extremely revealing when it comes to the root of her interest in true crime—it’s not some quest for truth, giving voices to victims, revealing abuses of police power, etc.; it’s about how edgy and dark and cool it is that people have killed other people. It’s in the same spectrum as the Saw franchise or an Evanescence music video. The phrase “honest opinions about difficult matters” makes me expect that the matters themselves probably aren’t all difficult—the opinions are. I expect this because unless a person is lying, their opinion is inherently honest, so anytime a person says the phrase “honest opinion,” it’s really just a euphemism for “controversial opinion.”
Instagram first impressions: Profile picture - Still filtered, with contrast and warmth both turned up so high the knobs break; she did find her way out of the car, though. Pumpkin emoji doubles down on the ~uWu DaRk SpOoOoKy~ vibe. Most of her posts are clips from “Crime Weekly,” but their thumbnails are all photos of the victims, which, when coupled with her own selfies and “Crime Weekly Bloopers,” strikes me as disrespectful, if not outright fucked up. Also, re her IG profile: Her skull lights as background set dressing are, once again, another dark spooky disrespectful thing. Also also re Crime Weekly’s co-host: Stephanie strikes me as exactly the type of armchair detective who would get off on hiring an actual police detective to argue with, because I think the ultimate fantasy for any narcissistic documentarian with honest opinions is to be so good at knowing things that you know more things than the pros.
Episode 1:
And so we begin Episode 1 in torturous 60fps 4K.
HAROLD, in pastel green, the scariest font color.
I, too, have tripped on grass, Harold.
Drinking game: Take a shot every time there’s something Halloween related.
Harold does not pick up his cup when he drinks through a straw, which is how you can tell he is the most deranged person in the whole bowling alley, even moreso than the woman in a puppy-print sweater who kissed her bowling ball and cheered so loud you could hear the microphone clip after she bowled a strike. Nah, let’s be real—that is a sick-ass dog jacket.
Production question: How many takes did it take to get the strike?
The sequence of events here, with Harold staring at the lady while squeezing his furry stim toy, then the lady seeing him staring at her and getting uncomfortable, is sort of confusing. Specifically, it’s confusing because it breaks one of the rules of filming an interaction between two people. Both of these characters are shown looking towards the left of the screen, filmed with the camera closer to their left shoulders, which is a problem. If you pay attention to anything filmed in the last century, you’ll notice that any kind of interaction like this is filmed so that the characters are clearly facing each other; you can imagine an invisible line stretched between the two people, and the camera isn’t ever supposed to cross it. Basically, Harold should have been shown looking towards the right. But instead, even the eagle on his hat is facing left. They keep framing the characters like this for the whole scene, and it’s excruciating.
There have not been enough establishing shots to really know where these characters are, in relation to each other. I do find it really bizarre that she’s eating the Satisfies bar right in front of the vending machine, though. But Harold’s voice is way, way, way too quiet. And it’s not a volume issue—everything else was really loud.
She turns around and sees him and then silently just… takes another chomp, staring straight at him? This is a fucking SNL skit.
Also: How long was she bowling? Have they been here all alone this whole time, just this guy and his brandless soft drink and this bowling lady?
Executive decision: These characters are now Eagle Man and Dog Lady.
Eagle Man using multiple fingers to finger the bowling ball makes the already-over-the-top act even more unbelievably over-the-top. His weird facial twitch was very funny.
Cut to Eagle Man killing Dog Lady, or something? It’s daytime.
Oh my god, and he’s using a bowling pin? Is this There Will Be Blood? Was he drinking her milkshake? Daniel Day Lewis could have probably pulled this role off, let’s be real.
We have our first glimpse below Eagle Man’s waist: Asics with cuffed pants and ankle socks-- the sure signs of a-sic fuck.
Dog Lady is still wearing her bowling shoes? Where did Eagle Man have the bowling pin in the earlier scene when he twitched his mouth? He was clearly fingering the balls with one hand while holding his tasty beverage with the other. So where was the pin? Was this bowling alley in the middle of the woods this whole time? Is that why it was so empty in the middle of the day? What happened to the rest of Dog Lady’s Snickers bar? And if you’re killing a person with a bowling pin, does it really take this many… strikes? What the hell is going on?
They censored Eagle Man’s Buick’s license plate but not the name of the auto dealership <3
Interlude:
JUST CHILLING IN THE CAR
IN MY BLOOD-SOAKED CLOTHES
I DON’T GIVE A FUCK
I JUST KILLED THAT HOE
Yikes, Eagle Man really struggled to open that Snickers.
God, I am so sick of the use of a reverb-soaked music box any time “creepy” music is needed.
Episode 2:
Opening shot – Stephan Harlot is wearing scrubs, supine in a pumpkin patch. She has spilled cranberry juice all over herself and is dozing among the gourds. Whatever has transpired does not appear to have disturbed her meticulously sculpted brows or nearly-vertical eyeliner wings.
MABEL, in all-caps Impact font like a meme from 2007.
Her supervisor’s angry speech sounds like it was dubbed in late at night by someone who was trying very very hard to not wake up their parents.
He said “get the hell out of my office” but she remained seated, breathing dramatically.
Next shot: She no longer has her stethoscope, which shows that this is sort of the nurse version of “Turn in your badge and gun.”
Why is she using a payphone? Is this the lobby of a Waffle House? Where are we?
We didn’t hear any of the other end of the phone call, but then when Daddy was supposed to have hung up, they added a dial tone that we could hear? But then Marble kept saying “hello” into the dial tone over and over again like someone who has never communicated telephonically?
Oh, wait, there’s another guy in scrubs? Is this supposed to be the hospital cafeteria? Where are we?
A young man with hair 1.5x the size of his head comes through the door with a jelly donut and does the most insanely exaggerated double take I’ve ever seen.
Cue Stranger Things music as Stuffy Harlan rests her head on the second inappropriate object (a public pay phone) in under two minutes.
Does knifes really make that loud of sound when stabing into bodey?
Interlude:
Gourds and corn Crows in sky Snuggle into corpse Contented sigh Eat a donut Sweet jelly roll Watching more of this Will take its toll
The TV in the background just showing the “Spectrum” logo is fun.
Oh my god they matched on knockoff Tinder and are going to become a cute serial killer couple, this is the series arc, I’m calling it.
Episode 3: Harold’s Halloween Party
I am loving this dreamy romantic slow-mo high-saturation shot in the corn field where we can see straight up Eagle Man’s nostrils (still in torturous 60fps 4K).
Interestingly, Eagle Man’s Buick’s New York license plate KRT-9438 is no longer censored.
What in the Spirit Halloween is this shit? Inflatable Baby Yoda did not consent to being featured in this.
Three halfhearted taps on glass. Who knocks like that?
Wish.com Harley Quinn just said “You kind of remind me of my dad”? Also, isn’t this Stephanie’s older daughter? What are the odds that Stephanie suggested that line to connect her divorce partner to a man who does fucked up shit like finger bowling balls and smoke? Not subtle, lol
And Eagle Man doesn’t have a costume? Honestly, what kind of bizarro Tinder date would show up to take somebody to a Halloween party without a costume? But he does have a Hobby Lobby glittery pinecone and dead grass bouquet.
PREDICTION: Eagle Man is going to kill her rabbits.
A cute detail is that the smallest bully in The Bullying Flashback looks up at the older bully to make sure his bullying technique is proper. You can tell it’s a flashback because of the white vignetting around the edges of the screen and the fact that all the sounds are echoey.
Holy fucking shit, now Eagle Man is choking his Tinder date (eldest daughter of Stepnanny Hollow) in a corn field. The biggest mystery of these episodes so far is how they, like, got here?
The credits footage of Eagle Man jumping down the corn row in a bunny mask with his Rapist Glasses™ on top of the mask and his beard poking out from underneath is very fun.
Episode 4: Marble’s Car Troubles
Steve Harvey stands in front of her car. The hood is open, and she is staring into the smoking engine compartment. The engine is running, which is mysterious because Marble is also twirling car keys as she stands.
She frustratedly sighs and jumps in place, on a road that isn’t even a dirt road—it’s like, a vague path of discolored yellow grass through some other, healthier green grass. This car looks like it’s maybe a hearse and is also a Buick with New York plates. This level of detail and consistency firmly establishes the Coleman Brothers as auteurs not unlike Joel and Ethan Coen. Also the wheels have some bangin’ rims.
Dear Marble, getting into the car to have some privacy while you scream doesn’t really work when you’ve got the window open; it’s also not necessary when you’ve been off-roading in your Buick way out in the New York backcountry. When it comes to scenes of people throwing a tantrum while dressed as Wednesday Addams, Esther in Orphan did it way better.
Just to make sure we understand the extent of her displeasure, she makes a growl-y frustration sound and jumps in place with balled-up fists. She looks like a goth toddler, with her oversize cuffs and collar and a huge pink satin bow in her hair that I keep thinking is elf ears.
She walks in high heels over muddy, gravelly ground. Mad respect for that Oscar-worthy stunt.
1:34 – As of now, the word “Daddy” is a double-digit percentage of Hephanie Starlowe’s total lines across these episodes.
Once again, the phone is silent until Marble gets hung up on; once again, she says “Hello” to a dial tone.
Also, the super golden color grading is just not the right vibe for this auto shop. With the scene paused for me to write this, it looks like it’s from an insurance commercial or something.
“Well, if you wanna come by after hours, I’m sure we can work something out” says the mechanic, suggestively stroking his beard with a hand adorned with a wedding ring. Also, Marble seems shocked, but was she not arguably trying to suggest the same thing? Sexual favors for auto repair? Or does she think she can just ask nicely and then pay less money?
Also, there is so much missing time here. Like, did she get her car towed? I thought she was just using this place’s phone, but apparently the guy’s already been looking at her car the whole time? How did we get from the grass road to this auto shop? Why did she call her dad before she even knew how much it would cost?
Throbbing techno music kicks in at 3:05, just as Marble the Homewrecker suggestively locks eyes with the wedded elder mechanic. So far this could literally have been a porno.
Regarding the mechanic: “Well, he’s gonna die, I guess.”
I’m speechless. The offscreen yell at 4:10 was a spot-on copy of the Wilhelm Scream. Incredible.
Now murder is occurring, but it’s all so cringe-inducing that it’s making my face start to hurt. This hasn’t happened since Riverdale. But even Riverdale did it better. Rhetorical Q: if you scrape the bottom of the barrel hard enough, can you break through it to whatever unspeakable atrocity lies beneath? Such a question can only be answered by the Coleman auteurs.
OK, but really: the way Stephano Harley emerges from a smoky room while a sick guitar riff plays, and then she drills out the elder mechanic’s eye while blood shoots all over her face for several seconds? You can tell that this entire sequence is just a glorification of her killing people. The point of this whole series is “watch these people kill other people;” the only suspense is about how we’re going to get to that payoff. Is this the “darker side of things” Stephanie was referring to in her channel’s “About” section? Are these the “difficult matters”? Doesn’t she claim expertise in criminal psychology? How does someone who proselytizes about the incomprehensible evil of actual murderers reconcile those beliefs with having a recurring role in a series like this?
Final thought: It was not OK for her to squeeze that married man’s booby like that.
Brief interlude:
Here is the series in a nutshell, so far: Character – Male or Female Murderer. Location – One-off nonspecific location (not to be revisited). Scenario – A benign encounter with another person who becomes the murder victim. Murderer stares for several long seconds into the camera. So far, we’ve learned that 1) Marble has a father and a car that [still?] doesn’t work. 2) Eagle Man was bullied as a child at least one time.
Episode 5: Happy Halloween Harold
I believe there’s a non-zero chance that all the Halloween shit on the fucking walls is Stephanie’s. Also, Eagle Man’s boombox totally makes me think that this series is set in the past, so Episode 3’s inflatable Baby Yoda is anachronistic in a way that goes against everything the Coleman auteurs have come to represent.
A curfew for anyone under age 18? But haven’t all of the victims have been adults?
Watching Eagle Man try to carve a pumpkin that’s wobbling around on top of a slippery tablecloth is excruciating. I don’t believe this man has actually killed people; he can’t even stick a knife through a pumpkin without struggling.
Eagle Man has upgraded from his Asics to some very nice shiny black leather shoes.
What kind of kid walks up to a guy cleaning egg off his face to say “Trick or Treat”? And what kind of dad lets that kind of kid do that kind of thing?
Holy smokes, Mustache Dad can actually act! He’s, this guy’s great!
Dear God, it’s hours later, why is Eagle Man still egg-faced? Sipping milk on the porch with—
WAIT A FUCKING SECOND. Mustache Dad has pulled out a smartphone. We are in the present day. Holy shit. What a plot twist. I knew the Coleman auteurs wouldn’t let me down.
Ew, gross, man, you’re gonna get egg all over the inside of the mask.
Who keeps a Mallet on top of their Plates? “Ah, yes, I’ll just get the giant wooden mallet out of the plate cabinet.” My reaction to him getting that mallet off the top shelf was maybe the loudest scream that I scrumpt this entire time.
Episode 6 – Marble Strikes Again
“One day, you will wake up, and everything will be perfect.” Holy shit, that is the worst advice any parent has ever given a child. Oh, wait a second-- “Young Marble” was Stephanie’s daughter? And this video was only posted 5 months ago? So that means that Stephanie’s youngest daughter had to act in a scene depicting a heart-to-heart with her dad while asking whether she’d ever see her mommy again, while in real life there was actual family drama occurring? Yeah, that seems like a fine thing to subject a child to. And that’s not even an honest opinion, it’s just a fact!
Back in the present day, Marble has broken the series formula by revisiting a previous location. We join her in the bowling alley bathroom. Is this the glow-up scene where she cuts and dyes her hair? It’s a “getting cute” montage, but she’s already dressed and wearing makeup. But wait, what even is her living situation? Why is she grooming herself in a bowling alley? Where was she living before she got fired from the hospital? She asked if she could stay with Daddy four episodes ago, but where was she living before that? Maybe I should cut her some slack; you know she’s had a hard life because she’s wearing plaid.
Oh no, Marble got caught by the bowling alley security guard wearing a bulletproof vest. You know, those? Gotta watch out for those!! Honestly though, I love Security Professional. I would watch a whole series with just Mustache Dad and Security Professional.
The Missing Person poster for Dog Lady says if you have any information, call 911? Seriously?
The Security Professional SNIFFED THE SNICKERS WRAPPER AND IS NOW ON THE TRAIL?! But also, why is this bowling alley closed if it’s only—according to the clock on the microwave—7:47? But more importantly, where was the Security Professional when Eagle Man killed Dog Lady? And also, didn’t Security Professional have to walk past the counter that Marble was sleeping behind while walking to the vending machine? Plus also, she locked up the bowling alley from the inside, so she was presumably in there for a while. How did Marble get back in, open up the vending machine, and fall asleep? Does this series exist outside the bounds of linear time? Is there a gas leak?
Now Marble is somehow choking a person twice her size, and we’re watching it from “CAM6”? Does that mean this bowling alley has at least six security cameras? Did none of them see Eagle Man?
Concluding thought: The credits say, “This film is based on fictional characters and events.” It’s based on… fictional characters? Are you trying to meet a word count requirement, or something? That’s not based on anything, that’s just fiction, guys…

Anyone know location of a payphone near campus thz

I lost a year of my life as a child
My parents had just passed away about a year ago before all this. They officially committed suicide but I know my parents, they would never do that. I don’t know if they were murdered or it was an accident but I can’t believe that they did that. I had been staying at their place the last year after they died. Since coming here I’ve had these nightmares about the amusement park we will just call “The Amusement Park” for anonymity.
The amusement park lay in ruins, a forgotten relic of a bygone era. The rusted Ferris wheel towered over the decaying midway, its skeletal arms stretching out like accusing fingers. The merry-go-round's painted horses were faded and peeling, their once-vibrant colors now muted by time and neglect. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, punctuated only by the distant groan of rusted metal and the rustling of leaves in the long-neglected gardens. It was a place of shadow and secrets, a place where nightmares came to life.
My name is Alex, and I've been experiencing these nightmares for as long as I can remember. They always start the same way: I'm lost in this abandoned amusement park, running from something unspeakable. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing.
But the worst part is that I can't remember ever visiting this place. I've tried to talk to my therapist about it, but she doesn't seem to understand the depth of my fear.
As if the nightmares weren't enough, lately I've been experiencing these strange flashes of memory whenever I'm near the park. Images of a terrified child being dragged through the darkened corridors, a sinister laugh echoing through the abandoned ticket booths. Each time, I swear I see a shadowy figure following me, watching my every move. It's almost as if I'm being haunted.
Despite my growing unease, I can't help but feel drawn to the park. It's like some irresistible force is pulling me back. I've tried to stay away, to move on with my life, but the memories and the nightmares persist. Finally, I decide to confront my fears and return to the place that has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember.
As I approach the park, the memories flood back in. Flashes of terror and pain consume my senses, making it difficult to focus on the present. I force myself to walk through the gates, my heart pounding in my chest. The familiar scent of popcorn and sweat hangs in the air, mingling with the musty odor of neglect. The rusty Ferris wheel creaks ominously overhead, as if warning me to turn back.
But I can't turn back. I have to face my demons, whatever they may be. I begin to wander aimlessly through the park, feeling as if I'm in a dream. Everywhere I look, there are reminders of my past: the abandoned ticket booths with their faded posters, the overgrown gardens where I once played as a child. It's as if the park itself is a living, breathing manifestation of my memories.
As I explore further, I come across an abandoned carnival game, its metal frame twisted and rusted. In the center of the game, a creepy clown's painted smile seems to mock me. I shiver, unable to tear my eyes away from the ghastly visage. Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl around, my heart pounding in my chest.
But it's only a groundskeeper, an older man with a tired expression. He eyes me warily, as if unsure of why I'm here. I open my mouth to speak, to ask him about the history of the park, but the words catch in my throat. He must sense my fear, because he nods sympathetically.
"It's a sad place, isn't it?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "So much life and joy once, and now..." He trails off, shaking his head. "People say it's cursed. I don't know about that, but..." He gestures vaguely around us.
I nod, unable to speak. The weight of the park's history presses down on me, making it difficult to breathe. "Do you know why it closed?" I manage to choke out. "Is there any reason... any explanation?"
The groundskeeper sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. "There were rumors, of course. People said it was because of the accident, that the owners couldn't bear the guilt. Others said it was the economy, that they just couldn't compete anymore. But..." He pauses, glancing around again, as if he's afraid someone might be listening. "There were always whispers. Strange things happening here, things that shouldn't."
He shakes his head, as if clearing away the memories, and offers me a half-hearted smile. "But that's just talk. Gossip.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. The weight of the park's history feels like an anchor, dragging me down into the depths of my fears. Despite the groundskeeper's words, I can't help but feel as if there's more to the story. As if the park is hiding something. As if it's haunted.” He stared at me with no expression, “well, you should be getting out of here anyways. Private property and all.”
As I turn to leave, I notice a small, overgrown path leading deeper into the park. On impulse, I decide to follow it, driven by a strange mixture of curiosity and dread. The path winds its way through a dense grove of trees, their branches intertwined overhead like a canopy of bones. The air grows cool and damp, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the dense foliage.
As I walk, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not alone. The sense of being watched is almost palpable, as if the very trees themselves are alive and aware of my presence. The farther I venture into the grove, the stronger the feeling becomes. I fight down a rising sense of panic, telling myself it's just my imagination, that there's nothing here but nature.
But then, I see it. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, something small and gray darting between the trees. My heart leaps into my throat, and I spin around, my hands trembling. It's a cat, I realize, a stray cat. Its coat is matted and dirty, and it has the most haunted expression I've ever seen. It regards me warily, as if trying to decide whether or not I pose a threat.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. "Hello," I manage to choke out. "Are you lost?" The cat remains motionless, its gaze unwavering. "It's okay," I say softly. "You can come with me if you want."
Slowly, cautiously, the cat edges closer. It's like it's testing my intentions, trying to decide whether or not I'm trustworthy. I hold out a trembling hand, palm up. After a moment's hesitation, the cat carefully climbs into my hand. Its fur is soft and warm, and it purrs contentedly as I scratch behind its ear.
As I continue to walk through the grove, the cat seems to grow more comfortable with me, occasionally darting ahead to explore a new branch or bush before returning to my side. The weight of the park's history still presses down on me, but somehow the presence of this small, lost creature makes it feel less oppressive.
Suddenly, a loud crash of metal falling is heard and the cat leaps out of my hand and runs off. I tried to chase him but I couldn’t find him anywhere until suddenly, I hear a loud scream from the cat, off to my right. It was like a scream, then yelp, then silence. I froze as I knew he was dead.
I turn around and see nothing but trees, no one was there. I feel a chill run down my spine and shiver. I can't help but think that someone must have stabbed the cat, or maybe even killed him with a blunt object.
I hear another crash, this time closer. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize that whatever's making these noises is getting closer. I try to calm myself down, but fear is rising up inside me, making it hard to breathe.
I start to back away slowly, trying to put some distance between myself and whatever's causing the commotion. The path seems to narrow, the trees closing in around me like a tunnel. I feel trapped, panic rising with every step.
Another crash echoes through the grove, louder than before. It sounds like metal twisting and snapping, like a sculpture being warped out of shape. I peer through the trees, straining to see anything in the darkness. My heart is racing, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Suddenly, a figure steps into my line of sight. He's tall impossibly tall and broad-shouldered, his features obscured by the shadows. As he began lurching toward me, I ran.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as I push myself to run faster, my lungs burning with the effort. The figure behind me seems to gain ground with each stride, closing in on me with an unnerving speed. I run for the exit and make my way out of the park. As I look back I can see that the figure has stopped right before the exit and it was watching me as I ran for my life.
Shaking uncontrollably, I manage to find my way to a nearby payphone and dial 911. My hands are trembling so badly that I can barely hold the receiver. The operator picks up, their voice calm and reassuring. I try to tell them what happened, but the words won't come out right. My breath is ragged, my thoughts jumbled. They keep asking me questions, but all I can do is stare down the dark alley, waiting for the police to arrive.
When they finally get here, two officers step out of their squad car. They approach me cautiously, their hands on their holsters. They ask me what happened, and I try to explain, but it sounds even more unbelievable now that I'm saying it out loud. They ask me to show them where it happened, and reluctantly, I lead them back into the park.
The officers listen to my story, their eyes flicking back and forth between me and the trees. They ask me to point out where I last saw the figure, and we all start walking in that direction. The further we go, the tighter their grip on their guns seems to get.
We reach the spot where I last saw the figure, and the officers exchange glances. One of them steps forward, her voice low and commanding. "I’ve got a dead cat here. Jesus, whatever did this is fucking sadistic." She slowly edges her way into the darkness, her gun drawn. “You stay here” she tells me. I stand on the fringe of the group, watching her silhouette disappear behind the trees.
Time seems to slow down as we wait for her to return. The other officer paces back and forth, his radio crackling incessantly. The air is thick with anticipation and fear. I can hear the rustling of leaves and branches as something moves deep within the grove, but I can't quite tell if it's the cop or the killer lurking in the shadows.
I can hear radio chatter from the cop that stayed with me but I can’t make out what it says. The cop listens intently before saying “10-4”.
The cop begins to walk over to me with an accusatory walk. "Are you sure you didn't do this? Maybe you were just trying to scare your own cat?" I shake my head vigorously. "I didn't touch the cat. I swear." The officer eyes me suspiciously, but I can see the uncertainty in his expression. He turns back to the trees, shouting into the darkness, "Hey, you out there! Show yourself!" There's no reply, only the eerie stillness of the night.
The other cop emerges from the darkness, his face pale and drawn. "I found her," he whispers, his voice shaking. "She's...she's not moving." He gestures for me to follow him, his gun still drawn. As we approach, I can see the cat lying on the ground, twisted and contorted, her fur matted with blood. The sight is too much for me and I start to retch. The officer catches me, steadying me as I heave.
He looks at me with an expression of disbelief and pity. "You didn't do this, did you?" I shake my head again, tears streaming down my face. "Then why are you here?" he asks, his voice now laced with anger. "Why did you run away from the scene?" I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. The officer places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "You need to tell us what happened, kid. We're not going to arrest you, but we need to know."
I take a deep breath and try to gather my thoughts. I tell them about the figure I saw in the alley, how it seemed to be following me, and how it disappeared into the trees. The other officer listens intently, her expression hardening. She asks if I've ever seen anything like this before, and I shake my head no. They exchange glances, their faces etched with concern and confusion. I can tell they think I’m crazy.
They question me further, trying to get more details about the figure, but all I can remember is its shadowy form and the way it moved. They ask for my name and address, and I give it to them, feeling a sense of relief that even if they don’t believe me, they won’t arrest me.
The officers thank me for my cooperation and tell me they'll investigate further. I watch as they gather up the remains of the cat, putting it in a grocery bag that was flying around the park. The image is burned into my retina, a permanent reminder of the horror that unfolded in the park tonight. As they lead me back to my car, I can't help but feel a sense of dread settling in my stomach.
The next few days are a blur of anxiety and fear. I can't shake the feeling that the figure is still out there, waiting for me. Every shadow in the alley, every rustling in the bushes sends a shiver down my spine. I consider talking to someone else about what happened, but the memory is too harrowing to relive.
I would always go to my mom and when I couldn’t go to her, I would ask my dad for advice but now that they’re gone and me being an only child, I really don’t have any family I can go to.
I start to wonder if it's just a coincidence that the cat died after I saw that figure in the park, but then again, it was right outside my room last night. Maybe it's not a coincidence at all. Maybe it's following me. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
I decide to take some precautions. I install extra locks on my door and windows, and I keep a knife under my pillow for protection. I also start carrying a pocket knife with me whenever I leave the house. I know it's not much, but it makes me feel a little safer.
I tell my friends about what happened, but they don't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. They think I'm just overreacting and being paranoid. They offer to stay with me at night, but I don't want to put them in danger. So, I sleep with the lights on and my phone charged, ready to call the police at a moment's notice.
Days turn into weeks, and the figure still hasn't made another appearance. I start to wonder if it was just a hallucination brought on by stress or exhaustion. Maybe I imagined it all. But then, one night as I'm walking home from the library, I see it again. It's standing in the shadows, watching me from across the street. My heart pounds in my chest, and my hands tremble as I hurry home, trying to lose myself in the crowd.
I call the police as soon as I'm safe inside my apartment, but they tell me they can't send someone out right now. They file a report, but say that without any concrete evidence, there's not much they can do. I feel helpless and alone, with nowhere to turn.
Days turn into weeks, and the figure seems to appear more frequently. It follows me to work, to the grocery store, even to my favorite hangout spots. I can't shake the feeling that it's always just out of reach, watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I start to notice strange things happening around me: items moving on their own, shadows dancing across my walls. I'm no longer sure what's real and what isn't. I begin to see the figure in my dreams, its features twisting and warping until it's impossible to recognize as human.
I decide to hire a private investigator, hoping they can help me uncover the truth about what's going on. They're skeptical at first, but after hearing my story, they agree to look into it. They set up cameras around my apartment and follow me during my daily routine. Weeks pass, and still no concrete evidence of the figure appears on the recordings.
The investigator suggests that I seek help from a psychiatrist, to rule out the possibility that I'm suffering from a mental illness or some sort of delusion. Reluctantly, I agree to see one. She listens to my story with interest, and while she doesn't dismiss my experiences outright, she suggests that I might be experiencing a form of paranoid delusion brought on by stress and trauma. She prescribes me medication to help with the symptoms, but I'm not sure if I want to take it.
Despite the investigator's skepticism, they continue to work on my case. One night, they call me with an unexpected lead: they've found a camera in the park near the spot I saw the figure. The footage shows a man who matches the description of the figure I've seen, but it's impossible to make out his face clearly. They believe that the camera may have been there for months, possibly even before I first saw the figure.
This news gives me a renewed sense of hope, but it also raises more questions. If this man has been following me for so long, why hasn't he done anything? What does he want from me? I decide to continue with my life as normally as possible, but I keep a close eye on the investigator's findings.
As the days go by, the figure seems to be fading from my reality. I catch glimpses of it less and less, and when I do, it's harder to recognize the features I had become so fixated on. Could it be that my mind was playing tricks on me all along? Perhaps the stress of my life had manifested itself in this way, a twisted sort of coping mechanism.
I continue to take the medication the psychiatrist prescribed, but I find myself feeling distant from my own experiences. Everything feels muted, as if I'm watching a movie rather than living my life. I decide to taper off the medication, hoping to regain a sense of normalcy.
I decide to no longer employ the investigator. I needed the extra money at the time.
I slowly start to put my life back together. I find a new job, one that's closer to home and less stressful. I start to make new friends, going out more and trying to reconnect with the world around me. That was until a few months go by and had another experience with this thing.
I'm walking home from work late one night, feeling good about the day, when I turn the corner and see it standing there. The same figure, the one I thought I had left behind. It's watching me intently, and for a split second, our eyes meet. A chill runs down my spine, but I force myself to keep walking, to act as if nothing is wrong. I know I can't go back to being afraid, to letting this thing control my life but as I look back at it, I can see that its moving fast toward me like a fast walk but the way it moved was grotesque. It was making these sounds like it was gargling but a deep guttural gargle. The closer it got, the grosser it looked until I turned a corner and it was gone. I kept running for a few more minutes but it was no longer behind me.
I can't shake the image of that figure from my mind, and the memory of the sounds it made echoes in my ears. I decide that I need to talk to someone about this, to try and figure out what's going on. I make an appointment with the psychiatrist, hoping that they can help me make sense of these experiences but they just prescribe me more medication that’ll turn me into a zombie.
I consider telling the investigator about what happened, but I'm hesitant to involve them again. Instead, I decide to do some research on my own. I spend hours poring over books and articles about paranormal activity, urban legends, and folklore. I stumble upon a theory that the figure might be a revenant, a restless spirit that has been trapped between worlds, drawn to me for some inexplicable reason.
As I start to get into the meat of the subject, a memory of the amusement park floods my mind. I’m at the amusement park but I’m a child. I lose my parents and as I’m frantically looking for them, I keep seeing the figure in the crowd that I’m wading through. He starts appearing more and more in the crowd until he yanks my arm.
Suddenly I’m back in the library being shushed. The librarian glares at me and I quickly gather my things, hurrying out the door. The air is crisp and cold, and I feel a sense of urgency to find a quiet place where I can think. I end up at a nearby park, sitting on a bench under a weeping willow tree.
As I try to piece together what I've learned about revenants and my own experiences, I can't help but wonder if there's some sort of connection to the amusement park.
I could remember the day we went there so vividly now; the laughter of children, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy filling the air. It was a bright, sunny day, but something felt off from the moment we arrived. My parents kept arguing about something, their voices rising above the background noise. I tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the rides and games we wanted to play.
As we made our way through the crowds, the figure kept appearing more and more often. Each time I saw it, my heart skipped a beat and I felt a cold chill run down my spine. It was almost as if it were following me, drawing me closer. And then, when I lost my parents in the crowd, it seemed to be everywhere. It was almost as if it had been waiting for that moment, for an opportunity to take advantage of my vulnerability.
I wandered aimlessly through the park, searching for a familiar face, but the figure seemed to keep me trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear and confusion. The world around me began to blur, as if the figure were somehow warping reality itself. And then, suddenly, I found myself at the haunted house ride. Something about it called to me, drew me in despite my fear.
I’m following the figure, thinking- no hoping it was taking me to security. It’s pulling me faster and harder and making these disgusting gargling noice as if he was having an asthma attack and drowning at the same time. He opens a door that leads down into what looks like a makeshift basement. I looked down and saw a mattress on the floor. Suddenly, I don’t remember what happened next.
When I wake up, I'm in a cold sweat, gasping for air. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but I'm lying on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. The room is small and windowless, with bare cinderblock walls. There's a single dim light bulb dangling from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows everywhere. I try to stand up, but my body feels weak and heavy. I make my way over to the door, only to find it locked from the outside.
Panic starts to set in as I realize I'm trapped. I frantically search the room for anything that might help me escape, but there's nothing. I collapse back onto the mattress, tears streaming down my face.
While I’m remembering this, I’m suddenly brought back to reality, under the willow tree when I hear the gurgling.
I jump up, heart pounding, and look around frantically. The park is empty now, except for a lone figure standing near the entrance. As I stare at it, my breath catches in my throat. It's the figure from the amusement park, the one that had been haunting my memories. It's as if it's taunting me, daring me to confront it.
I had other plans as I bolted away from the figure, not looking back to see if it followed. Before I knew it, I ran into the entrance of the amusement park.
The familiar sounds of people laughing and screaming on the rides filled me with fear as I tried to catch my breath. The park was empty and abandoned but I could hear people enjoying themselves. I made my way to the haunted house ride from my memory, feeling a sense of urgency to put some distance between me and the figure. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was still there, somewhere in the shadows, watching me. Suddenly when I entered the ride, the sounds stopped. Now it was too quiet.
I Decide to slowly find my way to find the makeshift basement that I recently recalled. I can hear it moving closer toward me with each step sounding like cinder blocks being thrown directly on the metal floor.
I find it but it’s locked so I locate a crowbar nearby and break the lock and throw the door open. It’s just like my memory but now it’s even dirtier. As I stepped in, it was clear that someone just dug a deep and wide hole, laid some cinder blocks and buried it. The room is actually quite small but it would still be a labor to install this thing. And to do it under an amusement ride, they must’ve done it before or as it was being built.
I spot some old dusty pictures duct taped to the wall haphazardly. I find a light switch and turn it on to reveal all four walls are covered in these pictures. Inspecting further, the pictures were candid, voyeur almost, like paparazzi but most of them looked like a regular family at a picnic at the park, family vacations, birthday parties in the backyard. I start to recognize these people and places. It’s my family. Some sicko was stalking us!
But I noticed that all of them were focused on me. Every single picture had me in it as if I was the subject. I start to feel sick to my stomach as a keel over and barf. Looking at my pile of puke, I notice some newer pictures on the floor. They are also me but from only a few years ago, hell even a few weeks ago.
I started to feel dizzy so I sat on the ground before passing out. I dreamt of that day at the amusement park again but it picked up where I left off, with the man dragging me to this room.
As eight year old me looks down at the mattress, I’m shoved in the back suddenly and fly down the stairs. Next thing I remember I was waking up in the room. No lights just pure darkness. As I sat there for hours but realistically but probably 45 minutes crying and yelling but realizing no one could hear me.
Suddenly I hear the door clanking open. A man stands there staring at me for a few minutes. I could finally see my surrounding but it didn’t relieve me any. I saw a broken light bulb on the floor next to me so I grabbed it as a weapon. The man didn’t speak as he walked slowly down the stairs. Only grunting and wheezing. Thinking now, he didn’t have the gargle voice I heard. He walks about 10 feet away from me, hunched over and wheezing, just staring down at me. As my eyes adjusted, I could see his face. He appeared to be a homeless man with a hunchback and what sounded like a failing respiratory system. He had a huge grin that was surrounded by drool.
Suddenly he reaches his face down slowly so he’s only about an inch from my face. I’m frozen with the light bulb in my hand, my eight year old hand clenching it.
“Welcome” he coughs out and wheezes
Suddenly I find myself jamming the broken lightbulb into his Adams apple. He gurgled on his blood. The gurgle I heard in my memories that leaked into reality.
I ran up the stairs closing the door behind me. And that’s where that memory ends.
When I wake up, I’m greeted by the familiar face of my memories only this time, much older and his neck scared up. He tried to say something but with his neck injury from decades before, he was unintelligible. Just sounding like a grotesque amalgamation of what a human should sound like.
Immediately I feel a sharp pain in my side as the area gets warm and wet. He stabbed me. I try to retaliate but I’m tied up so I try to wiggle my hands out of the rope.
Another sharp pain. Another stab wound above the previous.
I’m finally able to get my hands free as I punch him in the temple and he drops immediately. I start to cry as I pound his face into nothing. Again, I can hear him gargling but this would be his last.
I spent another few hours just processing and figuring out what to do next.
I got up after tending to my wounds as best as I could and walked out of the basement and shutting it for good.
I had killed a man. A man who wronged me as a child and into adulthood but the authorities would not care. I had to cover this up somehow. I was able to hire a few questionable people to “accidentally” tear it down and leaving the rubble to sit on top of the monsters last resting place.
It’s been oh probably thirty years since then. I haven’t heard of any commotion from authorities about it or anything related and I highly doubt I will in my lifetime. I sold my parents place after that and moved states. Got married had three kids and I’m about to retire next year.
Sometimes as I’m laying in bed and I can’t sleep, I’ll hear the gargling coming from another room. I refuse to give it any attention.

My parents had just passed away about a year before all this. They officially committed suicide but I know my parents, they would never do that. I don’t know if they were murdered or it was an accident but I can’t believe that they did that. I had been staying at their place the last year after they died. Since coming here I’ve had these nightmares about the amusement park we will just call “The Amusement Park” for anonymity.
The amusement park lay in ruins, a forgotten relic of a bygone era. The rusted Ferris wheel towered over the decaying midway, its skeletal arms stretching out like accusing fingers. The merry-go-round's painted horses were faded and peeling, their once-vibrant colors now muted by time and neglect. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, punctuated only by the distant groan of rusted metal and the rustling of leaves in the long-neglected gardens. It was a place of shadow and secrets, a place where nightmares came to life.
My name is Alex, and I've been experiencing these nightmares for as long as I can remember. They always start the same way: I'm lost in this abandoned amusement park, running from something unspeakable. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing.
But the worst part is that I can't remember ever visiting this place. I've tried to talk to my therapist about it, but she doesn't seem to understand the depth of my fear.
As if the nightmares weren't enough, lately I've been experiencing these strange flashes of memory whenever I'm near the park. Images of a terrified child being dragged through the darkened corridors, a sinister laugh echoing through the abandoned ticket booths. Each time, I swear I see a shadowy figure following me, watching my every move. It's almost as if I'm being haunted.
Despite my growing unease, I can't help but feel drawn to the park. It's like some irresistible force is pulling me back. I've tried to stay away, to move on with my life, but the memories and the nightmares persist. Finally, I decide to confront my fears and return to the place that has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember.
As I approach the park, the memories flood back in. Flashes of terror and pain consume my senses, making it difficult to focus on the present. I force myself to walk through the gates, my heart pounding in my chest. The familiar scent of popcorn and sweat hangs in the air, mingling with the musty odor of neglect. The rusty Ferris wheel creaks ominously overhead, as if warning me to turn back.
But I can't turn back. I have to face my demons, whatever they may be. I begin to wander aimlessly through the park, feeling as if I'm in a dream. Everywhere I look, there are reminders of my past: the abandoned ticket booths with their faded posters, the overgrown gardens where I once played as a child. It's as if the park itself is a living, breathing manifestation of my memories.
As I explore further, I come across an abandoned carnival game, its metal frame twisted and rusted. In the center of the game, a creepy clown's painted smile seems to mock me. I shiver, unable to tear my eyes away from the ghastly visage. Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl around, my heart pounding in my chest.
But it's only a groundskeeper, an older man with a tired expression. He eyes me warily, as if unsure of why I'm here. I open my mouth to speak, to ask him about the history of the park, but the words catch in my throat. He must sense my fear, because he nods sympathetically.
"It's a sad place, isn't it?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "So much life and joy once, and now..." He trails off, shaking his head. "People say it's cursed. I don't know about that, but..." He gestures vaguely around us.
I nod, unable to speak. The weight of the park's history presses down on me, making it difficult to breathe. "Do you know why it closed?" I manage to choke out. "Is there any reason... any explanation?"
The groundskeeper sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. "There were rumors, of course. People said it was because of the accident, that the owners couldn't bear the guilt. Others said it was the economy, that they just couldn't compete anymore. But..." He pauses, glancing around again, as if he's afraid someone might be listening. "There were always whispers. Strange things happening here, things that shouldn't."
He shakes his head, as if clearing away the memories, and offers me a half-hearted smile. "But that's just talk. Gossip.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. The weight of the park's history feels like an anchor, dragging me down into the depths of my fears. Despite the groundskeeper's words, I can't help but feel as if there's more to the story. As if the park is hiding something. As if it's haunted.” He stared at me with no expression, “well, you should be getting out of here anyways. Private property and all.”
As I turn to leave, I notice a small, overgrown path leading deeper into the park. On impulse, I decide to follow it, driven by a strange mixture of curiosity and dread. The path winds its way through a dense grove of trees, their branches intertwined overhead like a canopy of bones. The air grows cool and damp, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the dense foliage.
As I walk, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not alone. The sense of being watched is almost palpable, as if the very trees themselves are alive and aware of my presence. The farther I venture into the grove, the stronger the feeling becomes. I fight down a rising sense of panic, telling myself it's just my imagination, that there's nothing here but nature.
But then, I see it. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, something small and gray darting between the trees. My heart leaps into my throat, and I spin around, my hands trembling. It's a cat, I realize, a stray cat. Its coat is matted and dirty, and it has the most haunted expression I've ever seen. It regards me warily, as if trying to decide whether or not I pose a threat.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. "Hello," I manage to choke out. "Are you lost?" The cat remains motionless, its gaze unwavering. "It's okay," I say softly. "You can come with me if you want."
Slowly, cautiously, the cat edges closer. It's like it's testing my intentions, trying to decide whether or not I'm trustworthy. I hold out a trembling hand, palm up. After a moment's hesitation, the cat carefully climbs into my hand. Its fur is soft and warm, and it purrs contentedly as I scratch behind its ear.
As I continue to walk through the grove, the cat seems to grow more comfortable with me, occasionally darting ahead to explore a new branch or bush before returning to my side. The weight of the park's history still presses down on me, but somehow the presence of this small, lost creature makes it feel less oppressive.
Suddenly, a loud crash of metal falling is heard and the cat leaps out of my hand and runs off. I tried to chase him but I couldn’t find him anywhere until suddenly, I hear a loud scream from the cat, off to my right. It was like a scream, then yelp, then silence. I froze as I knew he was dead.
I turn around and see nothing but trees, no one was there. I feel a chill run down my spine and shiver. I can't help but think that someone must have stabbed the cat, or maybe even killed him with a blunt object.
I hear another crash, this time closer. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize that whatever's making these noises is getting closer. I try to calm myself down, but fear is rising up inside me, making it hard to breathe.
I start to back away slowly, trying to put some distance between myself and whatever's causing the commotion. The path seems to narrow, the trees closing in around me like a tunnel. I feel trapped, panic rising with every step.
Another crash echoes through the grove, louder than before. It sounds like metal twisting and snapping, like a sculpture being warped out of shape. I peer through the trees, straining to see anything in the darkness. My heart is racing, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Suddenly, a figure steps into my line of sight. He's tall impossibly tall and broad-shouldered, his features obscured by the shadows. As he began lurching toward me, I ran.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as I push myself to run faster, my lungs burning with the effort. The figure behind me seems to gain ground with each stride, closing in on me with an unnerving speed. I run for the exit and make my way out of the park. As I look back I can see that the figure has stopped right before the exit and it was watching me as I ran for my life.
Shaking uncontrollably, I manage to find my way to a nearby payphone and dial 911. My hands are trembling so badly that I can barely hold the receiver. The operator picks up, their voice calm and reassuring. I try to tell them what happened, but the words won't come out right. My breath is ragged, my thoughts jumbled. They keep asking me questions, but all I can do is stare down the dark alley, waiting for the police to arrive.
When they finally get here, two officers step out of their squad car. They approach me cautiously, their hands on their holsters. They ask me what happened, and I try to explain, but it sounds even more unbelievable now that I'm saying it out loud. They ask me to show them where it happened, and reluctantly, I lead them back into the park.
The officers listen to my story, their eyes flicking back and forth between me and the trees. They ask me to point out where I last saw the figure, and we all start walking in that direction. The further we go, the tighter their grip on their guns seems to get.
We reach the spot where I last saw the figure, and the officers exchange glances. One of them steps forward, her voice low and commanding. "I’ve got a dead cat here. Jesus, whatever did this is fucking sadistic." She slowly edges her way into the darkness, her gun drawn. “You stay here” she tells me. I stand on the fringe of the group, watching her silhouette disappear behind the trees.
Time seems to slow down as we wait for her to return. The other officer paces back and forth, his radio crackling incessantly. The air is thick with anticipation and fear. I can hear the rustling of leaves and branches as something moves deep within the grove, but I can't quite tell if it's the cop or the killer lurking in the shadows.
I can hear radio chatter from the cop that stayed with me but I can’t make out what it says. The cop listens intently before saying “10-4”.
The cop begins to walk over to me with an accusatory walk. "Are you sure you didn't do this? Maybe you were just trying to scare your own cat?" I shake my head vigorously. "I didn't touch the cat. I swear." The officer eyes me suspiciously, but I can see the uncertainty in his expression. He turns back to the trees, shouting into the darkness, "Hey, you out there! Show yourself!" There's no reply, only the eerie stillness of the night.
The other cop emerges from the darkness, his face pale and drawn. "I found her," he whispers, his voice shaking. "She's...she's not moving." He gestures for me to follow him, his gun still drawn. As we approach, I can see the cat lying on the ground, twisted and contorted, her fur matted with blood. The sight is too much for me and I start to retch. The officer catches me, steadying me as I heave.
He looks at me with an expression of disbelief and pity. "You didn't do this, did you?" I shake my head again, tears streaming down my face. "Then why are you here?" he asks, his voice now laced with anger. "Why did you run away from the scene?" I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. The officer places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "You need to tell us what happened, kid. We're not going to arrest you, but we need to know."
I take a deep breath and try to gather my thoughts. I tell them about the figure I saw in the alley, how it seemed to be following me, and how it disappeared into the trees. The other officer listens intently, her expression hardening. She asks if I've ever seen anything like this before, and I shake my head no. They exchange glances, their faces etched with concern and confusion. I can tell they think I’m crazy.
They question me further, trying to get more details about the figure, but all I can remember is its shadowy form and the way it moved. They ask for my name and address, and I give it to them, feeling a sense of relief that even if they don’t believe me, they won’t arrest me.
The officers thank me for my cooperation and tell me they'll investigate further. I watch as they gather up the remains of the cat, putting it in a grocery bag that was flying around the park. The image is burned into my retina, a permanent reminder of the horror that unfolded in the park tonight. As they lead me back to my car, I can't help but feel a sense of dread settling in my stomach.
The next few days are a blur of anxiety and fear. I can't shake the feeling that the figure is still out there, waiting for me. Every shadow in the alley, every rustling in the bushes sends a shiver down my spine. I consider talking to someone else about what happened, but the memory is too harrowing to relive.
I would always go to my mom and when I couldn’t go to her, I would ask my dad for advice but now that they’re gone and me being an only child, I really don’t have any family I can go to.
I start to wonder if it's just a coincidence that the cat died after I saw that figure in the park, but then again, it was right outside my room last night. Maybe it's not a coincidence at all. Maybe it's following me. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
I decide to take some precautions. I install extra locks on my door and windows, and I keep a knife under my pillow for protection. I also start carrying a pocket knife with me whenever I leave the house. I know it's not much, but it makes me feel a little safer.
I tell my friends about what happened, but they don't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. They think I'm just overreacting and being paranoid. They offer to stay with me at night, but I don't want to put them in danger. So, I sleep with the lights on and my phone charged, ready to call the police at a moment's notice.
Days turn into weeks, and the figure still hasn't made another appearance. I start to wonder if it was just a hallucination brought on by stress or exhaustion. Maybe I imagined it all. But then, one night as I'm walking home from the library, I see it again. It's standing in the shadows, watching me from across the street. My heart pounds in my chest, and my hands tremble as I hurry home, trying to lose myself in the crowd.
I call the police as soon as I'm safe inside my apartment, but they tell me they can't send someone out right now. They file a report, but say that without any concrete evidence, there's not much they can do. I feel helpless and alone, with nowhere to turn.
Days turn into weeks, and the figure seems to appear more frequently. It follows me to work, to the grocery store, even to my favorite hangout spots. I can't shake the feeling that it's always just out of reach, watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I start to notice strange things happening around me: items moving on their own, shadows dancing across my walls. I'm no longer sure what's real and what isn't. I begin to see the figure in my dreams, its features twisting and warping until it's impossible to recognize as human.
I decide to hire a private investigator, hoping they can help me uncover the truth about what's going on. They're skeptical at first, but after hearing my story, they agree to look into it. They set up cameras around my apartment and follow me during my daily routine. Weeks pass, and still no concrete evidence of the figure appears on the recordings.
The investigator suggests that I seek help from a psychiatrist, to rule out the possibility that I'm suffering from a mental illness or some sort of delusion. Reluctantly, I agree to see one. She listens to my story with interest, and while she doesn't dismiss my experiences outright, she suggests that I might be experiencing a form of paranoid delusion brought on by stress and trauma. She prescribes me medication to help with the symptoms, but I'm not sure if I want to take it.
Despite the investigator's skepticism, they continue to work on my case. One night, they call me with an unexpected lead: they've found a camera in the park near the spot I saw the figure. The footage shows a man who matches the description of the figure I've seen, but it's impossible to make out his face clearly. They believe that the camera may have been there for months, possibly even before I first saw the figure.
This news gives me a renewed sense of hope, but it also raises more questions. If this man has been following me for so long, why hasn't he done anything? What does he want from me? I decide to continue with my life as normally as possible, but I keep a close eye on the investigator's findings.
As the days go by, the figure seems to be fading from my reality. I catch glimpses of it less and less, and when I do, it's harder to recognize the features I had become so fixated on. Could it be that my mind was playing tricks on me all along? Perhaps the stress of my life had manifested itself in this way, a twisted sort of coping mechanism.
I continue to take the medication the psychiatrist prescribed, but I find myself feeling distant from my own experiences. Everything feels muted, as if I'm watching a movie rather than living my life. I decide to taper off the medication, hoping to regain a sense of normalcy.
I decide to no longer employ the investigator. I needed the extra money at the time.
I slowly start to put my life back together. I find a new job, one that's closer to home and less stressful. I start to make new friends, going out more and trying to reconnect with the world around me. That was until a few months go by and had another experience with this thing.
I'm walking home from work late one night, feeling good about the day, when I turn the corner and see it standing there. The same figure, the one I thought I had left behind. It's watching me intently, and for a split second, our eyes meet. A chill runs down my spine, but I force myself to keep walking, to act as if nothing is wrong. I know I can't go back to being afraid, to letting this thing control my life but as I look back at it, I can see that its moving fast toward me like a fast walk but the way it moved was grotesque. It was making these sounds like it was gargling but a deep guttural gargle. The closer it got, the grosser it looked until I turned a corner and it was gone. I kept running for a few more minutes but it was no longer behind me.
I can't shake the image of that figure from my mind, and the memory of the sounds it made echoes in my ears. I decide that I need to talk to someone about this, to try and figure out what's going on. I make an appointment with the psychiatrist, hoping that they can help me make sense of these experiences but they just prescribe me more medication that’ll turn me into a zombie.
I consider telling the investigator about what happened, but I'm hesitant to involve them again. Instead, I decide to do some research on my own. I spend hours poring over books and articles about paranormal activity, urban legends, and folklore. I stumble upon a theory that the figure might be a revenant, a restless spirit that has been trapped between worlds, drawn to me for some inexplicable reason.
As I start to get into the meat of the subject, a memory of the amusement park floods my mind. I’m at the amusement park but I’m a child. I lose my parents and as I’m frantically looking for them, I keep seeing the figure in the crowd that I’m wading through. He starts appearing more and more in the crowd until he yanks my arm.
Suddenly I’m back in the library being shushed. The librarian glares at me and I quickly gather my things, hurrying out the door. The air is crisp and cold, and I feel a sense of urgency to find a quiet place where I can think. I end up at a nearby park, sitting on a bench under a weeping willow tree.
As I try to piece together what I've learned about revenants and my own experiences, I can't help but wonder if there's some sort of connection to the amusement park.
I could remember the day we went there so vividly now; the laughter of children, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy filling the air. It was a bright, sunny day, but something felt off from the moment we arrived. My parents kept arguing about something, their voices rising above the background noise. I tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the rides and games we wanted to play.
As we made our way through the crowds, the figure kept appearing more and more often. Each time I saw it, my heart skipped a beat and I felt a cold chill run down my spine. It was almost as if it were following me, drawing me closer. And then, when I lost my parents in the crowd, it seemed to be everywhere. It was almost as if it had been waiting for that moment, for an opportunity to take advantage of my vulnerability.
I wandered aimlessly through the park, searching for a familiar face, but the figure seemed to keep me trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear and confusion. The world around me began to blur, as if the figure were somehow warping reality itself. And then, suddenly, I found myself at the haunted house ride. Something about it called to me, drew me in despite my fear.
I’m following the figure, thinking- no hoping it was taking me to security. It’s pulling me faster and harder and making these disgusting gargling noice as if he was having an asthma attack and drowning at the same time. He opens a door that leads down into what looks like a makeshift basement. I looked down and saw a mattress on the floor. Suddenly, I don’t remember what happened next.
When I wake up, I'm in a cold sweat, gasping for air. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but I'm lying on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. The room is small and windowless, with bare cinderblock walls. There's a single dim light bulb dangling from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows everywhere. I try to stand up, but my body feels weak and heavy. I make my way over to the door, only to find it locked from the outside.
Panic starts to set in as I realize I'm trapped. I frantically search the room for anything that might help me escape, but there's nothing. I collapse back onto the mattress, tears streaming down my face.
While I’m remembering this, I’m suddenly brought back to reality, under the willow tree when I hear the gurgling.
I jump up, heart pounding, and look around frantically. The park is empty now, except for a lone figure standing near the entrance. As I stare at it, my breath catches in my throat. It's the figure from the amusement park, the one that had been haunting my memories. It's as if it's taunting me, daring me to confront it.
I had other plans as I bolted away from the figure, not looking back to see if it followed. Before I knew it, I ran into the entrance of the amusement park.
The familiar sounds of people laughing and screaming on the rides filled me with fear as I tried to catch my breath. The park was empty and abandoned but I could hear people enjoying themselves. I made my way to the haunted house ride from my memory, feeling a sense of urgency to put some distance between me and the figure. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was still there, somewhere in the shadows, watching me. Suddenly when I entered the ride, the sounds stopped. Now it was too quiet.
I Decide to slowly find my way to find the makeshift basement that I recently recalled. I can hear it moving closer toward me with each step sounding like cinder blocks being thrown directly on the metal floor.
I find it but it’s locked so I locate a crowbar nearby and break the lock and throw the door open. It’s just like my memory but now it’s even dirtier. As I stepped in, it was clear that someone just dug a deep and wide hole, laid some cinder blocks and buried it. The room is actually quite small but it would still be a labor to install this thing. And to do it under an amusement ride, they must’ve done it before or as it was being built.
I spot some old dusty pictures duct taped to the wall haphazardly. I find a light switch and turn it on to reveal all four walls are covered in these pictures. Inspecting further, the pictures were candid, voyeur almost, like paparazzi but most of them looked like a regular family at a picnic at the park, family vacations, birthday parties in the backyard. I start to recognize these people and places. It’s my family. Some sicko was stalking us!
But I noticed that all of them were focused on me. Every single picture had me in it as if I was the subject. I start to feel sick to my stomach as a keel over and barf. Looking at my pile of puke, I notice some newer pictures on the floor. They are also me but from only a few years ago, hell even a few weeks ago.
I started to feel dizzy so I sat on the ground before passing out. I dreamt of that day at the amusement park again but it picked up where I left off, with the man dragging me to this room.
As eight year old me looks down at the mattress, I’m shoved in the back suddenly and fly down the stairs. Next thing I remember I was waking up in the room. No lights just pure darkness. As I sat there for hours but realistically but probably 45 minutes crying and yelling but realizing no one could hear me.
Suddenly I hear the door clanking open. A man stands there staring at me for a few minutes. I could finally see my surrounding but it didn’t relieve me any. I saw a broken light bulb on the floor next to me so I grabbed it as a weapon. The man didn’t speak as he walked slowly down the stairs. Only grunting and wheezing. Thinking now, he didn’t have the gargle voice I heard. He walks about 10 feet away from me, hunched over and wheezing, just staring down at me. As my eyes adjusted, I could see his face. He appeared to be a homeless man with a hunchback and what sounded like a failing respiratory system. He had a huge grin that was surrounded by drool.
Suddenly he reaches his face down slowly so he’s only about an inch from my face. I’m frozen with the light bulb in my hand, my eight year old hand clenching it.
“Welcome” he coughs out and wheezes
Suddenly I find myself jamming the broken lightbulb into his Adams apple. He gurgled on his blood. The gurgle I heard in my memories that leaked into reality.
I ran up the stairs closing the door behind me. And that’s where that memory ends.
When I wake up, I’m greeted by the familiar face of my memories only this time, much older and his neck scared up. He tried to say something but with his neck injury from decades before, he was unintelligible. Just sounding like a grotesque amalgamation of what a human should sound like.
Immediately I feel a sharp pain in my side as the area gets warm and wet. He stabbed me. I try to retaliate but I’m tied up so I try to wiggle my hands out of the rope.
Another sharp pain. Another stab wound above the previous.
I’m finally able to get my hands free as I punch him in the temple and he drops immediately. I start to cry as I pound his face into nothing. Again, I can hear him gargling but this would be his last.
I spent another few hours just processing and figuring out what to do next.
I got up after tending to my wounds as best as I could and walked out of the basement and shutting it for good.
I had killed a man. A man who wronged me as a child and into adulthood but the authorities would not care. I had to cover this up somehow. I was able to hire a few questionable people to “accidentally” tear it down and leaving the rubble to sit on top of the monsters last resting place.
It’s been oh probably thirty years since then. I haven’t heard of any commotion from authorities about it or anything related and I highly doubt I will in my lifetime. I sold my parents place after that and moved states. Got married had three kids and I’m about to retire next year.
Sometimes as I’m laying in bed and I can’t sleep, I’ll hear the gargling coming from another room. I refuse to give it any attention.

The bells on the front door jangle as I walk in to start my shift. 11:00pm. every night the bullshit starts again. My arm is sore from where Hilda grabbed me yesterday, luckily the frostbite seems to only be superficial but I can still feel a blister forming. I also have blue finger shaped marks on my arm. We call it Ghostburn. I don't get paid enough for this shit.
"Goodnight ladies." I say, holding the door open for the afternoon shift. "Goodnight Ivy, I started you a pot of coffee." Says Amy as she rushes to grab her coat and keys. "Heads up Ted's not in a good mood." Chimes in Laura. "Thank you."
They look exhausted. They don't deal with the dead, but the creepy old men who come in before or after a few drinks are bad enough. I see three of them at the bar and rush past them avoiding any drunken conversation or unruly comments. I head to the back and catch the daytime cook, George as he's leaving.
"Good fucking luck man, the shipment didn't come in. I had to 86 half the goddamn kitchen." He says while hastily taking off his dirty apron. "Oh shit, where's Ted?" "He emptied all the cash out of the register and booked it to try to get to Stockshop before they close. We're even out of freaking cheese man. American cheese, guess how I had to make omelets all day? Supplemental cheddar. This is bullshit, people were not happy I can tell you that."
He doesn't even make it all the way out the door before shoving a handful of chewing tobacco into his mouth, not a good sign. I notice he didn't take out the trash, a nip bottle that he made a half assed attempt to his pokes out from under used parchment paper. If there's one, there's definitely five of six laying around.
With the way the customers were acting yesterday this could mean serious trouble. Stockshop closes at eleven thirty and the dead start coming in a little after midnight. That's when our half-off pancake special starts. Dead people love pancakes.
I hear the front door as Joann walks in. She looks like absolute shit and definitely spent the last ten minutes before her shift starts crying in her car. She barely gets a chance to put her stuff down before having to take the orders of some more alcoholics. If tonight is anything like last night, they'll be the tolerable ones.
"Heads up Jo we're out of cheese, and strawberries, and muffins and spinach. The delivery never came in." She stares at me and I can see more tears welling up in her eyes. "Ted's at Stockshop now try not to worry about it too much." "They're going to eat my soul or something." "Only if they want a spinach omelet or strawberry pancakes." I wink at her and she gives an exasperated sigh. I glance at the clock, 11:30 pm. Ted comes bursting through the front door groceries in hand. He runs through the swinging doors while checking his watch. "You got everything?" I ask, opening bags and starting to put things away. "They didn't have strawberries, I got everything but the strawberries." He's breathing heavily. "What do I do?" Asks Joann. "If they order strawberries try to get them to pick something else. They'll start coming in soon try to stay calm I can't have everyone panicking. Where's Frank? We'll need him if shit really hits the fan."
It's 11:35 pm. now, Frank should have come in five minutes ago. He's late. Never once in the ten years he's worked here have I known Frank to be even a minute late. It's dangerous and only the dumb or dead would risk not showing up for their shift on time. Midnight is getting closer and if Frank doesn't show up, we're more than screwed.
11:40 pm. comes and goes and I can see Ted look sweatier and sweatier. 11:50 pm. Ted is packing back and forth wringing his hands together. 11:55 pm. has everyone sick to their stomach. 11:59 pm. the front door opens, and Frank comes hurtling in.
"What the fuck Frank?" Starts Ted, he stops talking as soon as he gets a good look at him. Frank is filthy, covered head to toe in mud. Blood is running down his face and he has a black eye. His nose is definitely broken, and his greying hair is a hot mess.
"Are you okay?" I ask and Joann is already rushing to open the first aid kit. "Some drunk out of towner kids were spray painting gravestones, we're going to have a busy night. I fought them off and called the cops, but they did a lot of damage. It's bound to have pissed off some spirits. It looks like this was their second night pulling that crap." "That checks out." Says Ted.
We all jump a little as the front door chimes. Looking through the doors the woman who enters is not anyone we recognize. A new customer. She has the trademark ghostly translucence. Her hair covers her face and I see her shuffle to the bar. She's sopping wet and is dripping real water everywhere. A drowner, those are horrible to clean up after. Their bad mood also often makes them bad tippers.
"Get out there Joann. We have a customer." She gives Ted a pleading look but does not open her mouth. The only thing she will get is a reminder that she landed herself here at this job to pay off some kind of spiritual debt. Shorting the supernatural comes with grave consequences. I wince a little as Joann enters the dining room and the woman looks up. Her skin is bloated and pale. Blue veins can be seen under her skin. She smiles at Joann and I can see a hush if water spill down her parted lips. "What can I get for you mam?" Joann says, keeping her composure. "Pancakes half off?" The woman gurgles slowly. She coughs and dirty brown water splatters onto the counter. "That would be correct mam." "I'd like two pancakes please... strawberry." "I'm very sorry, we're all out of strawberry." Says Joann nervously. I can see her take a quick step back as the woman stands up.
Me, Frank and Ted rush out into the front just as the woman jumps over the counter and onto Joann. The poor girl is having a tough week. The drowner is scratching at Joann and pulling her hair. I can see rapidly forming frostbite appear on her face and arms as Joann unsuccessfully tries to push her off. Frank grabs for the woman and she turns on him. He screams in shock, but the sound dies out quickly as the woman wraps her wet hands around his throat. Franks face is turning blue and his skin starts to bubble. He's clawing at her hands, but she just won't let go. I takes me and Ted to rip her off, burning our hands in the process. Working on the grill this week is not going to be fun. Frank is unconscious on the floor.
"My grave has been disturbed. I cannot go home until it's fixed. I want strawberry pancakes." The woman says wetly. She coughs more brown water onto the floor.
She's sitting on the floor now, seemly calming down. She's pulling at a loose thread on her dirty dress. I can't see her face, but I hear her start sobbing. Joann jumps up and rushes over to Frank who's not moving. He has severe Ghostburn on his neck and the skin has turned black.
"I don’t think he’s breathing." She says, she unbuttons his shirt and starts to do CPR." "Call 911." Says Ted. "On it." I rush over to the old-fashioned payphone next to the register and dial. "911 what's your emergency?" Says a bored sounding woman. I recognize her. Doreen is one of our small towns only two dispatchers. As the only night shift worker, we've unfortunately spoken several times before. "It's Sullivan's diner, we need paramedics. The usual." I really don't need to explain much, anyone in any nightshift job knows exactly what's going on. We're all bound by the same obligations, keep the town safe, the dead happy, and don't ask too many questions.
"Paramedics are on route to you now. It will be less than five minutes. What is the nature of your medical emergency?" "Severe Ghostburn on neck, Frank is unconscious." The black burns on his neck mixed with the fact that he has a black eye, blood-stained clothes and graveyard dirt makes Frank look like a corpse. "Has CPR been started?" "Yes." I look at Joann and Frank, she's frantically and unsuccessfully trying to revive him. Ted is crouched in front of the ghost, trying to keep her calm. If she starts again this situation will get a whole lot worse. "Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The drowner is muttering to herself over and over. "Paramedics have arrived at your location." I hang up as EMT's burst through the door. Joe and Steve, familiar faces. They start the deliberator on Frank and with the first shock I he gasps and sits up. The EMT's rush to get him on a stretcher and into the ambulance. "I'm alive." Frank gasps out. "He's going to be alright. A night’s stay at most." Joe says as him and Steve start to wheel Frank out. They barely even give the dead woman a glance.
"Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The girl is rocking back and forth, docile for now. "I have strawberry jelly does that work for now? I promise we'll have real strawberries by tomorrow night." Says Ted in his best customer service voice. "Fine." The woman mutters. Ted winces in pain as she takes a hold of his hand as he guides her back to a barstool. Joann has already started cleaning up, more customers will be coming in soon and they won't be happy with the mess. "That will just be a minute ma'am. Jo, get her a cup of coffee on the house. Ivy-" "On it." I don't need to be told twice.
The difficult part now is figuring out how to make decent pancakes out of strawberry jelly. I end up just mixing it into the batter with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and more jelly as a pretty topping.
Joann takes the pancakes out and after a few minutes of staring at them I guess the woman is satisfied. She disappears, leaving behind a slightly wet five dollars and ninety-five cents. Ted is on the phone with the hospital getting Franks room number, he's going to go check on him. Ted is the only person who can leave on shift without punishment from the diner. Frank is going to have a price to pay when he gets back on top of almost dying.
The last time someone had to leave during a shift the diner took something close to them. Joann's little dog Denny didn't deserve what happened to him. It really traumatized her, going home at the end of a long shift to find her beloved Denny in the oven, fully cooked. She's lucky the diner only went for the dog; it must like her.
"I'll probably be gone for the rest of the night. I have to sort some things out." Says Ted apologetically as he grabs his coat and heads out the back. It's just me and Joann now.
Not ten seconds after he leaves the bells on the door jingle and a group of three regulars walk in. Construction workers who died in an accident last year. They were regulars in life to, the definition of loyal customers. The permanently dirty faces of Morty, Logan and Kyle are a welcome sight. The three are usually our friendliest customers but today their expressions are flat.
"Goodnight boys, we've had a crazy shift so far. Coffees all around?" Says Joann while passing out menus. Her voice magically sounds upbeat the arrival of friendly regulars. The men nod. I can hear everything being said at the bar while I'm prepping scrambled eggs.
"You look like shit Jo are you okay? That ghost burn is pretty bad" Asks Morty, he's had a thing for her since he first laid his ghostly gaze on her. Anyone would really, Joann is gorgeous. "I got attacked by a drowned dead woman and Frank is in the hospital." "Is he going to be alright?" "Yes, but he's off for the night, I hope the diner understands. He said something about some out of towners spray painting graves. Have you guys heard anything about that? We're expecting a busy night with more disturbed dead wandering around." "Yeah, those fuckers sprayed mine!" Chimes in Kyle angrily. "I can't even rest until it's all cleaned off!" "The graveyard staff will be on it tomorrow the latest. No need to get all rowdy." Says Logan. The oldest and calmest of the three. "You get to Rest in Peace I don't want to hear anything out of you!" Shouts Kyle. I've never seen him so worked up before. Ghosts can't help it when their resting place is disturbed, they get angry. Luckily for us, Morty and Logan are here to keep him in check. "Our graves are fine, yes, but we've been through this before Kyle remember when the graveyard staff had the day off and our graves were dirty?" Says Morty. "You know that's not the same you idiot. My grave was intentionally disturbed, and you have no idea how this feels. I'm so angry it’s scary. If I see those kids, I'm killing them." "We'll see how you feel tomorrow Kyle, after all this calms down a bit. What can I get for you for now?" Asks Joann. "The usual Hun, we all want the half off pancakes." Says Logan. "I want eggs." Says Kyle in a whiny voice. "Shut up and eat your pancakes unless you want to take a turn paying. A man permanently in his 60's is a sucker for a good deal. All I see when I go out now is the inflation. How is a ghost supposed to afford to die around her?" Says Logan. "Technically you don't have to eat." Says Joann. "I enjoy my small pleasures Hun." Logan says flashing her a smile full of cracked teeth. I get on it right away, the faster the food comes out the better especially with the mood Kyle seems to be in. I'm too tired to deal with any more shit tonight. "How you holding up Jo?" I ask as she comes back to grab the hot plates. "I'm scared, I think we should ask them to stay just to keep the other regulars in check." "That's a great idea, I'm running around with my head chopped off with Ted and Frank gone."
Dish and grill at the same time is not fun. The bells ring again, and I gasp in horror to see about twenty dead people shuffle through the door. They load themselves into the booths and fill up the remaining bar-seats. Shit.
"How many graves did those kids spray?" Asks Joann looking absolutely terrified. "If I had to guess, it looks like they got about twenty-five total if you count Hilda, Kyle and the drowned woman." Joann turns and runs out the door plates in hand.
I listen for a few minutes while Joann is taking the orders, waiting to get absolutely smacked. I hear disgruntled mumbling paired with Logan and Monty shouting for people to calm down. Even Kyle tells someone to shut up and just order something else if we're out. I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have the extra help. They don't seem to be as bad in groups, it's like they hold each other accountable. I guess even ghosts pass judgement.
I put my head down and get to work as dozens of pancake and omelet orders pour in. Joann is refilling drinks and running food so fast I'm worried her legs will give out. I can hear the occasional correction yell from Logan or Marty but other than that the next few hours pass without issue. A lonely trucker comes in around 3:00 am. and all the ghosts disappear the second he enters. A normie from out of town stopping by for a coffee and an English muffin.
"What are you? In the middle of a rush." He says in a thick southern accent. I watch as he makes a puzzled face as at all the full plates of food on every table and in front of almost every stool. Joann doesn't say anything to even try to satisfy him with an excuse.
"Your food will be out in a minute sir." The faster he's gone the better, the dead don't like to wait very long to get their diner back. "It is kind of weird Hun." Joann stares at him blankly as she hands him his food and a to-go cup. "Goodnight sir." "Yeah... Whatever you say." He is basically tripping on himself to get out faster. He must have gotten the normie chills. They never know exactly what's going on, but they can definitely sense it.
The second he's gone all the ghosts reappear again as if nothing happened, in the same seats, having the same conversations. The rest of the night goes by without incident. Ted comes back around 5:00 am. he informs us that Frank is alive and will be back into work tomorrow. He doesn't say much after that and me and Joann let him have his silence as he helps with the mound of dishes.
By 6:00 am. everybody is beat but it's finally the end of shift. The opening crew stumble in one by one, some of them even have the luxury of being a few minutes late. To them, Sullivan's is just a normal diner. The closest thing they'll see to danger on their shift is a regular unhappy customer, not a dead one. They are not in debt to some evil supernatural force and no one will kill their puppy if they call out. They never leave with life treating injuries and the obligation to come back the next day.
"Place is dirty, what did you guys even do all night?" Asks Jackie. I look at her and smile. "Sorry about that, we'll make sure it's much cleaner tomorrow." I say sarcastically. Joann gives her a withering look and we both head out together. "Get some rest Jo, as long as those graves get cleaned tonight tomorrow shouldn't be so bad." "You to Ivy, I sure hope so."

The bells on the front door jangle as I walk in to start my shift. 11:00pm. every night the bullshit starts again. My arm is sore from where Hilda grabbed me yesterday, luckily the frostbite seems to only be superficial but I can still feel a blister forming. I also have blue finger shaped marks on my arm. We call it Ghostburn. I don't get paid enough for this shit.
"Goodnight ladies." I say, holding the door open for the afternoon shift. "Goodnight Ivy, I started you a pot of coffee." Says Amy as she rushes to grab her coat and keys. "Heads up Ted's not in a good mood." Chimes in Laura. "Thank you."
They look exhausted. They don't deal with the dead, but the creepy old men who come in before or after a few drinks are bad enough. I see three of them at the bar and rush past them avoiding any drunken conversation or unruly comments. I head to the back and catch the daytime cook, George as he's leaving.
"Good fucking luck man, the shipment didn't come in. I had to 86 half the goddamn kitchen." He says while hastily taking off his dirty apron. "Oh shit, where's Ted?" "He emptied all the cash out of the register and booked it to try to get to Stockshop before they close. We're even out of freaking cheese man. American cheese, guess how I had to make omelets all day? Supplemental cheddar. This is bullshit, people were not happy I can tell you that."
He doesn't even make it all the way out the door before shoving a handful of chewing tobacco into his mouth, not a good sign. I notice he didn't take out the trash, a nip bottle that he made a half assed attempt to his pokes out from under used parchment paper. If there's one, there's definitely five of six laying around.
With the way the customers were acting yesterday this could mean serious trouble. Stockshop closes at eleven thirty and the dead start coming in a little after midnight. That's when our half-off pancake special starts. Dead people love pancakes.
I hear the front door as Joann walks in. She looks like absolute shit and definitely spent the last ten minutes before her shift starts crying in her car. She barely gets a chance to put her stuff down before having to take the orders of some more alcoholics. If tonight is anything like last night, they'll be the tolerable ones.
"Heads up Jo we're out of cheese, and strawberries, and muffins and spinach. The delivery never came in." She stares at me and I can see more tears welling up in her eyes. "Ted's at Stockshop now try not to worry about it too much." "They're going to eat my soul or something." "Only if they want a spinach omelet or strawberry pancakes." I wink at her and she gives an exasperated sigh. I glance at the clock, 11:30 pm. Ted comes bursting through the front door groceries in hand. He runs through the swinging doors while checking his watch. "You got everything?" I ask, opening bags and starting to put things away. "They didn't have strawberries, I got everything but the strawberries." He's breathing heavily. "What do I do?" Asks Joann. "If they order strawberries try to get them to pick something else. They'll start coming in soon try to stay calm I can't have everyone panicking. Where's Frank? We'll need him if shit really hits the fan."
It's 11:35 pm. now, Frank should have come in five minutes ago. He's late. Never once in the ten years he's worked here have I known Frank to be even a minute late. It's dangerous and only the dumb or dead would risk not showing up for their shift on time. Midnight is getting closer and if Frank doesn't show up, we're more than screwed.
11:40 pm. comes and goes and I can see Ted look sweatier and sweatier. 11:50 pm. Ted is packing back and forth wringing his hands together. 11:55 pm. has everyone sick to their stomach. 11:59 pm. the front door opens, and Frank comes hurtling in.
"What the fuck Frank?" Starts Ted, he stops talking as soon as he gets a good look at him. Frank is filthy, covered head to toe in mud. Blood is running down his face and he has a black eye. His nose is definitely broken, and his greying hair is a hot mess.
"Are you okay?" I ask and Joann is already rushing to open the first aid kit. "Some drunk out of towner kids were spray painting gravestones, we're going to have a busy night. I fought them off and called the cops, but they did a lot of damage. It's bound to have pissed off some spirits. It looks like this was their second night pulling that crap." "That checks out." Says Ted.
We all jump a little as the front door chimes. Looking through the doors the woman who enters is not anyone we recognize. A new customer. She has the trademark ghostly translucence. Her hair covers her face and I see her shuffle to the bar. She's sopping wet and is dripping real water everywhere. A drowner, those are horrible to clean up after. Their bad mood also often makes them bad tippers.
"Get out there Joann. We have a customer." She gives Ted a pleading look but does not open her mouth. The only thing she will get is a reminder that she landed herself here at this job to pay off some kind of spiritual debt. Shorting the supernatural comes with grave consequences. I wince a little as Joann enters the dining room and the woman looks up. Her skin is bloated and pale. Blue veins can be seen under her skin. She smiles at Joann and I can see a hush if water spill down her parted lips. "What can I get for you mam?" Joann says, keeping her composure. "Pancakes half off?" The woman gurgles slowly. She coughs and dirty brown water splatters onto the counter. "That would be correct mam." "I'd like two pancakes please... strawberry." "I'm very sorry, we're all out of strawberry." Says Joann nervously. I can see her take a quick step back as the woman stands up.
Me, Frank and Ted rush out into the front just as the woman jumps over the counter and onto Joann. The poor girl is having a tough week. The drowner is scratching at Joann and pulling her hair. I can see rapidly forming frostbite appear on her face and arms as Joann unsuccessfully tries to push her off. Frank grabs for the woman and she turns on him. He screams in shock, but the sound dies out quickly as the woman wraps her wet hands around his throat. Franks face is turning blue and his skin starts to bubble. He's clawing at her hands, but she just won't let go. I takes me and Ted to rip her off, burning our hands in the process. Working on the grill this week is not going to be fun. Frank is unconscious on the floor.
"My grave has been disturbed. I cannot go home until it's fixed. I want strawberry pancakes." The woman says wetly. She coughs more brown water onto the floor.
She's sitting on the floor now, seemly calming down. She's pulling at a loose thread on her dirty dress. I can't see her face, but I hear her start sobbing. Joann jumps up and rushes over to Frank who's not moving. He has severe Ghostburn on his neck and the skin has turned black.
"I don’t think he’s breathing." She says, she unbuttons his shirt and starts to do CPR." "Call 911." Says Ted. "On it." I rush over to the old-fashioned payphone next to the register and dial. "911 what's your emergency?" Says a bored sounding woman. I recognize her. Doreen is one of our small towns only two dispatchers. As the only night shift worker, we've unfortunately spoken several times before. "It's Sullivan's diner, we need paramedics. The usual." I really don't need to explain much, anyone in any nightshift job knows exactly what's going on. We're all bound by the same obligations, keep the town safe, the dead happy, and don't ask too many questions.
"Paramedics are on route to you now. It will be less than five minutes. What is the nature of your medical emergency?" "Severe Ghostburn on neck, Frank is unconscious." The black burns on his neck mixed with the fact that he has a black eye, blood-stained clothes and graveyard dirt makes Frank look like a corpse. "Has CPR been started?" "Yes." I look at Joann and Frank, she's frantically and unsuccessfully trying to revive him. Ted is crouched in front of the ghost, trying to keep her calm. If she starts again this situation will get a whole lot worse. "Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The drowner is muttering to herself over and over. "Paramedics have arrived at your location." I hang up as EMT's burst through the door. Joe and Steve, familiar faces. They start the deliberator on Frank and with the first shock I he gasps and sits up. The EMT's rush to get him on a stretcher and into the ambulance. "I'm alive." Frank gasps out. "He's going to be alright. A night’s stay at most." Joe says as him and Steve start to wheel Frank out. They barely even give the dead woman a glance.
"Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The girl is rocking back and forth, docile for now. "I have strawberry jelly does that work for now? I promise we'll have real strawberries by tomorrow night." Says Ted in his best customer service voice. "Fine." The woman mutters. Ted winces in pain as she takes a hold of his hand as he guides her back to a barstool. Joann has already started cleaning up, more customers will be coming in soon and they won't be happy with the mess. "That will just be a minute ma'am. Jo, get her a cup of coffee on the house. Ivy-" "On it." I don't need to be told twice.
The difficult part now is figuring out how to make decent pancakes out of strawberry jelly. I end up just mixing it into the batter with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and more jelly as a pretty topping.
Joann takes the pancakes out and after a few minutes of staring at them I guess the woman is satisfied. She disappears, leaving behind a slightly wet five dollars and ninety-five cents. Ted is on the phone with the hospital getting Franks room number, he's going to go check on him. Ted is the only person who can leave on shift without punishment from the diner. Frank is going to have a price to pay when he gets back on top of almost dying.
The last time someone had to leave during a shift the diner took something close to them. Joann's little dog Denny didn't deserve what happened to him. It really traumatized her, going home at the end of a long shift to find her beloved Denny in the oven, fully cooked. She's lucky the diner only went for the dog; it must like her.
"I'll probably be gone for the rest of the night. I have to sort some things out." Says Ted apologetically as he grabs his coat and heads out the back. It's just me and Joann now.
Not ten seconds after he leaves the bells on the door jingle and a group of three regulars walk in. Construction workers who died in an accident last year. They were regulars in life to, the definition of loyal customers. The permanently dirty faces of Morty, Logan and Kyle are a welcome sight. The three are usually our friendliest customers but today their expressions are flat.
"Goodnight boys, we've had a crazy shift so far. Coffees all around?" Says Joann while passing out menus. Her voice magically sounds upbeat the arrival of friendly regulars. The men nod. I can hear everything being said at the bar while I'm prepping scrambled eggs.
"You look like shit Jo are you okay? That ghost burn is pretty bad" Asks Morty, he's had a thing for her since he first laid his ghostly gaze on her. Anyone would really, Joann is gorgeous. "I got attacked by a drowned dead woman and Frank is in the hospital." "Is he going to be alright?" "Yes, but he's off for the night, I hope the diner understands. He said something about some out of towners spray painting graves. Have you guys heard anything about that? We're expecting a busy night with more disturbed dead wandering around." "Yeah, those fuckers sprayed mine!" Chimes in Kyle angrily. "I can't even rest until it's all cleaned off!" "The graveyard staff will be on it tomorrow the latest. No need to get all rowdy." Says Logan. The oldest and calmest of the three. "You get to Rest in Peace I don't want to hear anything out of you!" Shouts Kyle. I've never seen him so worked up before. Ghosts can't help it when their resting place is disturbed, they get angry. Luckily for us, Morty and Logan are here to keep him in check. "Our graves are fine, yes, but we've been through this before Kyle remember when the graveyard staff had the day off and our graves were dirty?" Says Morty. "You know that's not the same you idiot. My grave was intentionally disturbed, and you have no idea how this feels. I'm so angry it’s scary. If I see those kids, I'm killing them." "We'll see how you feel tomorrow Kyle, after all this calms down a bit. What can I get for you for now?" Asks Joann. "The usual Hun, we all want the half off pancakes." Says Logan. "I want eggs." Says Kyle in a whiny voice. "Shut up and eat your pancakes unless you want to take a turn paying. A man permanently in his 60's is a sucker for a good deal. All I see when I go out now is the inflation. How is a ghost supposed to afford to die around her?" Says Logan. "Technically you don't have to eat." Says Joann. "I enjoy my small pleasures Hun." Logan says flashing her a smile full of cracked teeth. I get on it right away, the faster the food comes out the better especially with the mood Kyle seems to be in. I'm too tired to deal with any more shit tonight. "How you holding up Jo?" I ask as she comes back to grab the hot plates. "I'm scared, I think we should ask them to stay just to keep the other regulars in check." "That's a great idea, I'm running around with my head chopped off with Ted and Frank gone."
Dish and grill at the same time is not fun. The bells ring again, and I gasp in horror to see about twenty dead people shuffle through the door. They load themselves into the booths and fill up the remaining bar-seats. Shit.
"How many graves did those kids spray?" Asks Joann looking absolutely terrified. "If I had to guess, it looks like they got about twenty-five total if you count Hilda, Kyle and the drowned woman." Joann turns and runs out the door plates in hand.
I listen for a few minutes while Joann is taking the orders, waiting to get absolutely smacked. I hear disgruntled mumbling paired with Logan and Monty shouting for people to calm down. Even Kyle tells someone to shut up and just order something else if we're out. I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have the extra help. They don't seem to be as bad in groups, it's like they hold each other accountable. I guess even ghosts pass judgement.
I put my head down and get to work as dozens of pancake and omelet orders pour in. Joann is refilling drinks and running food so fast I'm worried her legs will give out. I can hear the occasional correction yell from Logan or Marty but other than that the next few hours pass without issue. A lonely trucker comes in around 3:00 am. and all the ghosts disappear the second he enters. A normie from out of town stopping by for a coffee and an English muffin.
"What are you? In the middle of a rush." He says in a thick southern accent. I watch as he makes a puzzled face as at all the full plates of food on every table and in front of almost every stool. Joann doesn't say anything to even try to satisfy him with an excuse.
"Your food will be out in a minute sir." The faster he's gone the better, the dead don't like to wait very long to get their diner back. "It is kind of weird Hun." Joann stares at him blankly as she hands him his food and a to-go cup. "Goodnight sir." "Yeah... Whatever you say." He is basically tripping on himself to get out faster. He must have gotten the normie chills. They never know exactly what's going on, but they can definitely sense it.
The second he's gone all the ghosts reappear again as if nothing happened, in the same seats, having the same conversations. The rest of the night goes by without incident. Ted comes back around 5:00 am. he informs us that Frank is alive and will be back into work tomorrow. He doesn't say much after that and me and Joann let him have his silence as he helps with the mound of dishes.
By 6:00 am. everybody is beat but it's finally the end of shift. The opening crew stumble in one by one, some of them even have the luxury of being a few minutes late. To them, Sullivan's is just a normal diner. The closest thing they'll see to danger on their shift is a regular unhappy customer, not a dead one. They are not in debt to some evil supernatural force and no one will kill their puppy if they call out. They never leave with life treating injuries and the obligation to come back the next day.
"Place is dirty, what did you guys even do all night?" Asks Jackie. I look at her and smile. "Sorry about that, we'll make sure it's much cleaner tomorrow." I say sarcastically. Joann gives her a withering look and we both head out together. "Get some rest Jo, as long as those graves get cleaned tonight tomorrow shouldn't be so bad." "You to Ivy, I sure hope so."

The bells on the front door jangle as I walk in to start my shift. 11:00pm. every night the bullshit starts again. My arm is sore from where Hilda grabbed me yesterday, luckily the frostbite seems to only be superficial but I can still feel a blister forming. I also have blue finger shaped marks on my arm. We call it Ghostburn. I don't get paid enough for this shit.
"Goodnight ladies." I say, holding the door open for the afternoon shift. "Goodnight Ivy, I started you a pot of coffee." Says Amy as she rushes to grab her coat and keys. "Heads up Ted's not in a good mood." Chimes in Laura. "Thank you."
They look exhausted. They don't deal with the dead, but the creepy old men who come in before or after a few drinks are bad enough. I see three of them at the bar and rush past them avoiding any drunken conversation or unruly comments. I head to the back and catch the daytime cook, George as he's leaving.
"Good fucking luck man, the shipment didn't come in. I had to 86 half the goddamn kitchen." He says while hastily taking off his dirty apron. "Oh shit, where's Ted?" "He emptied all the cash out of the register and booked it to try to get to Stockshop before they close. We're even out of freaking cheese man. American cheese, guess how I had to make omelets all day? Supplemental cheddar. This is bullshit, people were not happy I can tell you that."
He doesn't even make it all the way out the door before shoving a handful of chewing tobacco into his mouth, not a good sign. I notice he didn't take out the trash, a nip bottle that he made a half assed attempt to his pokes out from under used parchment paper. If there's one, there's definitely five of six laying around.
With the way the customers were acting yesterday this could mean serious trouble. Stockshop closes at eleven thirty and the dead start coming in a little after midnight. That's when our half-off pancake special starts. Dead people love pancakes.
I hear the front door as Joann walks in. She looks like absolute shit and definitely spent the last ten minutes before her shift starts crying in her car. She barely gets a chance to put her stuff down before having to take the orders of some more alcoholics. If tonight is anything like last night, they'll be the tolerable ones.
"Heads up Jo we're out of cheese, and strawberries, and muffins and spinach. The delivery never came in." She stares at me and I can see more tears welling up in her eyes. "Ted's at Stockshop now try not to worry about it too much." "They're going to eat my soul or something." "Only if they want a spinach omelet or strawberry pancakes." I wink at her and she gives an exasperated sigh. I glance at the clock, 11:30 pm. Ted comes bursting through the front door groceries in hand. He runs through the swinging doors while checking his watch. "You got everything?" I ask, opening bags and starting to put things away. "They didn't have strawberries, I got everything but the strawberries." He's breathing heavily. "What do I do?" Asks Joann. "If they order strawberries try to get them to pick something else. They'll start coming in soon try to stay calm I can't have everyone panicking. Where's Frank? We'll need him if shit really hits the fan."
It's 11:35 pm. now, Frank should have come in five minutes ago. He's late. Never once in the ten years he's worked here have I known Frank to be even a minute late. It's dangerous and only the dumb or dead would risk not showing up for their shift on time. Midnight is getting closer and if Frank doesn't show up, we're more than screwed.
11:40 pm. comes and goes and I can see Ted look sweatier and sweatier. 11:50 pm. Ted is packing back and forth wringing his hands together. 11:55 pm. has everyone sick to their stomach. 11:59 pm. the front door opens, and Frank comes hurtling in.
"What the fuck Frank?" Starts Ted, he stops talking as soon as he gets a good look at him. Frank is filthy, covered head to toe in mud. Blood is running down his face and he has a black eye. His nose is definitely broken, and his greying hair is a hot mess.
"Are you okay?" I ask and Joann is already rushing to open the first aid kit. "Some drunk out of towner kids were spray painting gravestones, we're going to have a busy night. I fought them off and called the cops, but they did a lot of damage. It's bound to have pissed off some spirits. It looks like this was their second night pulling that crap." "That checks out." Says Ted.
We all jump a little as the front door chimes. Looking through the doors the woman who enters is not anyone we recognize. A new customer. She has the trademark ghostly translucence. Her hair covers her face and I see her shuffle to the bar. She's sopping wet and is dripping real water everywhere. A drowner, those are horrible to clean up after. Their bad mood also often makes them bad tippers.
"Get out there Joann. We have a customer." She gives Ted a pleading look but does not open her mouth. The only thing she will get is a reminder that she landed herself here at this job to pay off some kind of spiritual debt. Shorting the supernatural comes with grave consequences. I wince a little as Joann enters the dining room and the woman looks up. Her skin is bloated and pale. Blue veins can be seen under her skin. She smiles at Joann and I can see a hush if water spill down her parted lips. "What can I get for you mam?" Joann says, keeping her composure. "Pancakes half off?" The woman gurgles slowly. She coughs and dirty brown water splatters onto the counter. "That would be correct mam." "I'd like two pancakes please... strawberry." "I'm very sorry, we're all out of strawberry." Says Joann nervously. I can see her take a quick step back as the woman stands up.
Me, Frank and Ted rush out into the front just as the woman jumps over the counter and onto Joann. The poor girl is having a tough week. The drowner is scratching at Joann and pulling her hair. I can see rapidly forming frostbite appear on her face and arms as Joann unsuccessfully tries to push her off. Frank grabs for the woman and she turns on him. He screams in shock, but the sound dies out quickly as the woman wraps her wet hands around his throat. Franks face is turning blue and his skin starts to bubble. He's clawing at her hands, but she just won't let go. I takes me and Ted to rip her off, burning our hands in the process. Working on the grill this week is not going to be fun. Frank is unconscious on the floor.
"My grave has been disturbed. I cannot go home until it's fixed. I want strawberry pancakes." The woman says wetly. She coughs more brown water onto the floor.
She's sitting on the floor now, seemly calming down. She's pulling at a loose thread on her dirty dress. I can't see her face, but I hear her start sobbing. Joann jumps up and rushes over to Frank who's not moving. He has severe Ghostburn on his neck and the skin has turned black.
"I don’t think he’s breathing." She says, she unbuttons his shirt and starts to do CPR." "Call 911." Says Ted. "On it." I rush over to the old-fashioned payphone next to the register and dial. "911 what's your emergency?" Says a bored sounding woman. I recognize her. Doreen is one of our small towns only two dispatchers. As the only night shift worker, we've unfortunately spoken several times before. "It's Sullivan's diner, we need paramedics. The usual." I really don't need to explain much, anyone in any nightshift job knows exactly what's going on. We're all bound by the same obligations, keep the town safe, the dead happy, and don't ask too many questions.
"Paramedics are on route to you now. It will be less than five minutes. What is the nature of your medical emergency?" "Severe Ghostburn on neck, Frank is unconscious." The black burns on his neck mixed with the fact that he has a black eye, blood-stained clothes and graveyard dirt makes Frank look like a corpse. "Has CPR been started?" "Yes." I look at Joann and Frank, she's frantically and unsuccessfully trying to revive him. Ted is crouched in front of the ghost, trying to keep her calm. If she starts again this situation will get a whole lot worse. "Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The drowner is muttering to herself over and over. "Paramedics have arrived at your location." I hang up as EMT's burst through the door. Joe and Steve, familiar faces. They start the deliberator on Frank and with the first shock I he gasps and sits up. The EMT's rush to get him on a stretcher and into the ambulance. "I'm alive." Frank gasps out. "He's going to be alright. A night’s stay at most." Joe says as him and Steve start to wheel Frank out. They barely even give the dead woman a glance.
"Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The girl is rocking back and forth, docile for now. "I have strawberry jelly does that work for now? I promise we'll have real strawberries by tomorrow night." Says Ted in his best customer service voice. "Fine." The woman mutters. Ted winces in pain as she takes a hold of his hand as he guides her back to a barstool. Joann has already started cleaning up, more customers will be coming in soon and they won't be happy with the mess. "That will just be a minute ma'am. Jo, get her a cup of coffee on the house. Ivy-" "On it." I don't need to be told twice.
The difficult part now is figuring out how to make decent pancakes out of strawberry jelly. I end up just mixing it into the batter with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and more jelly as a pretty topping.
Joann takes the pancakes out and after a few minutes of staring at them I guess the woman is satisfied. She disappears, leaving behind a slightly wet five dollars and ninety-five cents. Ted is on the phone with the hospital getting Franks room number, he's going to go check on him. Ted is the only person who can leave on shift without punishment from the diner. Frank is going to have a price to pay when he gets back on top of almost dying.
The last time someone had to leave during a shift the diner took something close to them. Joann's little dog Denny didn't deserve what happened to him. It really traumatized her, going home at the end of a long shift to find her beloved Denny in the oven, fully cooked. She's lucky the diner only went for the dog; it must like her.
"I'll probably be gone for the rest of the night. I have to sort some things out." Says Ted apologetically as he grabs his coat and heads out the back. It's just me and Joann now.
Not ten seconds after he leaves the bells on the door jingle and a group of three regulars walk in. Construction workers who died in an accident last year. They were regulars in life to, the definition of loyal customers. The permanently dirty faces of Morty, Logan and Kyle are a welcome sight. The three are usually our friendliest customers but today their expressions are flat.
"Goodnight boys, we've had a crazy shift so far. Coffees all around?" Says Joann while passing out menus. Her voice magically sounds upbeat the arrival of friendly regulars. The men nod. I can hear everything being said at the bar while I'm prepping scrambled eggs.
"You look like shit Jo are you okay? That ghost burn is pretty bad" Asks Morty, he's had a thing for her since he first laid his ghostly gaze on her. Anyone would really, Joann is gorgeous. "I got attacked by a drowned dead woman and Frank is in the hospital." "Is he going to be alright?" "Yes, but he's off for the night, I hope the diner understands. He said something about some out of towners spray painting graves. Have you guys heard anything about that? We're expecting a busy night with more disturbed dead wandering around." "Yeah, those fuckers sprayed mine!" Chimes in Kyle angrily. "I can't even rest until it's all cleaned off!" "The graveyard staff will be on it tomorrow the latest. No need to get all rowdy." Says Logan. The oldest and calmest of the three. "You get to Rest in Peace I don't want to hear anything out of you!" Shouts Kyle. I've never seen him so worked up before. Ghosts can't help it when their resting place is disturbed, they get angry. Luckily for us, Morty and Logan are here to keep him in check. "Our graves are fine, yes, but we've been through this before Kyle remember when the graveyard staff had the day off and our graves were dirty?" Says Morty. "You know that's not the same you idiot. My grave was intentionally disturbed, and you have no idea how this feels. I'm so angry it’s scary. If I see those kids, I'm killing them." "We'll see how you feel tomorrow Kyle, after all this calms down a bit. What can I get for you for now?" Asks Joann. "The usual Hun, we all want the half off pancakes." Says Logan. "I want eggs." Says Kyle in a whiny voice. "Shut up and eat your pancakes unless you want to take a turn paying. A man permanently in his 60's is a sucker for a good deal. All I see when I go out now is the inflation. How is a ghost supposed to afford to die around her?" Says Logan. "Technically you don't have to eat." Says Joann. "I enjoy my small pleasures Hun." Logan says flashing her a smile full of cracked teeth. I get on it right away, the faster the food comes out the better especially with the mood Kyle seems to be in. I'm too tired to deal with any more shit tonight. "How you holding up Jo?" I ask as she comes back to grab the hot plates. "I'm scared, I think we should ask them to stay just to keep the other regulars in check." "That's a great idea, I'm running around with my head chopped off with Ted and Frank gone."
Dish and grill at the same time is not fun. The bells ring again, and I gasp in horror to see about twenty dead people shuffle through the door. They load themselves into the booths and fill up the remaining bar-seats. Shit.
"How many graves did those kids spray?" Asks Joann looking absolutely terrified. "If I had to guess, it looks like they got about twenty-five total if you count Hilda, Kyle and the drowned woman." Joann turns and runs out the door plates in hand.
I listen for a few minutes while Joann is taking the orders, waiting to get absolutely smacked. I hear disgruntled mumbling paired with Logan and Monty shouting for people to calm down. Even Kyle tells someone to shut up and just order something else if we're out. I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have the extra help. They don't seem to be as bad in groups, it's like they hold each other accountable. I guess even ghosts pass judgement.
I put my head down and get to work as dozens of pancake and omelet orders pour in. Joann is refilling drinks and running food so fast I'm worried her legs will give out. I can hear the occasional correction yell from Logan or Marty but other than that the next few hours pass without issue. A lonely trucker comes in around 3:00 am. and all the ghosts disappear the second he enters. A normie from out of town stopping by for a coffee and an English muffin.
"What are you? In the middle of a rush." He says in a thick southern accent. I watch as he makes a puzzled face as at all the full plates of food on every table and in front of almost every stool. Joann doesn't say anything to even try to satisfy him with an excuse.
"Your food will be out in a minute sir." The faster he's gone the better, the dead don't like to wait very long to get their diner back. "It is kind of weird Hun." Joann stares at him blankly as she hands him his food and a to-go cup. "Goodnight sir." "Yeah... Whatever you say." He is basically tripping on himself to get out faster. He must have gotten the normie chills. They never know exactly what's going on, but they can definitely sense it.
The second he's gone all the ghosts reappear again as if nothing happened, in the same seats, having the same conversations. The rest of the night goes by without incident. Ted comes back around 5:00 am. he informs us that Frank is alive and will be back into work tomorrow. He doesn't say much after that and me and Joann let him have his silence as he helps with the mound of dishes.
By 6:00 am. everybody is beat but it's finally the end of shift. The opening crew stumble in one by one, some of them even have the luxury of being a few minutes late. To them, Sullivan's is just a normal diner. The closest thing they'll see to danger on their shift is a regular unhappy customer, not a dead one. They are not in debt to some evil supernatural force and no one will kill their puppy if they call out. They never leave with life treating injuries and the obligation to come back the next day.
"Place is dirty, what did you guys even do all night?" Asks Jackie. I look at her and smile. "Sorry about that, we'll make sure it's much cleaner tomorrow." I say sarcastically. Joann gives her a withering look and we both head out together. "Get some rest Jo, as long as those graves get cleaned tonight tomorrow shouldn't be so bad." "You to Ivy, I sure hope so."

The bells on the front door jangle as I walk in to start my shift. 11:00pm. every night the bullshit starts again. My arm is sore from where Hilda grabbed me yesterday, luckily the frostbite seems to only be superficial but I can still feel a blister forming. I also have blue finger shaped marks on my arm. We call it Ghostburn. I don't get paid enough for this shit.
"Goodnight ladies." I say, holding the door open for the afternoon shift. "Goodnight Ivy, I started you a pot of coffee." Says Amy as she rushes to grab her coat and keys. "Heads up Ted's not in a good mood." Chimes in Laura. "Thank you."
They look exhausted. They don't deal with the dead, but the creepy old men who come in before or after a few drinks are bad enough. I see three of them at the bar and rush past them avoiding any drunken conversation or unruly comments. I head to the back and catch the daytime cook, George as he's leaving.
"Good fucking luck man, the shipment didn't come in. I had to 86 half the goddamn kitchen." He says while hastily taking off his dirty apron. "Oh shit, where's Ted?" "He emptied all the cash out of the register and booked it to try to get to Stockshop before they close. We're even out of freaking cheese man. American cheese, guess how I had to make omelets all day? Supplemental cheddar. This is bullshit, people were not happy I can tell you that."
He doesn't even make it all the way out the door before shoving a handful of chewing tobacco into his mouth, not a good sign. I notice he didn't take out the trash, a nip bottle that he made a half assed attempt to his pokes out from under used parchment paper. If there's one, there's definitely five of six laying around.
With the way the customers were acting yesterday this could mean serious trouble. Stockshop closes at eleven thirty and the dead start coming in a little after midnight. That's when our half-off pancake special starts. Dead people love pancakes.
I hear the front door as Joann walks in. She looks like absolute shit and definitely spent the last ten minutes before her shift starts crying in her car. She barely gets a chance to put her stuff down before having to take the orders of some more alcoholics. If tonight is anything like last night, they'll be the tolerable ones.
"Heads up Jo we're out of cheese, and strawberries, and muffins and spinach. The delivery never came in." She stares at me and I can see more tears welling up in her eyes. "Ted's at Stockshop now try not to worry about it too much." "They're going to eat my soul or something." "Only if they want a spinach omelet or strawberry pancakes." I wink at her and she gives an exasperated sigh. I glance at the clock, 11:30 pm. Ted comes bursting through the front door groceries in hand. He runs through the swinging doors while checking his watch. "You got everything?" I ask, opening bags and starting to put things away. "They didn't have strawberries, I got everything but the strawberries." He's breathing heavily. "What do I do?" Asks Joann. "If they order strawberries try to get them to pick something else. They'll start coming in soon try to stay calm I can't have everyone panicking. Where's Frank? We'll need him if shit really hits the fan."
It's 11:35 pm. now, Frank should have come in five minutes ago. He's late. Never once in the ten years he's worked here have I known Frank to be even a minute late. It's dangerous and only the dumb or dead would risk not showing up for their shift on time. Midnight is getting closer and if Frank doesn't show up, we're more than screwed.
11:40 pm. comes and goes and I can see Ted look sweatier and sweatier. 11:50 pm. Ted is packing back and forth wringing his hands together. 11:55 pm. has everyone sick to their stomach. 11:59 pm. the front door opens, and Frank comes hurtling in.
"What the fuck Frank?" Starts Ted, he stops talking as soon as he gets a good look at him. Frank is filthy, covered head to toe in mud. Blood is running down his face and he has a black eye. His nose is definitely broken, and his greying hair is a hot mess.
"Are you okay?" I ask and Joann is already rushing to open the first aid kit. "Some drunk out of towner kids were spray painting gravestones, we're going to have a busy night. I fought them off and called the cops, but they did a lot of damage. It's bound to have pissed off some spirits. It looks like this was their second night pulling that crap." "That checks out." Says Ted.
We all jump a little as the front door chimes. Looking through the doors the woman who enters is not anyone we recognize. A new customer. She has the trademark ghostly translucence. Her hair covers her face and I see her shuffle to the bar. She's sopping wet and is dripping real water everywhere. A drowner, those are horrible to clean up after. Their bad mood also often makes them bad tippers.
"Get out there Joann. We have a customer." She gives Ted a pleading look but does not open her mouth. The only thing she will get is a reminder that she landed herself here at this job to pay off some kind of spiritual debt. Shorting the supernatural comes with grave consequences. I wince a little as Joann enters the dining room and the woman looks up. Her skin is bloated and pale. Blue veins can be seen under her skin. She smiles at Joann and I can see a hush if water spill down her parted lips. "What can I get for you mam?" Joann says, keeping her composure. "Pancakes half off?" The woman gurgles slowly. She coughs and dirty brown water splatters onto the counter. "That would be correct mam." "I'd like two pancakes please... strawberry." "I'm very sorry, we're all out of strawberry." Says Joann nervously. I can see her take a quick step back as the woman stands up.
Me, Frank and Ted rush out into the front just as the woman jumps over the counter and onto Joann. The poor girl is having a tough week. The drowner is scratching at Joann and pulling her hair. I can see rapidly forming frostbite appear on her face and arms as Joann unsuccessfully tries to push her off. Frank grabs for the woman and she turns on him. He screams in shock, but the sound dies out quickly as the woman wraps her wet hands around his throat. Franks face is turning blue and his skin starts to bubble. He's clawing at her hands, but she just won't let go. I takes me and Ted to rip her off, burning our hands in the process. Working on the grill this week is not going to be fun. Frank is unconscious on the floor.
"My grave has been disturbed. I cannot go home until it's fixed. I want strawberry pancakes." The woman says wetly. She coughs more brown water onto the floor.
She's sitting on the floor now, seemly calming down. She's pulling at a loose thread on her dirty dress. I can't see her face, but I hear her start sobbing. Joann jumps up and rushes over to Frank who's not moving. He has severe Ghostburn on his neck and the skin has turned black.
"I don’t think he’s breathing." She says, she unbuttons his shirt and starts to do CPR." "Call 911." Says Ted. "On it." I rush over to the old-fashioned payphone next to the register and dial. "911 what's your emergency?" Says a bored sounding woman. I recognize her. Doreen is one of our small towns only two dispatchers. As the only night shift worker, we've unfortunately spoken several times before. "It's Sullivan's diner, we need paramedics. The usual." I really don't need to explain much, anyone in any nightshift job knows exactly what's going on. We're all bound by the same obligations, keep the town safe, the dead happy, and don't ask too many questions.
"Paramedics are on route to you now. It will be less than five minutes. What is the nature of your medical emergency?" "Severe Ghostburn on neck, Frank is unconscious." The black burns on his neck mixed with the fact that he has a black eye, blood-stained clothes and graveyard dirt makes Frank look like a corpse. "Has CPR been started?" "Yes." I look at Joann and Frank, she's frantically and unsuccessfully trying to revive him. Ted is crouched in front of the ghost, trying to keep her calm. If she starts again this situation will get a whole lot worse. "Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The drowner is muttering to herself over and over. "Paramedics have arrived at your location." I hang up as EMT's burst through the door. Joe and Steve, familiar faces. They start the deliberator on Frank and with the first shock I he gasps and sits up. The EMT's rush to get him on a stretcher and into the ambulance. "I'm alive." Frank gasps out. "He's going to be alright. A night’s stay at most." Joe says as him and Steve start to wheel Frank out. They barely even give the dead woman a glance.
"Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The girl is rocking back and forth, docile for now. "I have strawberry jelly does that work for now? I promise we'll have real strawberries by tomorrow night." Says Ted in his best customer service voice. "Fine." The woman mutters. Ted winces in pain as she takes a hold of his hand as he guides her back to a barstool. Joann has already started cleaning up, more customers will be coming in soon and they won't be happy with the mess. "That will just be a minute ma'am. Jo, get her a cup of coffee on the house. Ivy-" "On it." I don't need to be told twice.
The difficult part now is figuring out how to make decent pancakes out of strawberry jelly. I end up just mixing it into the batter with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and more jelly as a pretty topping.
Joann takes the pancakes out and after a few minutes of staring at them I guess the woman is satisfied. She disappears, leaving behind a slightly wet five dollars and ninety-five cents. Ted is on the phone with the hospital getting Franks room number, he's going to go check on him. Ted is the only person who can leave on shift without punishment from the diner. Frank is going to have a price to pay when he gets back on top of almost dying.
The last time someone had to leave during a shift the diner took something close to them. Joann's little dog Denny didn't deserve what happened to him. It really traumatized her, going home at the end of a long shift to find her beloved Denny in the oven, fully cooked. She's lucky the diner only went for the dog; it must like her.
"I'll probably be gone for the rest of the night. I have to sort some things out." Says Ted apologetically as he grabs his coat and heads out the back. It's just me and Joann now.
Not ten seconds after he leaves the bells on the door jingle and a group of three regulars walk in. Construction workers who died in an accident last year. They were regulars in life to, the definition of loyal customers. The permanently dirty faces of Morty, Logan and Kyle are a welcome sight. The three are usually our friendliest customers but today their expressions are flat.
"Goodnight boys, we've had a crazy shift so far. Coffees all around?" Says Joann while passing out menus. Her voice magically sounds upbeat the arrival of friendly regulars. The men nod. I can hear everything being said at the bar while I'm prepping scrambled eggs.
"You look like shit Jo are you okay? That ghost burn is pretty bad" Asks Morty, he's had a thing for her since he first laid his ghostly gaze on her. Anyone would really, Joann is gorgeous. "I got attacked by a drowned dead woman and Frank is in the hospital." "Is he going to be alright?" "Yes, but he's off for the night, I hope the diner understands. He said something about some out of towners spray painting graves. Have you guys heard anything about that? We're expecting a busy night with more disturbed dead wandering around." "Yeah, those fuckers sprayed mine!" Chimes in Kyle angrily. "I can't even rest until it's all cleaned off!" "The graveyard staff will be on it tomorrow the latest. No need to get all rowdy." Says Logan. The oldest and calmest of the three. "You get to Rest in Peace I don't want to hear anything out of you!" Shouts Kyle. I've never seen him so worked up before. Ghosts can't help it when their resting place is disturbed, they get angry. Luckily for us, Morty and Logan are here to keep him in check. "Our graves are fine, yes, but we've been through this before Kyle remember when the graveyard staff had the day off and our graves were dirty?" Says Morty. "You know that's not the same you idiot. My grave was intentionally disturbed, and you have no idea how this feels. I'm so angry it’s scary. If I see those kids, I'm killing them." "We'll see how you feel tomorrow Kyle, after all this calms down a bit. What can I get for you for now?" Asks Joann. "The usual Hun, we all want the half off pancakes." Says Logan. "I want eggs." Says Kyle in a whiny voice. "Shut up and eat your pancakes unless you want to take a turn paying. A man permanently in his 60's is a sucker for a good deal. All I see when I go out now is the inflation. How is a ghost supposed to afford to die around her?" Says Logan. "Technically you don't have to eat." Says Joann. "I enjoy my small pleasures Hun." Logan says flashing her a smile full of cracked teeth. I get on it right away, the faster the food comes out the better especially with the mood Kyle seems to be in. I'm too tired to deal with any more shit tonight. "How you holding up Jo?" I ask as she comes back to grab the hot plates. "I'm scared, I think we should ask them to stay just to keep the other regulars in check." "That's a great idea, I'm running around with my head chopped off with Ted and Frank gone."
Dish and grill at the same time is not fun. The bells ring again, and I gasp in horror to see about twenty dead people shuffle through the door. They load themselves into the booths and fill up the remaining bar-seats. Shit.
"How many graves did those kids spray?" Asks Joann looking absolutely terrified. "If I had to guess, it looks like they got about twenty-five total if you count Hilda, Kyle and the drowned woman." Joann turns and runs out the door plates in hand.
I listen for a few minutes while Joann is taking the orders, waiting to get absolutely smacked. I hear disgruntled mumbling paired with Logan and Monty shouting for people to calm down. Even Kyle tells someone to shut up and just order something else if we're out. I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have the extra help. They don't seem to be as bad in groups, it's like they hold each other accountable. I guess even ghosts pass judgement.
I put my head down and get to work as dozens of pancake and omelet orders pour in. Joann is refilling drinks and running food so fast I'm worried her legs will give out. I can hear the occasional correction yell from Logan or Marty but other than that the next few hours pass without issue. A lonely trucker comes in around 3:00 am. and all the ghosts disappear the second he enters. A normie from out of town stopping by for a coffee and an English muffin.
"What are you? In the middle of a rush." He says in a thick southern accent. I watch as he makes a puzzled face as at all the full plates of food on every table and in front of almost every stool. Joann doesn't say anything to even try to satisfy him with an excuse.
"Your food will be out in a minute sir." The faster he's gone the better, the dead don't like to wait very long to get their diner back. "It is kind of weird Hun." Joann stares at him blankly as she hands him his food and a to-go cup. "Goodnight sir." "Yeah... Whatever you say." He is basically tripping on himself to get out faster. He must have gotten the normie chills. They never know exactly what's going on, but they can definitely sense it.
The second he's gone all the ghosts reappear again as if nothing happened, in the same seats, having the same conversations. The rest of the night goes by without incident. Ted comes back around 5:00 am. he informs us that Frank is alive and will be back into work tomorrow. He doesn't say much after that and me and Joann let him have his silence as he helps with the mound of dishes.
By 6:00 am. everybody is beat but it's finally the end of shift. The opening crew stumble in one by one, some of them even have the luxury of being a few minutes late. To them, Sullivan's is just a normal diner. The closest thing they'll see to danger on their shift is a regular unhappy customer, not a dead one. They are not in debt to some evil supernatural force and no one will kill their puppy if they call out. They never leave with life treating injuries and the obligation to come back the next day.
"Place is dirty, what did you guys even do all night?" Asks Jackie. I look at her and smile. "Sorry about that, we'll make sure it's much cleaner tomorrow." I say sarcastically. Joann gives her a withering look and we both head out together. "Get some rest Jo, as long as those graves get cleaned tonight tomorrow shouldn't be so bad." "You to Ivy, I sure hope so."

I know the amount is getting less and less, but apparently they are still out there. I vaguley recall one at Falls Township Park, by the bathroom at the playground (not the long one by the soccer fields, the other one) and some at the Oxford Valley Mall held out longer than I expected, but surely they are not around anymore.
Anyone know where there is a payphone, working or not, in the Bucks area? I know there are a few in Philly, but I was hoping for something north of Benjamin Rush State Park.

I hate customers, especially the dead ones. Theres a reason Im a cook and not a waitress. I walk out into the dining room to get my 3 am. coffee. I immediately feel a chill down my spine.
He's sitting at the bar, staring at me. This would be unsettling at the best of times, but our valued customer is translucent. There is a horrifying stream of blood pouring from his lips. He's here every night.
Sullivan’s diner is a paranormal hotspot, or we have a full staff of mentally ill employees with shared delusions. Either way, I'm to broke to quit. I finish pouring my coffee and stumble over myself to get back in the kitchen.
I've worked at Sullivan's for five years; you survive by adapting fast to whatever weird situation pops up. It's been pretty lax since Ted bought this place, right before I started. Before Ted, the old owner was clueless. He didn't know the importance of keeping the supernatural happy. It took the towns plumbing company a good two weeks of work to unclog his remains from the pipes.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, Ivy." Say's Ted with a grin.
He owns this place. The dead don't bother him as long as they pay with worldly money.
"You're an asshole." "Who was it?" "Bloody mouthed Randy." "Fucking gross man."
Normal customers can't see them. The dead only appear when the restaurant is empty and quickly vanish when a normie walks in. They are also the bulk of our nighttime clientele.
If we want to keep Sullivan's Diner in good standing with the dead, we have to serve them. Bad things happen when the customers aren't satisfied, very bad things.
"Randy wants another egg. The first one is too runny." Says Joann, she looks a little nervous.
Joann has been here a year, she's our longest employed waitress. Longest surviving waitress works too. Customer service is brutal. The things people do for a little over minimum wage, or to pay off a contract with a demon. Whatever unfortunate circumstances brought us here, we can’t leave until something external deems our time to be up.
The night shift consists of Ted, me, Joann and our dishwasher, Frank. You have to have something a little wrong with you to hold this job, but I guess that's why I'm here.
Ted sighs and drops another egg on the grill. I don't see why Randy cares so much, he doesn’t even eat them.
Joann take hes eggs out front again. The sound of a plate aggressively smashing on the floor comes from out front and we hear Joann scream.
"Fuck." Mutters Ted and we both rush out into the dining room.
Eggs and broken ceramic cover the floor. Bloody mouthed Randy has corned Joann and I can hear him gargle something into her ear.
"Eggs... he'd like more eggs, not runny." Her eyes are wide with fear. Ted rushes back into the kitchen to make them again. The customer is always right I guess.
Frank pops his head out to see what all the commotion is about. I can see him shake his head and mutter something about at least he doesn’t have to wash the plate. He disappears again a second later.
It's been months since something like this happened, and Randy is usually a very laid-back dead guy. Me and Joann exchange helpless glances as we wait for Ted to come back with the eggs. I have to break my gaze and turn away, so Randy doesn’t see the look of absolute disgust at his appearance. Yet another reason I’d make a terrible waitress.
Ted comes back and slams a plate on the counter. The ghosts are known to be docile and harmless as long as they get what they want, a hot plate of food, and some decent service.
"Randy, back off." Ted's voice is low.
Randy turns back to the counter and sits. He inspects the eggs. "Good." He gurgles, blood dribbles out of his mouth and down his throat.
Joann composes herself, tucking loose strands of red hair back into her messy bun. She starts a fresh pot of coffee and me and Ted head back to the kitchen.
"Freak." I mutter. "Valued. Customer." Corrects Ted sarcastically.
I can see Randy through the window in the kitchen door. He is just staring blankly at his eggs, and he will do so until he is satisfied. Eventually he will disappear, leaving a plate of cold eggs, a ten-dollar bill, and a lukewarm warm cup of coffee behind. At least he tips.
It’s been a pretty slow night all things considered. Ted remedies this by making me and Frank scrub down and polish every stainless-steel surface in sight. The place is cleaner than a retired addict's spoon by the time we’re done with it.
Our next regular walks in, an old woman named Hilda. She must have died in a peaceful way, she is not covered in the obvious injuries many of our otherworldly customers have. You can usually tell, but most ghosts aren’t happy when you ask. I know enough to know that only restless souls who never found peace after their death frequent here.
Her appearance is welcomed warmly as a change in energy. Hilda orders her usual, a corn muffin, extra hot. She sits in her booth and mimes sipping a cup of green tea.
She looks usually chatters away with Joann. I’m sure she mainly comes for the conversation. A lonely old woman, almost like every other daytime customer, but dead. They can move objects, but don’t consume them. I’ve never figured out how ghost physics work.
Tonight is different though, the front of house is quiet, and I catch a glimpse of Joann unnecessarily dusting. I guess Hilda wasn’t in the mood to talk, that’s the first I’ve ever seen.
I’m pretty sure her spirit lingers around waiting for her husband Jerry to die. I catch him sometimes early in the morning as I’m leaving. The old bastard hobbles in here two or three times a week at 5am. for a black coffee and a plain pancake. We don’t talk about the spirits but it’s almost as if he knows she’s here, the two always pick the same booth in the corner by the window. Old habits take longer to die than people I guess. I venture out into the dining room again to top up my coffee.
“Hello Hilda, how are you?” She doesn’t even look up; she just stares almost angrily at her muffin. Joann gives me a glance and I turn to head back into the kitchen.
“Not hot enough.” Comes as raspy voice from Hilda’s booth in the corner.
“Let me fix that for you.” I say and take the muffin off of her table. It is quite literally steaming but I’m not willing to risk another Randy incident.
“Another one?” Asks Ted as he watches me microwave the muffin an excessive amount. The damn thing will explode if I heat it up anymore.
“Yeah, Hilda.” “This isn’t good, something’s up.” Ted says almost to himself. “Don’t break this plate I don’t feel like taking out sharp trash.” Says Frank. Me and Ted give him a look.
I take the muffin back out to her table and Hilda doesn’t even look up again.
“Not hot enough.” “Hilda it’s very hot I promise you.”
Hilda reaches out, head still down and grabs my wrist with a translucent hand. I feel cold wrap around me and loose my breath. I haven’t had one touch me in years, the feeling is absolutely horrible. Death comes a little too close. Again, I could never be a waitress.
I drop the plate on the floor and Hilda abruptly let's go. I feel the warmth of my own blood rush back into my wrist.
“I want… a hot… corn muffin...” She says it almost in a whisper.
Ted comes bursting out of the kitchen holding another plate, it’s so hot he’s wearing an oven mitt. This plate has an almost black muffin on it, steam is swirling up into Ted’s face fogging his glasses.
“I’m so sorry about that Hilda, here you go. Girls get into the back, now.”
Hilda slowly nods in approval and me and Joann hurry out of the dining room.
“What the fuck Ted?” Asks Joann. “Yeah, what the fuck?” I rub at my sore wrist, what looks like a mild case of frostbite has appeared in finger forum. “Yeah, what the fuck?” Chimes in Frank.
“I don’t know exactly what’s going on but it’s not good. We need to keep the customers happy, just stick it out until sunrise and I’ll try to see what’s happening. You know how important this is.” Ted looks instantly exhausted, like he’s been up for days. I can see the worry lines forming quickly in his face.
“I’m not going back out there.” Says Joann. “Customer service Joann.” “I don’t care Ted I’ve had enough for tonight please don’t make me go back out there.” “Then you’re putting us all in danger. Don’t make me send you home early.” Ted’s voice is stern. Joann eyes widen at the threat.
Getting sent home early when you work at Sullivan’s almost certainly means you don’t be coming back, at least in one piece. I stay quiet, she knew the risk when she started working here. You simply can’t bail mid shift, it would put the whole town in danger.
We are just as, if not more important that the police when it comes to keeping the community safe. We work in the background, but if we weren’t here the town of Lastdale would crumble from the inside out. There’s more going on here than anyone fully understands.
“Yes Ted, I’m sorry.” She looks as the floor, tears welling in her eyes and hurry’s back to the front.
I do feel bad, I don’t think she’s ever worked a day like this before and the first time the regulars turn on you is bound to make anyone scared.
“We’re two plates short boss, I need them in the morning.” Ted barely nods in acknowledgement at Frank.
The diner has to stay fully stocked, we can’t risk running out of anything. We have to be overly cautious so even two broken plates will quickly be replaced. As long as we’re running smoothly, the spirits have less of a reason to become aggressive.
The rest of the night goes by quietly. We serve a few of the usual drunks, some truckers, but no more supernatural guests. I can’t shake the feeling that something bigger is off. Our regulars are almost never aggressive. Anyone worth their salt knows the ghosts respond to things going on behind the scenes. I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow, I might even have to speak to a customer or two.
The bells on the front door jangle as I walk in to start my shift. 11:00pm. every night the bullshit starts again. My arm is sore from where Hilda grabbed me yesterday, luckily the frostbite seems to only be superficial but I can still feel a blister forming. I also have blue finger shaped marks on my arm. We call it Ghostburn. I don't get paid enough for this shit.
"Goodnight ladies." I say, holding the door open for the afternoon shift. "Goodnight Ivy, I started you a pot of coffee." Says Amy as she rushes to grab her coat and keys. "Heads up Ted's not in a good mood." Chimes in Laura. "Thank you."
They look exhausted. They don't deal with the dead, but the creepy old men who come in before or after a few drinks are bad enough. I see three of them at the bar and rush past them avoiding any drunken conversation or unruly comments. I head to the back and catch the daytime cook, George as he's leaving.
"Good fucking luck man, the shipment didn't come in. I had to 86 half the goddamn kitchen." He says while hastily taking off his dirty apron.
"Oh shit, where's Ted?" "He emptied all the cash out of the register and booked it to try to get to Stockshop before they close. We're even out of freaking cheese man. American cheese, guess how I had to make omelets all day? Supplemental cheddar. This is bullshit, people were not happy I can tell you that."
He doesn't even make it all the way out the door before shoving a handful of chewing tobacco into his mouth, not a good sign. I notice he didn't take out the trash, a nip bottle that he made a half assed attempt to his pokes out from under used parchment paper. If there's one, there's definitely five of six laying around.
With the way the customers were acting yesterday this could mean serious trouble. Stockshop closes at eleven thirty and the dead start coming in a little after midnight. That's when our half-off pancake special starts. Dead people love pancakes.
I hear the front door as Joann walks in. She looks like absolute shit and definitely spent the last ten minutes before her shift starts crying in her car. She barely gets a chance to put her stuff down before having to take the orders of some more alcoholics. If tonight is anything like last night, they'll be the tolerable ones.
"Heads up Jo we're out of cheese, and strawberries, and muffins and spinach. The delivery never came in." She stares at me and I can see more tears welling up in her eyes.
"Ted's at Stockshop now try not to worry about it too much." "They're going to eat my soul or something." "Only if they want a spinach omelet or strawberry pancakes." I wink at her and she gives an exasperated sigh. I glance at the clock, 11:30 pm. Ted comes bursting through the front door groceries in hand. He runs through the swinging doors while checking his watch.
"You got everything?" I ask, opening bags and starting to put things away. "They didn't have strawberries, I got everything but the strawberries." He's breathing heavily. "What do I do?" Asks Joann.
"If they order strawberries try to get them to pick something else. They'll start coming in soon try to stay calm I can't have everyone panicking. Where's Frank? We'll need him if shit really hits the fan." It's 11:35 pm. now, Frank should have come in five minutes ago. He's late. Never once in the ten years he's worked here have I known Frank to be even a minute late. It's dangerous and only the dumb or dead would risk not showing up for their shift on time. Midnight is getting closer and if Frank doesn't show up, we're more than screwed.
11:40 pm. comes and goes and I can see Ted look sweatier and sweatier. 11:50 pm. Ted is packing back and forth wringing his hands together. 11:55 pm. has everyone sick to their stomach. 11:59 pm. the front door opens, and Frank comes hurtling in.
"What the fuck Frank?" Starts Ted, he stops talking as soon as he gets a good look at him. Frank is filthy, covered head to toe in mud. Blood is running down his face and he has a black eye. His nose is definitely broken, and his greying hair is a hot mess.
"Are you okay?" I ask and Joann is already rushing to open the first aid kit. "Some drunk out of towner kids were spray painting gravestones, we're going to have a busy night. I fought them off and called the cops, but they did a lot of damage. It's bound to have pissed off some spirits. It looks like this was their second night pulling that crap." "That checks out." Says Ted.
We all jump a little as the front door chimes. Looking through the doors the woman who enters is not anyone we recognize. A new customer. She has the trademark ghostly translucence. Her hair covers her face and I see her shuffle to the bar. She's sopping wet and is dripping real water everywhere. A drowner, those are horrible to clean up after. Their bad mood also often makes them bad tippers.
"Get out there Joann. We have a customer." She gives Ted a pleading look but does not open her mouth. The only thing she will get is a reminder that she landed herself here at this job to pay off some kind of spiritual debt. Shorting the supernatural comes with grave consequences.
I wince a little as Joann enters the dining room and the woman looks up. Her skin is bloated and pale. Blue veins can be seen under her skin. She smiles at Joann and I can see a hush if water spill down her parted lips.
"What can I get for you mam?" Joann says, keeping her composure. "Pancakes half off?" The woman gurgles slowly. She coughs and dirty brown water splatters onto the counter. "That would be correct mam." "I'd like two pancakes please... strawberry." "I'm very sorry, we're all out of strawberry." Says Joann nervously. I can see her take a quick step back as the woman stands up.
Me, Frank and Ted rush out into the front just as the woman jumps over the counter and onto Joann. The poor girl is having a tough week. The drowner is scratching at Joann and pulling her hair. I can see rapidly forming frostbite appear on her face and arms as Joann unsuccessfully tries to push her off.
Frank grabs for the woman and she turns on him. He screams in shock, but the sound dies out quickly as the woman wraps her wet hands around his throat. Franks face is turning blue and his skin starts to bubble. He's clawing at her hands, but she just won't let go.
I takes me and Ted to rip her off, burning our hands in the process. Working on the grill this week is not going to be fun. Frank is unconscious on the floor. "My grave has been disturbed. I cannot go home until it's fixed. I want strawberry pancakes." The woman says wetly. She coughs more brown water onto the floor.
She's sitting on the floor now, seemly calming down. She's pulling at a loose thread on her dirty dress. I can't see her face, but I hear her start sobbing. Joann jumps up and rushes over to Frank who's not moving. He has severe Ghostburn on his neck and the skin has turned black.
"I don’t think he’s breathing." She says, she unbuttons his shirt and starts to do CPR." "Call 911." Says Ted. "On it." I rush over to the old-fashioned payphone next to the register and dial. "911 what's your emergency?" Says a bored sounding woman. I recognize her. Doreen is one of our small towns only two dispatchers. As the only night shift worker, we've unfortunately spoken several times before.
"It's Sullivan's diner, we need paramedics. The usual." I really don't need to explain much, anyone in any nightshift job knows exactly what's going on. We're all bound by the same obligations, keep the town safe, the dead happy, and don't ask to many questions. "Paramedics are on route to you now. It will be less than five minutes. What is the nature of your medical emergency?"
"Severe Ghostburn on neck, Frank is unconscious." The black burns on his neck mixed with the fact that he has a black eye, blood-stained clothes and graveyard dirt makes Frank look like a corpse. "Has CPR been started?"
"Yes." I look at Joann and Frank, she's frantically and unsuccessfully trying to revive him. Ted is crouched in front of the ghost, trying to keep her calm. If she starts again this situation will get a whole lot worse. "Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The drowner is muttering to herself over and over.
"Paramedics have arrived at your location." I hang up as EMT's burst through the door. Joe and Steve, familiar faces. They start the deliberator on Frank and with the first shock I he gasps and sits up. The EMT's rush to get him on a stretcher and into the ambulance. "I'm alive." Frank gasps out.
"He's going to be alright. A night’s stay at most." Joe says as him and Steve start to wheel Frank out. They barley even give the dead woman a glance. "Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes." The girl is rocking back and forth, docile for now.
"I have strawberry jelly does that work for now? I promise we'll have real strawberries by tomorrow night." Says Ted in his best customer service voice. "Fine." The woman mutters. Ted winces in pain as she takes a hold of his hand as he guides her back to a barstool. Joann has already started cleaning up, more customers will be coming in soon and they won't be happy with the mess.
"That will just be a minute ma'am. Jo, get her a cup of coffee on the house. Ivy-" "On it." I don't need to be told twice.
The difficult part now is figuring out how to make decent pancakes out of strawberry jelly. I end up just mixing it into the batter with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and more jelly as a pretty topping. Joann takes the pancakes out and after a few minutes of staring at them I guess the woman is satisfied.
She disappears, leaving behind a slightly wet five dollars and ninety-five cents. Ted is on the phone with the hospital getting Franks room number, he's going to go check on him. Ted is the only person who can leave on shift without punishment from the diner. Frank is going to have a price to pay when he gets back on top of almost dying.
The last time someone had to leave during a shift the diner took something close to them. Joann's little dog Denny didn't deserve what happened to him. It really traumatized her, going home at the end of a long shift to find her beloved Denny in the oven, fully cooked. She's lucky the diner only went for the dog; it must like her.
"I'll probably be gone for the rest of the night. I have to sort some things out." Says Ted apologetically as he grabs his coat and heads out the back. It's just me and Joann now.
Not ten seconds after he leaves the bells on the door jingle and a group of three regulars walk in. Construction workers who died in an accident last year. They were regulars in life to, the definition of loyal customers. The permanently dirty faces of Morty, Logan and Kyle are a welcome sight. The three are usually our friendliest customers but today their expressions are flat.
"Goodnight boys, we've had a crazy shift so far. Coffees all around?" Says Joann while passing out menus. Her voice magically sounds upbeat the arrival of friendly regulars. The men nod. I can hear everything being said at the bar while I'm prepping scrambled eggs.
"You look like shit Jo are you okay? That ghost burn is pretty bad" Asks Morty, he's had a thing for her since he first laid his ghostly gaze on her. Anyone would really, Joann is gorgeous. "I got attacked by a drowned dead woman and Frank is in the hospital." "Is he going to be alright?"
"Yes, but he's off for the night, I hope the diner understands. He said something about some out of towners spray painting graves. Have you guys heard anything about that? We're expecting a busy night with more disturbed dead wandering around."
"Yeah, those fuckers sprayed mine!" Chimes in Kyle angrily. "I can't even rest until it's all cleaned off!" "The graveyard staff will be on it tomorrow the latest. No need to get all rowdy." Says Logan. The oldest and calmest of the three.
"You get to Rest in Peace I don't want to hear anything out of you!" Shouts Kyle. I've never seen him so worked up before. Ghosts can't help it when their resting place is disturbed, they get angry. Luckily for us, Morty and Logan are here to keep him in check.
"Our graves are fine, yes, but we've been through this before Kyle remember when the graveyard staff had the day off and our graves were dirty?" Says Morty. "You know that's not the same you idiot. My grave was intentionally disturbed, and you have no idea how this feels. I'm so angry it’s scary. If I see those kids, I'm killing them."
"We'll see how you feel tomorrow Kyle, after all this calms down a bit. What can I get for you for now?" Asks Joann. "The usual Hun, we all want the half off pancakes." Says Logan. "I want eggs." Says Kyle in a whiny voice.
"Shut up and eat your pancakes unless you want to take a turn paying. A man permanently in his 60's is a sucker for a good deal. All I see when I go out now is the inflation. How is a ghost supposed to afford to die around her?" Says Logan.
"Technically you don't have to eat." Says Joann. "I enjoy my small pleasures Hun." Logan says flashing her a smile full of cracked teeth. I get on it right away, the faster the food comes out the better especially with the mood Kyle seems to be in. I'm too tired to deal with any more shit tonight. "How you holding up Jo?" I ask as she comes back to grab the hot plates.
"I'm scared, I think we should ask them to stay just to keep the other regulars in check."
"That's a great idea, I'm running around with my head chopped off with Ted and Frank gone." Dish and grill at the same time is not fun. The bells ring again, and I gasp in horror to see about twenty dead people shuffle through the door. They load themselves into the booths and fill up the remaining bar-seats. Shit.
"How many graves did those kids spray?" Asks Joann looking absolutely terrified. "If I had to guess, it looks like they got about twenty-five total if you count Hilda, Kyle and the drowned woman." Joann turns and runs out the door plates in hand.
I listen for a few minutes while Joann is taking the orders, waiting to get absolutely smacked. I hear disgruntled mumbling paired with Logan and Monty shouting for people to calm down. Even Kyle tells someone to shut up and just order something else if we're out. I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have the extra help. They don't seem to be as bad in groups, it's like they hold each other accountable. I guess even ghosts pass judgement.
I put my head down and get to work as dozens of pancake and omelet orders pour in. Joann is refilling drinks and running food so fast I'm worried her legs will give out. I can hear the occasional correction yell from Logan or Marty but other than that the next few hours pass without issue. A lonely trucker comes in around 3:00 am. and all the ghosts disappear the second he enters. A normie from out of town stopping by for a coffee and an English muffin.
"What are you? In the middle of a rush." He says in a thick southern accent. I watch as he makes a puzzled face as at all the full plates of food on every table and in front of almost every stool. Joann doesn't say anything to even try to satisfy him with an excuse. "Your food will be out in a minute sir." The faster he's gone the better, the dead don't like to wait very long to get their diner back.
"It is kind of weird Hun." Joann stares at him blankly as she hands him his food and a to-go cup. "Goodnight sir." "Yeah... Whatever you say." He is basically tripping on himself to get out faster. He must have gotten the normie chills. They never know exactly what's going on, but they can definitely sense it.
The second he's gone all the ghosts reappear again as if nothing happened, in the same seats, having the same conversations. The rest of the night goes by without incident. Ted comes back around 5:00 am. he informs us that Frank is alive and will be back into work tomorrow. He doesn't say much after that and me and Joann let him have his silence as he helps with the mound of dishes.
By 6:00 am. everybody is beat but it's finally the end of shift. The opening crew stumble in one by one, some of them even have the luxury of being a few minutes late. To them, Sullivan's is just a normal diner. The closest thing they'll see to danger on their shift is a regular unhappy customer, not a dead one. They are not in debt to some evil supernatural force and no one will kill their puppy if they call out. They never leave with life treating injuries and the obligation to come back the next day.
"Place is dirty, what did you guys even do all night?" Asks Jackie. I look at her and smile. "Sorry about that, we'll make sure it's much cleaner tomorrow." I say sarcastically. Joann gives her a withering look and we both head out together. "Get some rest Jo, as long as those graves get cleaned tonight tomorrow shouldn't be so bad." "You to Ivy, I sure hope so."