Finished my 2nd attempt about an hour ago and PASSED! (Failed first attempt by 1) What a huge weight off my shoulders. My test had a lot of Options (max gain, loss, taxes, cost basis, TV/IV). I think I saw maybe 1 Margin question (don’t overdose on Margin). Also a healthy amount of Mutual Funds/Equity/Munis.
Not going to lie, test was hard and wasn’t sure if I passed. Trust your gut. I was more inclined to mark questions for review earlier than later, especially the first 10-15 questions.
Appreciate this forum and the resources it has provided. Used Deans videos A LOT as a supplement to STC…especially the last handful of days before the test. Big shoutout to Dean. On to 66 with a short turnaround time. Good luck all!

I know it doesn’t matter, HOWEVER. trying to visualize this scene is giving me brainrot. this happened in their group’s house too but the table was a lot smaller. how are their legs working in this scene with Dean? these expert visualizations are if they were 70% legs too so,,
marking as spoiler just in case

Overall Ratings

I'm going to go over each team and give them a grade and post my thoughts about the direction of their team. I've already covered the Tigers, so this post is about everyone else.
I want to see teams building for a future championships. I give strong favor to teams with a clear direction who perform well to that direction. Everything else is based off context of their situation. A team in rebuild mode can earn just as high of a grade as a championship team and I'll make note of teams with no clear direction or teams peddling in the middle as I'll tend to give lower grades. This post is more of a front office and performance rating.
Calgary: B+
Red Deer: B
Edmonton: C+
Lethbridge: D
Swift: F

Calgary Hitmen

Pre-Season I had them ranked in the 4-5-6-7th range. They finished 9th. I said they were "stuck". Every year they had a few important guys leaving, but every year they were developing some good players. As such they were hanging around the middle of the pack.
In 2021-2022 they had some big troubles. They were in the middle of the pack and fell from earth barely escaping and holding onto the 7th seed by 1 point. This was a big catalyst for change.
Front office Changes
Well they made MASSIVE Directional changes this season. They parted ways with GM Jeff Chynoweth before the season started. They hired longtime Everett GM Garry Davidson. He was only let go by Everett during the pandemic seasons due to "financial hardships" the Everett franchise was going through. Everett Won 5 division titles in 7 years with him at the helm.
The hitman also fired their entire coaching staff at the end of this current season. So this past season was a season of change which was corroborated by their player movement.
Acquired
Pasha Bocharov(19,D,0.22), Jason Spizawka(19 depth)
Connor Dale (18,F,0.23PPG),
Fraser Leonard (D,17,0.18ppg) , Justin Ivanusec (17, 0.12ppg)
Draft Picks: Four 2nds, three 3rds, 5th, two 6th, 4th round.
Sent Away
Sean Tschgirl (20, 1ppg), Tyson Galloway (20, D, 0.49ppg) , Trey Patterson (20),
Grayden Sipemann(19), Tomas Marinkovic(19, 0.5ppg), Carter MacAdmans (F,19 0.5ppg), Brandon Wynott(F,19,0.5ppg)
Matteo Danis(18), London Hoilet(18),
Draft Picks: 2nd, 4th, two 5ths
Player Change Summary.
They gutted the older depth core of the team. In return they received a lot of early draft picks, filler vets, and a couple lower grade younger guys to fill in for the players they shipped away.
One thing really bugs me as a bad move. They had NO overagers to start this past season. 2 were at NHL Camp, and they released 2 (Keagan Slaney, and Blake Heward) just prior to the season starting.
They remained without a 3rd Over-ager until October 15th, in which they spent a 2nd round pick. They handcuffed their season start and missed the playoffs by spending a 2nd rounder. It would have been better to keep an OA defenceman. In hindsight this was a poor decision.
The Rebuild
They only really sacrificed this past season, As they still have some talent in their roster. Their longtime starting goaltender is 19, their are parts of their roster to like for next season.
In the 2024 draft as well as 2025 they have extra 2nd and 3rd round picks, so they will assuredly be building around that in the future.
To me this is more of a 1 year "stealth rebuild". Next year they have flexibility. Perhaps they have an underdog "up year", or perhaps they become sellers. Next year will be very interesting to see what they do and give us a better indication as to what their long term goals are. To me their trades suggest they wanted to build flexibility, rather than a clear rebuild direction.
Grade: B+
They loose marks due to their OA purchase and missing the playoffs. To escape mediocrity they needed a change and props to them for making difficult decisions. I am a bit surprised they couldn't get a 1st round pick with Tyson Galloway or Sean Tschigerl, but overall I've liked what they've done

Edmonton Oil Kings

Pre-season I thought they might be in competition for a playoff spot, but they would be on the outside looking in. They ended up finishing with 27 wins and only 9 points out of a playoff spot after a late season charge.
Their moves suggested their goal was to make playoffs, which didn't happen. They had massive injury issues and If that hadn't of been the case they may have pushed Prince Albert for the last playoff spot.
Last time in the junior hockey cycle they had a few very poor seasons, built through the draft and when those draft picks matured, they had a couple very solid years including a championship in 2021-2022.
Unfortunately for them, two pandemic seasons crushed two of their "Up seasons". This go-around they are trying to speed up their recovery. It's been tried ten ways to Sunday and pretty much everyone has failed and wrecked their "up seasons"
Acquired
Ty Nash(20, 1.12ppg) , Aiden Litke (20, D, 1.2ppg), Marc Lajoie(20, D, 0.85ppg), Skyler Bruce(20, 0.98ppg))
Matthew Gallant(19, D, 0.34ppg)
Gracyn Sawchyn(18, 1.19ppg), Roan Woodward(18 , 0.63PPG)
Ismail Abougouche (17, D, 0.05ppg), Smyth Rebman (17, 0.27ppg), Andrej Tomasec (I) ( 17, 0.1ppg)
Lukas Sawchyn (16, US prospect),
Tracen Ashley (15 5th round draft pick),
Draft Picks: 1st, two 2nd, two 3rd, 6th,7th two 8th,
Sent Away
Wyatt Wilson(20, d, 0.11ppg) , Jacob Hoffrogge(20, D, 0.33ppg)
Mason Finley (19, 0.15ppg), Nathan Piling (19 , 0.57ppg), Rilen Kovacevic (19, 0.62ppg), Rhett Melnyk(19, 0.22ppg), Luca Hauf(19, 0.36ppg)
Carter Kowalyk (18, 0.27ppg), Vojtech Port (I) (18, D, 0.36ppg) , Dawson Seitz(18, 0.27ppg)
Jake Pilon(17, G ),
Draft Picks: 1st, three 2nd's, three 3rd's, 4th, three 5th's, two 6th's, two 7th's
Summary
Sent away 11 players, received 10 and a couple prospects. They already had quite a few draft picks in their draft cupboards. It looks like they gave some of that up in combination with their older or depth guys to acquire a more balanced group of players in their "down cycle" years. Here is a quote from their GM with their huge trade deadline splash Acquiring Gracyn Sawchyn
Quote from their GM

“To land a player like Gracyn, who is one of the top 2005 (age) players in our league and a second-round NHL pick, I knew I’d have to give up pretty significant assets,” said Hill.

My take on this is that they've built up quite a few draft picks and instead of going through a long slow rebuild with some painful seasons, they spent some of those assets on players for the now.
I do like Edmonton's GM, he has shown he can build championship teams and it a wizard at acquiring great overagers for cheap. To be honest, I'm surprised he hasn't graduated to the Pro's.
Why I think their Direction is Risky.
The Oil Kings built up their 2025 draft, which is the draft next season. If they do make playoffs next season and have a 6-8th place finish, they will pick in the 6th/8th/9th/10th range instead of the 1/2/3/4 range. That will dilute their 2025 draft.
The picks they gave up subtracted from having 2 strong drafts in a row and I really feel this is the most important thing for potential championship teams. When that core mature at 18 and 19 you stand for having exceptionally strong teams. For that reason I'm really hesitant on the state of their rebuild.
The Oil Kings talent is a bit split. They have a strong 17 year old group which turns 18 next season, and a strong 2025 draft cupboard. I don't like the split talent. They will need significant recruiting and incredible finds in the draft, or rely on heavy trading to have a championship run season.
A player like Gracyn Sawchyn who's 19 won't likely be here at 20. Do you loose him for nothing? That would be a big hit to the draft capital they sent away to acquire him for a couple of "down" seasons.
Then do you sell him at the deadline? You kinda need to in order to recover those assets back. Acquiring him in the first place then makes no sense unless you intend to trade him for a premium at the trade deadline.
To me their direction is a lot more muddier and split. I see them potentially hampering their peaks in order to be better during the lows. IF, they can make significant recruitments and have legendary drafts, it could turn out very well, but at this point I don't quite see it yet. I'm very curious how the next few seasons play out.
Grade: C+
I want to reserve the right to retroactively change this to either an F or an A because they took a big risk with their trade splash. I really need to evaluate their team for next season before making a defined call which I haven't done yet.

Swift Current

Context
In 2017-2018 the Broncos sold the farm for a memorial Cup Run. This is also why their is a rule that you can't trade 17's unless they waive their no trade clause. The GM at the time Manny Viveiros sold everything in the cupboard then left the team for the Pro's afterwards. The Broncos did get a memorial cup run.
The Broncos have missed the playoffs every year since. Of course two of them were pandemic years in which no playoffs happened, but even then they wouldn't have made the playoffs.
In 2023-2024, 6 seasons later the Broncos made their first playoff appearance...This was the cost of selling EVERYTHING. 6 SEASONS OF LOSING HOCKEY.
Pre-Season
Pre-Season I said that the Broncos look to have strong team this year as well as the next couple seasons. They had a strong bunch of 19's, a weaker 18 year old group, as well as some good younger players. Their roster was a bit split.
Note: Their 18 year old group had an exceptionally strong season and kinda came out from nowhere. Rylan Gould went from 4 points to 68. Luke MIstelbacher 16 to 53 points. These are massive increases.
Rough Start
What I didn't like, is last year the core group missed the playoffs and this season they got off to a very rocky start. They had a ton of early season injuries, as well as players returning late from NHL Camps. While a team like Red Deer put on the brakes, Swift Current went full throttle.
Trade Deadline
If I remember correctly At the trade deadline they were not in a Home Playoff Spot. Despite this they decided to make some Major trade acquisitions. Acquiring Connor Geekie and Tyson Galloway. They decided to roll the dice with the conference "up for grabs"
Acquisitions
Ryan McCleary(20), Zach Turner(19, D,0.32ppg), Matthew Kieper (19,3rd Goalie), Connor Geekie (19, 1.8ppg), Tyson Galloway (20,D 0.49ppg)
Draft Picks: 2nd, 4th, 5th, two 6th.
They also brought in a 4th line grinder and a top line defenceman (Jakub Dvorak) in their Import Drafts. Dvorak likely won't be back as a 19 as he is signed.
Sent Away
Josh Davies(19. 1.1ppg), Tyson Yaramenko (18, 0.24ppg), Josh Fluker (17,D,0.23ppg) , Maddix McCagherty (17,0.46ppg) , Sam Ward, (18, D, 0.24ppg),
Draft Picks: Two 1st, two 2nd, two 3rd, 4th,5th, 6th,7th 9th,
Trade Summary
Lost: two 1sts, a 2nd, two 3rds, Lost two 17's two 18's, one 19. Gained a 6th round pick. Was a heavy Price.
Thoughts
In 2019 the Broncos found: Josh Filmon, Josh Davies, Reid Dyck, Mathew Ward, Owen Pickering, Connor Hvidston.
In 2020 they found Brady Birnie, Rylan Gould, Graydsen Burzysnki, Tyson Yaremko, Connor Gabriel, Joey Rocha,
In 2021: Clarke Caswell, Josh Fluker, Maddix McCagherty, Dawson Gerwing
Their 2019 draft was batshit nuts with 6 whl stars. 2020 draft above average, 2021 draft was very solid.
The fact that these guys missed the playoffs last season, should not have been possible. They had a roster to dominate this season. Something is not right here.....
With the Drafts the broncos have had they should have 2-3 very good seasons. The Broncos should be competing with the Tigers to run the table, in fact they should have the upper hand in this regard.
Are players asking out of swift current? Why was Josh Davies and Tyson Yarameko traded? They traded a lot of young talent and picks away, and it's decimated their "up seasons". Now they traded Mathew Ward to their competition....
To me this is a clear sign their management has a thorough lack of long term planning. To see a team with this much drafted talent go nowhere is utterly shocking.
Grade: F
First I want to give them props for their scouting through the draft. They found some absolute gems and whomever was responsible for their 2019 draft, deserves MASSIVE ACCOLADES. (Looking back it looks like former GM Dean Brockman played a huge part in this role) It's too bad he stepped down back in October of 2021 because he built huge pieces of the team and I'd bet he would have led them in a much better direction.
However......The Broncos deserve a letter below a failing grade. They decimated a 6 year recovery. To me I'm appalled their GM won executive of the year. Winning an award for butchering a 6 year recovery makes me realize how the people who make these decisions are not necessarily the most hockey saavy people.
I originally gave them a C because for next season, they still had real solid scoring, solid goaltending, but their defence had high turnover. But trading their heart and soul guy to their direct competition
I think their front office team should be let go instead of winning an award. Great scouting to find all these players yes, but time and time again we see great scouting ruined with a lack of direction and planning.
Future Draft Picks
2024 - They have a late first round pick (17th) and missing a 2nd,3rd,4th,6th
2025 - No 1st, 2nd, 3rd rounder
2026 - No 1st,2nd,3rd, 4th,
They get an F because they absolutely butchered their recovery. I think they were tempted by "other" factors. I think they saw the Tigers would be strong next season, they also saw the conference up for grabs and decided to split their recovery in an attempt to go for it. They were tempted and failed the temptation.

Red Deer Rebels

They returned a lot of players on their roster and were expected to be one of the top teams. They had a new coach, they brought in 2 Overagers in Carson Latimer and Elias Carmichael for a cheap cost. They had an older veteran defensive group and they had a lot of 3rd line type guys looking to push up. Secondary scoring was noted as a potential issue.
Acquired
Nicholas Andrusiak(19,0.13ppg) , Carson Latimer (20, F), Elias Carmichael (20, D)
Draft Picks: 2nd, 4th
Departed
Kyle Kelsey(G), Escalus Burlock,
Draft Picks: two 3rd, 5th
Thoughts
The rebels chose not to go for it this season and a quick look at their roster gives you an obvious reason why they didn't. They retain a lot of players again next season. To go for it means you give some of that up.
They seem to be doing a very good job at staying in the Home Ice playoff range. This is the 3rd year in a row they've made it to round 2 and their are many indications they could reach that level again next season.
Goals and secondary scoring and powerplay was an issue for them this year. While they didn't score a lot for next season they only loose their top scorer. #2 through #10 all stay, minus one of them will likely be lost due to OA numbers, so what they improve upon will easily replace what they lost.
Injuries
The Rebels could not stay healthy. They played the majority of their games with only 2 overagers. Carson Latimer missed half the season, they finished the season with Elias Carmichael on the shelf.
They had an injury plagued season where both their goaltenders were not dressed in their last 2 playoff games. It's quite crazy they had a 16 year old with 1 pre-season game of experience dressed for their last 2 playoff games. I seem to be noticing more goaltending injuries the past few seasons through many different leagues
Overall Thoughts
My thoughts are neutral on Red Deer. This should have been their year to add and take a shot. But they struggled and had an injury plagued season, so putting the breaks on is easily understood. They ended up firing their first year coach and their new coach pushed them into the 2nd round of the playoffs.
The marks I want to take-away from them for not taking a shot at a championship, I give back for recognizing this wasn't their year.
Their are some teams that get stuck in the middle ground. Not poor enough to tank, but not good enough to go for it. Brent Sutter has been a GM for a long time, and the last 3 seasons Red Deer has had some pretty good regular season finishes, but playoffs have been mixed.
I'd call it a similar position to the Tigers were in after Desjardins left the first time in 2010. The Tigers were in that space for 7 years before they fell. This is the 3rd year the rebels are in that space.
Rebels played it safe, they didn't make a panic shot at a title when their group for next year also looks strong. A a side note, their is only soo loong you can stay in this range when eventually fans start getting upset that potential doesn't turn into serious runs.
Grade: B

Lethbridge Hurricanes

Going into this season I was expecting them in the 5th to 8th range. They are spending a lot of picks to improve their roster every year and it's leading to roster depth issues in which they attempt to shore it up through trade and inevitably end up in the same place they started which is in the middle. What is saving them is that they are drafting/recruiting really well. Scouting and recruitment A+, planning C-.
They are on a boat with a big leak, but have a huge bucket to bail them out.
I think this season was a poor season for Lethbridge. I think it was poor because they made poor roster decisions to bolster in a down season, when they should possibly be looking to rebuild for a future year. They do seem to refuse to go down a rebuild path, so they are perennially stuck in the middle and very slowly losing ground.
The reasons mentioned above are why in the 2010's they missed the playoffs for 6 straight years. I think they are heading to the same place, but at a slower pace.
Acquisitions
Dylan Sydor (20, .80ppg), Sean Tschigerl(20, 1ppg),
Hayden Pakkala(19, 0.47), Braeden Wynne(19, D, 0.15ppg) ), Colton Kangkow(19, did not report), Carter Dereniwsky(19, 0.24ppg)
Kooper Gizowski (18, 0.44ppg)
Kai Andreson(15),
Draft Picks: 2nd, two 3rd, 4th, 6th, 7th, 8th
Sent Away
Blake Swetlikoff (20, 0.48ppg), Chase Pauls (20, D, 0.36ppg) ), Tyson Laventure (20, 1.04ppg)
Ty Zimmer(19, 0.67ppg), Hayden Smith (19, 0.29ppg)
Aiden Ziprick (18, D, 0.13ppg),
Draft Picks: Two 2nd, three 3rd, 4th,7th,8th
Trade Summary
Net, they lost a 2nd, 3rd, and 6th round picks.
Thoughts
To me it made no sense in sending away overages, then purchasing new ones. Sending some 19's away and purchasing more new ones. Going for it and finishing 7th. It's bad long-term planning.
It would have made so much more sense to have put those assets towards younger talent or future picks. Lethbridge is coming to the table with 1 year plans and not really looking at future seasons.
I haven't dug into next years team. They have some great forwards, defense and Harrison Meneghin will be 20 and likely back. I think depth may still possible be an issue.
Grade: D

Heyo! 25 year old female writer here. I’m eighteen plus so please please please ensure you are before writing to me! Now about me, I do work, quick fire would be nice but I can’t always be here. So you may see me post more depending on what ideas I’ve got and what cravings I have. But with my time off you can guarantee I’ll be posting more! Just a heads up I’m looking for clean roleplays! I do prefer discord to conduct roleplays purely for the purpose of being able to keep things more organised!
So I’m looking for those of you who can use third person, past tense and lots of detail. I say this not to be mean but because I do consider myself to be advanced literate, I expect potential partners to be the same! I’m looking for oc (me) x male canon characters from the above movies but I will enclose further fandoms and movies with in the post! I use third and past tense and would be grateful if you do too! Please note I do have dyslexia. I’d love to get some aus going as well as some love triangles. Doubles are welcome! But please note ALL my roleplays are doubles. I will be prioritising those of you who don’t want to double and are happy to play canons. I’m just getting to a point where doubles feel transactional, I’d like to do something for myself where I can :).
I’m also craving; Fast & Furious (please?! I would kill for a good detailed roleplay), Sherlock (please?!), Shadowhunters (please I beg?!), A Court of Thorns and roses, Supernatural, The Musketeers (bbc show), My Life With the Walters, Hunger Games (originals and prequel), GG at the moment as well! I’d honestly kill for someone to play; Sherlock Holmes, Dean Winchester or Jace Wayland, Jules or Mark.
I’d love our roleplay to be something of comfort to us both. Something to cheer us up and keep us engaged in the story! If you’ve got any wild ideas you’ve been dying to do for the below fandoms send them my way if it’s doubles I’ll do my best to accommodate them! If there’s a character in brackets that’s who I’m looking to ship with, I need you to play them!
Fandoms I seek include: Fast and furious (Brian) Shadowhunters (Book/Show verse) (Jace, Julian, Mark) Sherlock (Sherlock,John) Superstore (Jonah) Supernatural (Dean) ACOTAR (Cassian,Lucien, Rhys) Bridgerton and Queen Charlotte The Musketeers (bbc show Aramis) Merlin (show) Downton Abbey Saltburn (Felix) Kissing Booth (Noah) Pitch Perfect (Jesse) Ginny and Georgia ❤️(Marcus) Game of thrones (tv verse) House of the Dragon (Daemon) Death in paradise Riverdale MCU (Thor, Steve, Loki) Wuthering Heights Teen Wolf (Stiles) TVDU (Klaus, Elijah) Pirates of The Caribbean (Jack) Narnia (Caspian, Peter) Buffy (Spike) Hunger Games (Finnick) Ballard of SongBirds and Snakes (Coriolanus, Sejanus) Divergent 😍 (Four) The Outsiders (Dallas, SodaPop)

Heyo! 25 year old female writer here. I’m eighteen plus so please please please ensure you are before writing to me! Now about me, I do work, quick fire would be nice but I can’t always be here. So you may see me post more depending on what ideas I’ve got and what cravings I have. But with my time off you can guarantee I’ll be posting more! Just a heads up I’m looking for clean roleplays! I do prefer discord to conduct roleplays purely for the purpose of being able to keep things more organised!
So I’m looking for those of you who can use third person, past tense and lots of detail. I say this not to be mean but because I do consider myself to be advanced literate, I expect potential partners to be the same! I’m looking for oc (me) x male canon characters from the above movies but I will enclose further fandoms and movies with in the post! I use third and past tense and would be grateful if you do too! Please note I do have dyslexia. I’d love to get some aus going as well as some love triangles. Doubles are welcome! But please note ALL my roleplays are doubles. I will be prioritising those of you who don’t want to double and are happy to play canons. I’m just getting to a point where doubles feel transactional, I’d like to do something for myself where I can :).
I’m also craving; Fast & Furious (please?! I would kill for a good detailed roleplay), Sherlock (please?!), Shadowhunters (please I beg?!), A Court of Thorns and roses, Supernatural, The Musketeers (bbc show), My Life With the Walters, Hunger Games (originals and prequel), GG at the moment as well! I’d honestly kill for someone to play; Sherlock Holmes, Dean Winchester or Jace Wayland, Jules or Mark.
I’d love our roleplay to be something of comfort to us both. Something to cheer us up and keep us engaged in the story! If you’ve got any wild ideas you’ve been dying to do for the below fandoms send them my way if it’s doubles I’ll do my best to accommodate them! If there’s a character in brackets that’s who I’m looking to ship with, I need you to play them!
Fandoms I seek include: Fast and furious (Brian) Shadowhunters (Book/Show verse) (Jace, Julian, Mark) Sherlock (Sherlock,John) Superstore (Jonah) Supernatural (Dean) ACOTAR (Cassian,Lucien, Rhys) Bridgerton and Queen Charlotte The Musketeers (bbc show Aramis) Merlin (show) Downton Abbey Saltburn (Felix) GG Skins Pitch Perfect (Jesse) The Office (us) Brooklyn Nine Nine My life With the Walter’s (Cole, Will) Ginny and Georgia ❤️(Marcus) Game of thrones (tv verse) House of the Dragon (Daemon) Death in paradise Riverdale MCU (Thor, Steve, Loki) Wuthering Heights Teen Wolf (Stiles) TVDU (Klaus, Elijah) Pirates of The Caribbean (Jack) Narnia (Caspian, Peter) Buffy (Spike) Hunger Games (Finnick) Ballard of SongBirds and Snakes (Coriolanus, Sejanus) Divergent 😍 (Four) The Outsiders (Dallas, SodaPop)

Heyo! 25 year old female writer here. I’m eighteen plus so please please please ensure you are before writing to me! Now about me, I do work, quick fire would be nice but I can’t always be here. So you may see me post more depending on what ideas I’ve got and what cravings I have. But with my time off you can guarantee I’ll be posting more! Just a heads up I’m looking for clean roleplays! I do prefer discord to conduct roleplays purely for the purpose of being able to keep things more organised!
So I’m looking for those of you who can use third person, past tense and lots of detail. I say this not to be mean but because I do consider myself to be advanced literate, I expect potential partners to be the same! I’m looking for oc (me) x male canon characters from the above movies but I will enclose further fandoms and movies with in the post! I use third and past tense and would be grateful if you do too! Please note I do have dyslexia. I’d love to get some aus going as well as some love triangles. Doubles are welcome! But please note ALL my roleplays are doubles. I will be prioritising those of you who don’t want to double and are happy to play canons. I’m just getting to a point where doubles feel transactional, I’d like to do something for myself where I can :).
I’m also craving; Fast & Furious (please?! I would kill for a good detailed roleplay), Sherlock (please?!), Shadowhunters (please I beg?!), A Court of Thorns and roses, Supernatural, The Musketeers (bbc show), My Life With the Walters, Hunger Games (originals and prequel), GG at the moment as well! I’d honestly kill for someone to play; Sherlock Holmes, Dean Winchester or Jace Wayland, Jules or Mark.
I’d love our roleplay to be something of comfort to us both. Something to cheer us up and keep us engaged in the story! If you’ve got any wild ideas you’ve been dying to do for the below fandoms send them my way if it’s doubles I’ll do my best to accommodate them! If there’s a character in brackets that’s who I’m looking to ship with, I need you to play them!
Fandoms I seek include: Fast and furious (Brian) Shadowhunters (Book/Show verse) (Jace, Julian, Mark) Sherlock (Sherlock,John) Superstore (Jonah) Supernatural (Dean) ACOTAR (Cassian,Lucien, Rhys) Bridgerton and Queen Charlotte The Musketeers (bbc show Aramis) Merlin (show) Downton Abbey Saltburn (Felix) Kissing Booth (Noah) GG Skins Pitch Perfect (Jesse) The Office (us) Brooklyn Nine Nine My life With the Walter’s (Cole, Will) Ginny and Georgia ❤️(Marcus) Game of thrones (tv verse) House of the Dragon (Daemon) Death in paradise Riverdale MCU (Thor, Steve, Loki) Wuthering Heights Teen Wolf (Stiles) TVDU (Klaus, Elijah) Pirates of The Caribbean (Jack) Narnia (Caspian, Peter) Buffy (Spike) Hunger Games (Finnick) Ballard of SongBirds and Snakes (Coriolanus, Sejanus) Divergent 😍 (Four) The Outsiders (Dallas, SodaPop)

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I’m debating on which of them looks like the most likely to be trapping someone in a saw like escape room

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some twenty-four hour news channel, talking about a mass break-out in a nearby mental asylum.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by murdering a doctor and taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

I lost my job a couple months ago when the entire business I worked for abruptly went bankrupt and shut down. To make ends meet, I started driving for Uber late into the night. It was about 3:30 or 4 AM when I made the last drop-off on the night it happened.
The passenger was a strange, quiet man with a greasy T-shirt. His brown eyes looked flat and dead. I glanced into the rearview mirror as I dropped him off at a Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, making sure he left my car so he could wander off and wear a mask made of human skin or whatever people like that did on their days off. The house looked like something from a horror movie, all sharp turrets and dark windows with a blood-red exterior.
Dawn came early that day, a cancerous orange sky looming overhead. Needles of rain abruptly started falling sideways. Tired and hungry, I kept an eye out for somewhere to stop and eat as I drove through the filthy torrents of rain. I turned on the GPS for my apartment and sped through the dirty, empty streets of Frost Hollow.
Dark, dead trees rose overhead on both sides of me. I drove on for a few minutes, seeing only a single house far back at the beginning of the road that entire time. I didn’t know this area, so I was pleasantly surprised when a brightly-lit diner appeared on my left. A blinking sign cheerily read “Happy’s Restaurant”.
The parking lot was entirely empty except for a truck that looked like it had been there for weeks. Leaves and dirt covered its windshield, and someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the grime in giant letters. I heaved a deep yawn as I pulled into the parking lot. I tried to check my phone, but there was no internet or service all the way out here. I hoped they had Wi-fi in the diner.
Happy’s Restaurant had enormous plate-glass windows wrapping around the sides and front of the restaurant. Light burst out onto the dark parking lot in harsh white streams as birds chirped in the forests around me, waking up to the new dawn. The architecture of the place looked straight out of the 1950s. I could imagine James Dean going there and chain-smoking cigarettes over a burger and a coffee.
I got out of the car, heading over to the front of the restaurant where I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The spicy menthol tobacco gave me a sudden jolt of energy. Blinking quickly, I smoked the cigarette as quickly as I could, feeling wide awake by the end of it. I stood under the canopy of the building, watching lightning erupt like missile flashes across the sky. The street remained dead and empty. I hadn’t seen a single other person since I had dropped off the weirdo at the nearby Victorian house.
I opened the glass door of the diner, hearing a bell ring overhead. I looked into the empty restaurant, seeing its sparkling clean tables. The smell of fresh coffee rose out in fragrant waves. Shrugging, I went down and sat at a table next to a TV in the corner. It was playing some local news channel.
“Two patients of the Graypath Psychiatric Hospital were able to break out by taking a nurse hostage. They had apparently planned the attack for weeks, making homemade knives out of screws taken out of the walls and other contraband that went undetected. The nurse escaped soon after, uninjured but in clear distress. The facility is considered a maximum-security hospital, with the majority of patients considered criminally insane and held until…”
“Hey, sorry bud, didn’t see you there,” a voice called out from the back of the empty restaurant. I jumped, turning to see who was speaking.
A man came out in a streaked, dirty apron. He was incredibly fat, probably at least three or four hundred pounds. Four greasy chins hung down on his neck like the wattles of a rooster. He reminded me of a circus freak, a slug-like man whose heavy footsteps shook the ground as he approached my table. He had red hands like a butcher. His face, too, was beet-red and covered in sweat with a tiny nose in the middle and giant, rubbery lips. His nametag said, “Frank”.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “What can I get for you? Our waiter never showed up so I’m the only guy here. I’ll have to take your order and cook it, if that’s OK.” I nodded happily.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just want a coffee with extra cream and sugar and a Reuben with fries and an extra side of coleslaw.” He wrote it down on a dirt-streaked pad he pulled from his apron, taking a very long time and writing as slowly as possible. I watched his face closely. He reminded me of a clown, but his eyes were gray, the color of steel. They seemed freezing cold, almost inhuman. There was nothing clownish about them.
“OK, bud, that’ll be right up,” he said, grinning down at me. His yellowed teeth were covered in a thick layer of filmy grime. I noticed that some in the front were broken, as if he had a habit of getting his teeth knocked out in fights. He turned around, heading back into the kitchen in his strange, waddling gait. I wondered how Frank had gotten here. There was certainly no public transportation anywhere in this part of the state. But I figured he must have gotten dropped off. I looked down at my phone, hoping to find an open Wi-Fi connection to pass the time, but there was nothing here. Sighing, I looked around the restaurant.
A creepy clown mannequin stood in the corner, holding a sign that read, “BE HAPPY. EAT THOSE FEELINGS AWAY.” Its red-and-white make-up was all sharp points and hard angles. Around its grinning mouth, the red paint formed into a pointed half-circle, accentuating the gleaming white teeth that shone between its thin lips.
A few moments later, Frank came out with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bowl of creamers and sugar packets. He plopped them down in front of me, grunting and ambling back towards the kitchen. I smelled the odor of roasting meat and cooking oil rising from the kitchen in delicious, aromatic waves.
I couldn’t wait for my Reuben. Out of all sandwiches in the history of sandwiches, I thought Reubens were probably the most delicious. The way the corned beef mixed with the Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut and marble rye bread made it seem like those ingredients were made by God specifically to make such a divine sandwich.
My stomach growled as I waited eagerly. I continued scanning the restaurant, listening to the hum of the TV next to me when I spotted what looked like spatters of blood in front of the swinging kitchen doors. I used to work in a restaurant when I was a teenager, a crappy little pizza place, and I remembered how the ground beef always came soaked in wet blood. I found it odd that no one had cleaned it up yet, though. It looked dried and clotted, as if it had been there for days.
The TV was still talking about the escaped mental patients when Frank brought out a giant plate of delicious, fragrant sandwich and golden fries. I could feel my mouth watering as he laid it out with a clunk on the table in front of me.
“Enjoy, buddy,” he said, giving me a sly wink. His fish-like lips formed into a faint half-smile. He turned away, and I immediately dug in.
The Reuben was probably the best Reuben I’ve ever tasted. The corned beef was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp and fresh. The fries were golden and had a nice, satisfying crunch. I wanted to compliment Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I finished the first half of my sandwich.
As I got to the last bite, I noticed something odd and crunchy in the meat. I thought it was a coin or something at first. I immediately spit out the entire wad of half-chewed sandwich onto a napkin, looking down.
In the middle of the meat sat a painted human fingernail. It was ripped-off, the bottom jagged and sharp. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to vomit.
***
I sat there for a few seconds, simply staring, my mind racing in circles like a rat in a wheel. Was it a fake fingernail? How had it gotten into my sandwich?
I picked it up, bringing it closer to my right eye. I saw black, clotted blood and thin strands of flesh still hanging from the bottom. It was definitely not fake.
Rising quickly, I grabbed my car keys and phone off the table and started stumbling towards the door. There were no rational thoughts at that moment, just an insistent rising sense of panic and dread. That was the moment the lights at the diner cut out. An eerie, gurgling laugh floated out of the kitchen.
The cancerous yellow light of the new day was filtering through the stormy clouds. I looked through the plate-glass front door and saw a face peering in with wide, insane eyes. I recognized the man I had dropped off at the Victorian house down the road. He had carved a fresh question mark into his forehead sometime after I had last seen him. His face looked slack and empty as he stared inside, his dead, blank eyes roaming left and right, looking for someone- looking for me.
In his right hand, I saw an enormous meat cleaver streaked with fresh, dripping blood. He raised a trembling left hand and started opening the door. In the darkness and silence of the diner, I could hear every sound amplified a thousand-fold: every drop of rain hitting the roof, every thudding beat of my heart, every tiny creaking of the door as it swung open.
I heard the doors to the kitchen swinging open at the same moment. In terror, I frantically looked around, seeing the bathrooms only a few feet away in the corner of the restaurant. As silently as I could, I slunk towards them, afraid to look back. I ripped open the women’s restroom door, peeking out as I closed it behind me.
I could see the man holding the meat cleaver slowly creeping past the tables, bending over to check underneath them. I could hear him whispering to himself.
“I must baptize them in the blood and send them out into the world,” he muttered quietly. “Must find the blood… eat the body, drink the blood to see God…”
Silently, I closed the door and groped around in the dark until I found the lock. Inhaling deeply, I clicked it to the side. The subtle clicking noise seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned, seeing a scene from a nightmare. Corpses littered the floor of the bathroom. A waitress in a button-up vest sat up against the wall in a corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with dark brown eyes, black hair and pale, creamy skin. Dozens of deep stab wounds gleamed in her chest and stomach. Her neck had been so deeply slashed that her head had nearly been decapitated.
Even worse, I saw chunks of flesh cut out of her body, chunks from the meat of her cheeks, arms, legs and fingers. I suddenly had a very good idea of where the fingernail had come from and what I had been eating. I gagged, retching.
Next to her sprawled the corpse of an old man in a business suit. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open, and a giant question mark carved deeply into the loose skin of his bird-like chest. Stuck in one eye, I saw the gleam of a wicked butcher’s knife. It had sliced the eye in half, the blade disappearing deeply into his brain and skull. The other eye stared glassily up at the ceiling.
I heard a light tapping at the bathroom door, a kind of polite knocking that someone might use if they were wondering if it was occupied. I was afraid to breathe. I spun, looking at the wooden door, the only thing standing between me and certain death at this moment.
“Is anyone in there?” a low, raspy voice asked, the same voice that had mumbled about drinking blood. “Occupado?”
“Hey, Question Mark, what the fuck you doing?” the gruff voice of Frank asked. “Did you find him?” His tone rose into one of utter excitement, like a child on his way to Disneyworld.
“The bathroom’s locked,” Question Mark replied. “I think we got a little lamb in there, ready for the slaughter.”
“Ready for the grill, you mean!” Frank said, giving an insane laugh that reminded me of the coldness of empty space. I turned, running over to the old man’s corpse. The game was up, i knew. I wrapped my hands around the sticky, blood-coated handle of the butcher’s knife. I started pulling up, but it was firmly implanted in the old man’s skull. At that moment, I heard a sound that sent waves of terror dancing up my spine: the sound of keys jingling in a lock.
A rush of adrenaline made the world brighten and my vision turn white in the harsh glare of the phone’s light. I laid the phone down on the top of the toilet and, with all of my strength, yanked up on the knife. There was a cracking noise, then a wet sucking sound as cold blood sprayed my face and neck. The knife slipped out in a rush, sending me flying back.
At that moment, the door flew open. Frank and Question Mark stood there, side by side, two grinning lunatics with knives in their hands. The orange light from the sunrise dimly illuminated their silhouettes. They looked over to where the cell phone lay on the toilet, not seeing me leaning against the back wall, breathing heavily in an animal panic. Before they had time to react, I ran forwards, the blade facing out towards my attackers.
Question Mark turned towards me at the last second as I brought the knife into his throat. It sliced easily into the flesh. His eyes widened in pain and surprise as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He tried to bring the meat cleaver up, but his foot slipped on the slick blood coating the floor.
I yanked the knife back out, turning to Frank. I saw a flash of metal and felt something pierce deeply into the side of my stomach. A roaring pain like acid burned its way through my flesh. Screaming as warm spurts of blood shot from the stab wound, I ran at Frank with the last of my energy, stabbing upwards into his belly and aiming at his aorta in the center. We fell into each other, both critically injured. The blood burst from his ruptured artery, spurting like a firehose with each rapid beat of his heart.
His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell back, landing on the corpse of Question Mark. Staggering and leaning against the wall, I tried making my way towards the front of the store, but felt the energy draining out of me like water through a sieve. Waves of agony crashed through my body, taking my breath away. I collapsed to my knees, crawling slowly towards salvation. Frothy bubbles of blood flowed over my lips as I coughed, choking.
I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. It sounded like dozens of police cars were heading in our direction. Screaming and crying, I dragged myself towards the front door, leaving warm streaks of blood smeared across the restaurant floor. The gurgling death gasp of Frank rattled noisily behind me. I could feel my life draining out of the deep stab wound in the side of my stomach.
As I reached the door, police cars came into the restaurant parking lot with a screeching of tires. Men began running out with their guns drawn. The world went black as I reached up towards the door, wanting only to get out of this restaurant and never see this town again.
***
I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. Emergency surgery had stopped the bleeding, and many blood transfusions had saved my life. Police were waiting around my bed as I regained consciousness, frantic to ask me questions. I told them I didn’t know anything, that I had just stopped at the restaurant to eat and gotten attacked.
“We had gotten multiple missing persons reports over the last couple weeks,” the gruff homicide detective with a face like a bulldog said, “but we didn’t connect the victims to the diner until the day we found you there. Both of the escaped patients are dead, though, thanks to you.” He patted me on the shoulder. I shook my head, too weary to respond. If only they had investigated sooner, I could have avoided this entire nightmare.
But, then again, I wouldn’t have tasted the best Reuben sandwich in the universe, either.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-DHz7VVkdQ6glPmLCXgFz4MiLeqGvWpOMEwmzaDtMIA/edit
Mid-American Conference
SP Chris Bassitt- Akron
SP JT Brubaker- Akron
SP Zach Plesac- Ball St.
SP Drey Jameson- Ball St.
SP Eric Lauer- Kent St.
RP Andrew Chafin- Kent St.
RP Sam Bachman- Miami (OH)
RP Dietrich Enns- Central Michigan
RP Jake Latz- Kent St.
RP Kyle Nicolas- Ball St.
RP Grant Hartwig- Miami (OH)
RP Keegan Akin- Western Michigan
RP Taylor Williams- Kent St.
C Tom Murphy- Buffalo
1B Chris Meyers*- Toledo
2B Zach McKinstry- Central Michigan
3B Travis Shaw- Kent St.
SS Jon Berti- Bowling Green
LF Max Schuemann*- Eastern Michigan
CF Alex Call- Ball St.
RF Jakob Marsee*- Central Michigan
DH Ross Adolph*- Toledo
C Hayden Senger*- Miami (OH)
INF Zavier Warren*- Central Michigan
INF Mario Camilletti*- Central Michigan
OF Mitch Longo*- Ohio University
HM: SP Matt Shoemaker- Eastern Michigan SP Chayce McDermott- Ball St. RP Joe Rock- Ohio University RP Logan Cozart- Ohio University RP Matt Brosky- Ohio University RP Alec Barger- Northern Illinois C/1B Rudy Rott*- Ohio University OF Adam Eaton- Miami (OH)
Big Ten Conference
SP Rich Hill- Michigan
SP Ryan Feltner- Ohio St.
SP Tommy Henry- Michigan
SP Drew Rucinski- Ohio St.
SP Max Meyer- Minnesota
RP Aaron Bummer- Nebraska
RP Nick Wittgren- Purdue
RP Scott Effross- Indiana
RP Andrew Saalfrank- Indiana
RP Tim Herrin- Indiana
RP Anthony Misiewicz- Michigan St.
RP Jose Cuas- Maryland
RP Matt Waldron- Nebraska
C Kevin Plawecki- Purdue
1B Lamonte Wade Jr.- Maryland
2B Brandon Lowe- Maryland
3B Kevin Smith- Maryland
SS Jake Cronenworth- Michigan
LF Brian O’Grady- Rutgers
CF Jake Meyers- Nebraska
RF Dominic Canzone- Ohio St.
DH Kyle Schwarber- Indiana
C Tyler Cropley- Iowa
INF Michael Massey- Illinois
UTL Terrin Vavra- Minnesota
OF Alex Dickerson- Indiana
HM- SP J.A. Happ- Northwestern SP Josh Lindblom- Purdue SP Karl Kauffmann- Michigan SP Cade Povich- Nebraska SP Spencer Schwellenbach- Nebraska RP Travis Lakins Sr.- Ohio St. RP Brandon Hughes- Michigan St. RP Caleb Baragar- Indiana RP Adam Kolarek- Maryland RP Tanner Tully- Ohio St. C Dillon Dingler- Ohio St. 1B Sam Travis- Indiana 1B Todd Frazier- Rutgers INF Jim Haley- Penn St. INF Shawn Goosenberg- Northwestern INF Mason McCoy- Iowa OF Ronnie Dawson- Ohio St. OF Ryan Lasko- Rutgers
Atlantic Sun Conference
SP Jacob deGrom- Stetson
SP Logan Gilbert- Stetson
SP Chris Sale- Florida Gulf Coast
SP Kutter Crawford- Florida Gulf Coast
SP Brandon Pfaadt- Bellarmaine
RP Justin Lawrence- Jacksonville
RP Tyler Rogers- Austin Peay
RP Richard Bleier- Florida Gulf Coast
RP Richard Lovelady- Kennesaw St.
RP Bryan Baker- North Florida
RP Mike Baumann- Jacksonville
RP Devin Smeltzer- Florida Gulf Coast
RP Gavin Stone- Central Arkansas
C Christian Pregent*- Stetson
1B Patrick Mazeika- Stetson
2B Alex Robles*- Austin Peay
3B Jake Noll- Florida Gulf Coast
SS Caleb Ketchup*- Lipscomb
LF Austin Hays- Jacksonville
CF Jonathan Davis- Central Arkansas
RF Michael Gigliotti*- Lipscomb
DH Adam Walker*- Jacksonville
C Chris Brady*- Queens (NC)
INF Edrick Felix*- Florida Gulf Coast
INF Will Wagner*- Liberty
OF D.J. Artis*- Liberty
HM: SP Corey Kluber- Stetson RP Sergio Romo- North Alabama RP Rex Brothers- Lipscomb RP Josh A. Smith- Lipscomb RP Jacob Barnes- Florida Gulf Coast RP Alan Busenitz- Kennesaw St. RP Ryne Harper- Austin Peay C Caleb Joseph- Lipscomb C Alex Holderbach- Eastern Kentucky INF Daniel Murphy- Jacksonville OF Ryan Cordell- Liberty OF Brandon Pugh- North Alabama
Pacific-12 Conference 1st Team
SP Gerrit Cole- UCLA
SP Merrill Kelly- ASU
SP Trevor Bauer- UCLA
SP Drew Rasmussen- Oregon St.
SP Tyler Anderson- Oregon
RP Kevin Ginkel- Arizona
RP Brad Boxberger- USC
RP Marc Melancon- Arizona
RP Garrett Cleavinger- Oregon
RP Andrew Kittredge- UW
RP Seth Martinez- ASU
RP James Kaprielian- UCLA
RP Trevor Williams- ASU
C Adley Rutschman- Oregon St.
1B Spencer Torkelson- ASU
2B Marcus Semien- Cal
3B Spencer Steer- Oregon
SS Matt McLain- UCLA
LF Steven Kwan- Oregon St.
CF Corbin Carroll- ASU
RF Lars Nootbaar- USC
DH Michael Conforto- Oregon St.
C Austin Barnes- ASU
INF Nico Hoerner- Stanford
INF Brandon Crawford- UCLA
UTL Tommy Edman- Stanford
Pacific-12 Conference 2nd Team
SP Cal Quantrill- Stanford
SP Cole Irvin- Oregon
SP Griffin Canning- UCLA
SP Matthew Boyd- Oregon St.
SP David Peterson- Oregon
RP Scott McGough- Oregon
RP Andrew Nardi- Arizona
RP Ian Hamilton- WSU
RP Matt Krook- Oregon
RP Austin Voth- UW
RP Jesse Scholtens- Arizona
RP Andre Jackson- Utah
RP Nick Nastrini- UCLA
C Austin Wells- Arizona
1B CJ Cron- Utah
2B Nick Madrigal- Oregon St.
3B Jake Lamb- UW
SS Kevin Newman- Arizona
LF Trevor Larnach- Oregon St.
CF Garrett Mitchell- UCLA
RF Kyle Stowers- Stanford
DH Andrew Vaughn- Cal
C Brian Serven- ASU
INF Brandon Dixon- Arizona
OF Mark Canha- Cal
OF Austin Slater- Stanford
Pacific-12 Conference 3rd Team
SP Tylor Megill- Arizona
SP Ryne Nelson- Oregon
SP Tristan Beck- Stanford
SP Alec Marsh- ASU
SP Kris Bubic- Stanford
RP Stephen Nogosek- Oregon
RP Jake Bird- UCLA
RP Lucas Erceg- Cal
RP Tanner Banks- Utah
RP Jace Fry- Oregon St.
RP Zack Weiss- UCLA
RP Cody Poteet- UCLA
RP Daulton Jefferies- Cal
C Garrett Stubbs- USC
1B Michael Toglia- UCLA
2B Ryan Kreidler- UCLA
3B Drew Maggi- ASU
SS Bobby Dalbec- Arizona
LF Willie Calhoun- Arizona
CF Wade Meckler- Oregon St.
RF Sean Bouchard- Cal
DH Kyle Garlick- Oregon
C Andrew Knapp- Cal
UTL Rob Refsnyder- Arizona
OF Cam Eden- Cal
OF Stephen Piscotty- Stanford
HM- SP Adam Plutko- UCLA RP Ian Kennedy- USC RP Robert Stock- USC RP David Huff- UCLA RP Mark Appel- Stanford RP Trevor Hildenberger- Cal C Blake Sabol- USC C Caleb Hamilton- Oregon St. C Korey Lee- Cal INF Pat Valaika- UCLA INF Oliver Dunn- Utah OF Kole Calhoun- UCLA OF Scott Heineman- Oregon
American Athletic Conference
SP Shane McClanahan- USF
SP Gavin Williams- ECU
SP Graham Ashcraft- UAB
SP J.P. France- Tulane
SP Garrett Whitlock- UAB
RP Orion Kekering- USF
RP Jeff Hoffman- ECU
RP Tyler Duffey- Rice
RP Aaron Loup- Tulane
RP Sam Moll- Memphis
RP Lucas Luetge- Rice
RP Jimmy Herget- USF
RP Austin Gomber- FAU
C Jake Rogers- Tulane 1B Nolan Schanuel- FAU 2B David Villar- USF 3B Alec Bohm- Wichita St. SS Coco Montes- USF LF Alec Burleson- ECU CF Sam Hillard- Wichita St. RF Hunter Goodman- Memphis DH Anthony Rendon- Rice
C Ford Proctor- Rice C/INF Connor Wong OF Brewer Hicklen- UAB OF Dane Myers- Rice
HM: SP Glenn Otto- Rice SP Jharel Cotton- ECU RP Matt Canterino- Rice RP Jonathan Bowlan- Memphis RP Kevin Quackenbush- USF RP Phoenix Sanders- USF RP Ian Gibaut- Tulane RP Austin Adams- USF RP Peter Strzelecki- USF RP Justin Anderson- UTSA RP Karan Patel- UTSA RP Codi Heuer- Wichita St. RP Shawn Armstrong- ECU 1B Casey Gillaspie- Wichita St. INF Nate Furman- Charlotte INF Connor Norby- ECU OF Hudson Haskin- Tulane
Missouri Valley Conference
SP Kyle Freeland- Evansville
SP Sean Manaea- Indiana St.
SP Colin Rea- Indiana St.
SP Brock Stewart- Illinois St.
SP Brooks Gosswein- Bradley
RP Pierce Johnson- Missouri St.
RP Sam Coonrod- Southern Illinois
RP Dylan Coleman- Missouri St.
RP Nate Peterson- U Illinois-Chicago
RP Colin Holderman- Southern Illinois
RP Phillip Diehl- Evansville
RP Jeff Lindgren- Illinois St.
RP Brent Headrick- Illinois St.
C Drew Millas- Missouri St.
1B Matt Beaty- Belmont
2B Eric Stamets- Evansville
3B Jake Burger- Missouri St.
SS Paul DeJong- Illinois St.
LF Tristan Peters*- Southern Illinois
CF Mike Tauchman- Bradley
RF Mickey McDonald- U Illinois-Chicago
DH Luke Voit- Missouri St.
C Drake Baldwin*- Missouri St.
UTL Owen Miller- Illinois St.
OF Mason Auer*- Missouri St.
OF Guy Lipscomb*- Belmont
HM: RP Connor Holden- Murray St. RP Matt Hall- Missouri St. RP Ross Detwiler- Missouri St. RP Mike Kickham- Missouri St. RP Alec Whaley- Murray St. C Scott Kapers- Valparaiso OF Kyle Gaedele- Valparaiso
Southeastern Conference 1st Team
SP Kevin Gausman- LSU
SP Sonny Gray- Vanderbilt
SP Aaron Nola- LSU
SP Max Scherzer- Missouri
SP Jordan Montgomery- South Carolina
RP Pete Fairbanks- Missouri
RP Kendall Graveman- Mississippi
RP Taylor Rogers- Kentucky
RP A.J. Minter- Texas A&M
RP A.J. Puk- Florida
RP David Robertson- Alabama
RP Alex Lange- LSU
RP Dane Dunning- Florida
C Yan Gomes- Tennessee
1B Christian Walker- South Carolina
2B Jordan Westburg- Mississippi
3B Alex Bregman- LSU
SS Dansby Swanson- Vanderbilt
LF Jake Fraley- LSU
CF Bryan Reynolds- Vanderbilt
RF Mike Yastrzemski- Vanderbilt
DH Pete Alonso- Florida
C James McCann- Arkansas
INF DJ LeMahieu- LSU
OF Andrew Benintendi- Arkansas
OF Harrison Bader- Florida
Southeastern Conference 2nd Team
SP Walker Buehler- Vanderbilt
SP Brandon Woodruff- Mississippi
SP Tanner Houck- Missouri
SP Paul Skenes- LSU
SP Brady Singer- Florida
RP Ryne Stanek- Arkansas
RP Trevor Stephan- Arkansas
RP Brooks Raley- Texas A&M
RP Colin Poche- Arkansas
RP Garrett Crochet- Tennessee
RP Drew Smyly- Arkansas
RP Ross Stripling- Texas A&M
RP Graham Ashcraft- Mississippi
C Luke Maile- Kentucky
1B Garrett Cooper- Auburn
2B Jonathan India- Florida
3B Adam Frazier- Mississippi
SS Josh H. Smith- LSU
LF Whit Merrifield- South Carolina
CF Wyatt Langford- Florida
RF Hunter Renfroe- Mississippi
DH Brent Rooker- Mississippi
C Curt Casali- Vanderbilt
INF Edouard Julien- Auburn
INF Kyle Farmer- Georgia
OF JJ Bleday- Vanderbilt
Southeastern Conference 3rd Team
SP James Paxton- Kentucky
SP Michael Wacha- Texas A&M
SP Lance Lynn- Ole Miss
SP Kyle Gibson- Missouri
SP Bryce Miller- Texas A&M
RP James McArthur- Ole Miss
RP Penn Murfee- Vanderbilt
RP Chris Stratton- Mississippi
RP Alex Wood- Georgia
RP Clarke Schmidt- South Carolina
RP Casey Mize- Auburn
RP Dakota Hudson- Mississippi
RP Kyle Wright- Vanderbilt
C Nick Fortes- Ole Miss
1B Jared Walsh- Georgia
2B Tony Kemp- Vanderbilt
3B Nick Senzel- Tennessee
SS Grae Kessinger- Ole Miss
LF Dominic Fletcher- Arkansas
CF Austin Martin- Vanderbilt
RF Heston Kjerstad- Arkansas
DH Jordan Beck- Tennessee
C Jason Delay- Vanderbilt
C/INF Austin Nola- LSU
UTL Brian Anderson- Arkansas
OF Andrew Stevenson- LSU
HM: SP Alex Faedo- Florida SP Spencer Turnbull- Alabama SP J.P. France- Mississippi SP Anthony DeSclafani SP Dallas Keuchel- Arkansas SP Chase Silseth- Tennessee SP Sean Hjelle- Kentucky SP Jonathan Cannon- Georgia SP Emerson Hancock- Georgia SP Jack Leiter- Vanderbilt RP Jackson Rutledge- Arkansas RP Zach Jackson- Arkansas RP Drew Steckenrider- Tennessee RP Drew Pomeranz- Ole Miss RP Tommy Hunter- Alabama RP Jacob Waguespack- Ole Miss RP Davis Daniel- Auburn RP Keegan Thompson- Auburn RP Ben Joyce- Tennessee RP Zach Logue- Kentucky RP Trevor Gott- Kentucky RP Tyler Beede- Vanderbilt RP Drew VerHagen- Vanderbilt RP Carson Fulmer- Vanderbilt RP Carmen Mlodzinski- South Carolina RP Cody Morris- South Carolina RP Heath Hembree- South Carolina RP Will Crowe- South Carolina RP Jalen Beeks- Arkansas RP Zach Pop- Kentucky INF Jonah Bride- South Carolina INF Evan White- Kentucky INF Andre Lipcius- Tennessee INF Trey Lipscomb- Tennessee INF Braden Shewmake- Texas A&M INF Justin Foscue- Mississippi INF JT Riddle- Kentucky INF Matt Reynolds- Arkansas 3B Josh Lester- Missouri 3B Josh Donaldson- Auburn OF Tyler Naquin- Texas A&M OF Ka’ai Tom- Kentucky OF Anthony Alford- Ole Miss OF Joshua Palacios- Auburn OF TJ Hopkins- South Carolina OF Jackie Bradley Jr.- South Carolina OF Charlie Condon*- Georgia
Patriot League/Ivy League
SP Kyle Hendricks- Dartmouth
SP Mason Black- Lehigh
SP Levi Stoudt- Lehigh
SP Sean Poppen- Harvard
SP Tanner Anderson- Harvard
RP David Bednar- Lafayette
RP Matt Bowman- Princeton
RP Jake Cousins- Pennsylvania
RP Brent Suter- Harvard
RP Cole Sulser- Dartmouth
RP Beau Sulser- Dartmouth
RP Hunter Bigge*- Harvard
RP Noah Song*- Navy
C Ben Rice*- Dartmouth
1B Mike Ford- Princeton
2B Simon Whiteman- Yale
3B Josh Hood*- Pennsylvania
SS Andy Blake*- Columbia
LF Jacob Hurtubise- Army
CF Ben Malgeri*- Holy Cross
RF Scott Bandura*- Princeton
DH Ryan Lavarnway- Yale
C Matt O'Neill*- Pennsylvania
1B Ross Friedrick*- Army
INF Anthony Sherwin- Bucknell OF Nadir Lewis- Princeton
HM: SP Connelly Early- Army SP Joe Miller- Pennsylvania SP Chris Rowley- Army SP David Hale- Princeton SP Ben Gross- Princeton RP Oliver Drake- Navy RP Frank Hermann- Harvard RP Danny Barnes- Princeton RP Dusty Baird- Brown RP Matt Svanson- Lehigh RP Declan Cronin- Holy Cross RP Mark Washington- Lehigh RP Carlos Torres- Lehigh RP Mike Walsh- Yale RP Chris Clark- Harvard RP Jay Driver- Harvard RP Josh Simpson- Columbia RP Ryan Smith- Princeton RP Billy Lescher- Pennsylvania RP Kumar Nambiar- Yale C Adam Retzbach- Lehigh C Weston Eberly- Columbia C Will Simoneit- Cornell OF Dario Pizzano- Columbia OF Patrick McColl*- Harvard
Big 12 Conference 1st Team
SP John Means- WVU
SP Jon Gray- Oklahoma
SP Andrew Heaney- Oklahoma St.
SP Bryce Elder- Texas
SP Alek Manoah- WVU
RP Corey Knebel- Texas
RP John Curtiss- Texas
RP Jake Irvin- Oklahoma
RP Hoby Milner- Texas
RP Danny Coulombe- Texas Tech
RP Tyler Alexander- TCU
RP Ben Lively- UCF
RP Chase Anderson- Oklahoma
C Shea Langeliers- Baylor
1B Christian Encarnacion-Strand- Oklahoma St.
2B Max Muncy- Baylor
3B Josh Jung- Texas Tech
SS Kody Clemens- Texas
LF Ian Happ- Cincinnati
CF Will Brennan- Kansas St.
RF Ryan Noda- Cincinnati
DH Brandon Belt- Texas
C Tres Barrera- Texas
INF Dylan Moore- UCF
UTL Josh Harrison- Cincinnati
UTL Matt Carpenter- TCU
Big 12 Conference 2nd Team
SP Brandon Williamson- TCU
SP Nick Lodolo- TCU
SP Spencer Arrighetti- TCU
SP Jordan Wicks- Kansas St.
SP Michael Grove- WVU
RP Steven Okert- Oklahoma
RP Alex Young- TCU
RP Austin Pruitt- UH
RP John King-UH
RP Kyle Tyler- Oklahoma
RP Michael Rucker- BYU
RP Cody Bradford- Baylor
RP Daniel Castano- Baylor
C Beau Taylor- UCF
1B Luken Baker- TCU
2B Nic Loftin- Baylor
3B Jared Triolo- UH
SS David Hamilton- Texas
LF Joey Wiemer- Cincinnati
CF Victor Scott II- WVU
RF Nick Martini- Kansas St.
DH Ryan McBroom- WVU
C Jimmy Crooks*- Oklahoma
INF David Wendzel- Baylor
INF Sheldon Neuse- Oklahoma
OF Corey Julks- UH
HM: SP Garrett Richards- Oklahoma SP Ty Madden- Texas SP Brandon Finnegan- TCU SP Josh Tomlin- Texas Tech SP Davis Martin- Texas Tech SP Cade Cavalli- Oklahoma SP Carson Seymour- Kansas St. SP Clayton Beeter- Texas Tech SP Seth Romero- UH SP Daniel Ponce de Leon- UH RP Brandon Workman- Texas RP Wes Benjamin- Kansas RP Sam Freeman- Kansas RP Evan Marshall- Kansas St. RP Thaddeus Ward- UCF RP Jackson Wolf- WVU RP Parker Mushinski- Texas Tech RP Caleb Killian- Texas Tech RP Peyton Battenfield- Oklahoma St. RP Tejay Antone- TCU RP Aaron Fletcher- UH RP Patrick Weigel- UH RP Nick Hernandez- UH RP Blair Henley- Texas RP Jacob Lemoine- UH RP Cam Alldred- Cincinnati C Drew Butera- UCF 1B/3B Kevin Cron- TCU INF JJ Weatherholt- WVU INF Jace Jung- Texas Tech INF Darnell Sweeney- UCF INF Daniel Schneemann- BYU INF Donovan Walton- Oklahoma St. INF Jack Mayfield- Oklahoma OF Mark Payton- Texas OF Steele Walker- Oklahoma OF Dillon Peters- Texas OF Dru Baker- Texas Tech
Ohio Valley Conference/Big South Conference/Horizon League
SP Alec Mills- Tennessee Martin
SP Joey Lucchesi- SEMO
SP Jesse Schoeltens- Wright St.
SP Ryan Meisinger- Radford
SP Eddie Butler- Radford
RP Mason Miller- Gardner-Webb
RP Emilio Pagan- Gardner-Webb
RP Andre Scrubb- High Point
RP Dylan Dodd- SEMO
RP McKinley Moore- Little Rock
RP Will Klein- EIU
RP Ethan Roberts- Tennessee Tech
RP Spencer Patton- SIU Edwardsville
C Sean Murphy- Wright St.
1B Spencer Horwitz- Radford
2B Nick Maton- EIU
3B Mike Brosseau- Oakland
SS Trey Sweeney*- EIU
LF Peyton Burdick- Wright St.
CF Daulton Varsho- Milwaukee
RF Avery Owusu-Asiedu*- SIU Edwardsville
DH Tyler Black- Wright St.
C Logan Brown*- USI
INF Jeffrey Wehler*- Youngstown St.
OF Caleb Hobson-* Tennessee Martin
OF Brett Johnson*- SIU Edwardsville
SP David Hess- Tennessee Tech SP Hayden Birdsong- EIU SP A.J. Blubaugh- Milwaukee RP Hunter Mann- Tennessee Tech RP Jordan Mikel- Western Illinois RP Cody Allen- High Point RP Chad Sobotka- USC Upstate RP Tyler Thornburg- Charleston Southern RP Maceo Campbell- Longwood RP Ryan Dull- UNC Asheville RP Jeremy Walker- Gardner-Webb RP Michael Boyle- Radford RP Geoff Hartlieb- Lindenwood RP Zach Peek- Winthrop RP Jake Lee- Oakland RP Jake Sommers- Milwaukee RP Joe Smith- Wright St. RP Nate Jones- Northern Kentucky RP Josh Lueke- Northern Kentucky RP Evan MIller- Purdue Fort Wayne C- Taylor Davis- Morehead St. C Andrew Keck- SEMO C Jeremiah Boyd- Presbyterian C Jordan Procyshen- Northern Kentucky 1B Brennan Orf- SIU Edwardsville 1B Jackson Feltner- Morehead St. INF Seth Gray- Wright St. OF Niko Hulsizer- Morehead St. OF Quincy Hamilton- Wright St.
Big East Conference/Northeast Conference
SP Josiah Gray- Le Moyne
SP Ryan Pepoit- Butler
SP Ty Blach- Creighton
SP Zach Lowther- Xavier
SP Matt Carasiti- St. John’s
RP Matt Barnes- UConn
RP Jason Foley- Sacred Heart
RP Amir Garrett- St. John’s
RP Anthony Kay- UConn
RP Joe La Sorsa- St. John’s
RP Justin Topa- Long Island
RP Gavin Hollowell- St. John’s
RP Vinny Nittoli- Xavier
C Anthony Bemboom- Creighton
1B Frank Schwindel- St. John’s
2B Nicky Lopez- Creighton
3B Zack Short- Sacred Heart
SS Nick Ahmed- UConn
LF Will Robertson*- Creighton
CF James Jones- Long Island
RF George Springer- UConn
DH Darin Ruf- Creighton
C Nick Dini- Wagner
INF Elliot Soto- Creighton
INF Riley Bannon- Xavier
OF TT Bowens*- Central Connecticut
HM: SP Gordon Graceffo- Villanova SP Shane McCarthy- Seton Hall SP Ben Casparius- UConn SP Garrett Schilling- Xavier SP Tim Adelman- Georgetown SP Ryan Murphy- Le Moyne RP Ricky DeVito- Seton Hall RP Pat Venditte- Creighton RP Rowan Wick- St. John’s RP Eric Stout- Butler RP Cody Stashack- St. John’s RP Reggie Crawford- UConn RP Nick Morreale- Georgetown RP Jared Solomon- Xavier RP Ryan O’Rourke- Merrimack RP Nolan Long- Wagner RP Chris Kachmar- Fairleigh Dickinson RP Alex Mauricio- Norfolk St. RP Dwayne Marshall- UMES C Matt Donlan- Northeast INF Trey Paige- Delaware St. OF Matt Szczur- Villanova OF Zack Granite- Seton Hall OF Alan Roden- Creighton OF Dave Matthews- Central Connecticut OF Marcos Castillo- Coppin St.
Atlantic Coast Conference 1st Team
SP Spencer Strider- Clemson
SP Zac Gallen- UNC
SP Marcus Stroman- Duke
SP Carlos Rodon- NC State
SP Bobby Miller- Louisville
RP Chad Green- Louisville
RP Joe Mantiply- VA Tech
RP Josh Sborz- Virginia
RP Bennet Sousa- Virginia
RP Daniel Bard- UNC
RP Luke Bard- Georgia Tech
RP Buck Farmer- Georgia Tech
RP Michael King- Boston College
C Will Smith- Louisville
1B Trey Mancini- Notre Dame
2B Zack Gelof- Virginia
3B Sal Frelick- Boston College
SS Trea Turner- NC State
LF Adam Duvall- Louisville
CF Matt Vierling- Notre Dame
RF Kerry Carpenter- VA Tech
DH Charlie Blackmon- Georgia Tech
C Yasmani Grandal- Miami
INF Cavan Biggio- Notre Dame
UTL Chris Taylor- Virginia
OF Stuart Fairchild- Wake Forest
Atlantic Coast Conference 2nd Team
SP Andrew Abbott- Virginia
SP Reid Detmers- Louisville
SP Cooper Criswell- UNC
SP Daniel Lynch IV- Virginia
SP Emmet Sheehan- Boston College
RP David Phelps- Notre Dame
RP Dominic Leone- Clemson
RP Drew Carlton- FSU
RP Andrew Suarez- Miami
RP Nick Burdi- Louisville
RP Zack Burdi- Louisville
RP Tyler Holton- FSU
RP Jared Shuster- Wake Forest
C Cal Raleigh- FSU
1B Gavin Sheets- Wake Forest
2B Brad Miller- Clemson
3B Taylor Walls- FSU
SS Tyler Fitzgerald- Louisville
LF AJ Pollock- Notre Dame
CF Adam Engel- Louisville
RF Henry Davis- Louisville
DH Michael Busch- UNC
C Patrick Bailey- NC State
INF Romy Gonzalez- Miami
OF Jake McCarthy- Virginia
OF Adam Haseley- Virginia
Atlantic Coast Conference 3rd Team
SP Luke Weaver- FSU
SP Brandon Bielak- Notre Dame
SP Xzavion Curry- Georgia Tech
SP Joe Boyle- Notre Dame
SP Slade Cecconi- Miami
RP Trevor Kelley- UNC
RP JB Bukauskas- UNC
RP Cole Sands- FSU
RP Kent Emanuel- UNC
RP Blair Calvo- Pitt
RP Hobie Harris- Pitt
RP Trent Thornton- UNC
RP Bryce Jarvis- Duke
C Jacob Stallings- UNC
1B Weston Wilson- Clemson
2B Ernie Clement- Virginia
3B Graham Pauley- Duke
SS Charles Leblanc- Pitt
LF Pavin Smith- Virginia
CF Eli White- Clemson
RF Joey Loperfido- Duke
DH Joey Bart- Georgia Tech
C Andrew Knizner- NC State
C/1B Zack Collins- Miami
UTL Jake Alu- Boston College
OF DJ Stewart- FSU
HM: SP Justin Dunn- Boston College SP Matt Harvey- UNC SP Jesse Hahn- VA Tech RP Evan Justice- NC State RP Brian Moran- UNC RP Packy Naughton- VA Tech RP Sean Doolittle- Virginia RP Sam Clay- Georgia Tech RP Jeremy Beasley- Clemson RP Bryan Hoeing- Louisville RP Carson Spiers- Clemson RP John Axford- Notre Dame RP Amos Willingham- Georgia Tech RP Matt Koch- Louisville RP Kyle Funkhouser- Louisville TWP Brendan McKay- Louisville C Chris Okey- Clemson C Kyle McCann- Georgia Tech C John Hicks- Virginia 1B Matt Mervis- Duke 1B Daniel Palka- Georgia Tech 1B Will Craig- Wake Forest 1B Colin Moran- UNC 1B Seth Beer- Clemson 1B Nick Kurtz*- Wake Forest INF Joe Dunand- NC State INF Drew Ellis- Louisville INF Derek Dietrich- Georgia Tech OF Brian Goodwin- UNC OF Ben DeLuzio- FSU OF Skye Bolt- UNC UTL Nick Solak- Louisville UTL Chad Pinder- VA Tech
Metro Atlantic Athletic Conference/Southwestern Athletic Conference
SP Jose De Leon- Southern
SP Hiram Burgos- Bethune-Cookman
SP Nick Margevicius- Rider
SP Matt Duffy*- Canisius
SP Ryan Cardona*- Marist College
RP Matt Brash- Niagara
RP Kevin McCarthy- Marist College
RP Tom Cosgrove- Manhattan
RP Matt Gage- Siena College
RP Joe Jacques- Manhattan
RP Anthony Maldanado- Bethune-Cookman
RP Brendan White- Siena College
RP Darrien Williams*- Prairie View
C John Garcia*- Grambling
1B Connor Panas*- Canisius
2B Christopher De Guzman*- Alabama St. 3B Matthew Batten- Quinnipiac
SS Demetrius Sims*- Bethune-Cookman
LF Anthony Giansanti*- Siena College
CF Wynton Bernard- Niagara
RF Johnathan Thomas*- Texas Southern
DH Peter O’Brien- Bethune-Cookman
C Colton Bender*- Quinnipiac
INF Greg Cullen*- Niagara
OF Bryce Brown*- Jackson St.
OF Javeyan Williams*- Southern
HM: SP Montana DuRapau- Bethune-Cookman RP Austin Pope- Fairfield RP Danny Kerwin- Rider RP Trey McGough- Mount St.Mary’s RP Robbie Hitt- Quinnipiac RP Ian Concevitch- Saint Peter’s RP Mariano Rivera Jr.- Iona College RP Mike DeSanti- Iona College RP Trey McLoughlin- Fairfield C Isom Ford- Alabama A&M C Ty Hanchey- Florida A&M INF Jaylyn Williams- Jackson St. INF Zach Penprase- Mississippi Valley UTL Ricardo Sanchez- Arkansas-Pine Bluff UTL Brendly Martina- Alcorn St.
Mountain West Conference
SP Stephen Strasburg- SDSU
SP Dean Kremer- UNLV
SP Eric Fedde- UNLV
SP Garrett Hill- SDSU
SP Robert Gasser- New Mexico
RP Griffin Jax- Air Force
RP Justin Wilson- Fresno St.
RP Jimmy Lambert- Fresno St.
RP JoJo Romero- Nevada
RP Logan Boyer*- SDSU
RP Justin Slaten- New Mexico
RP Dylan Lee- Fresno St.
RP Braden Shipley- Nevada
C Austin Wynns- Fresno St.
1B Ty France- SDSU
2B Alan Trejo- SDSU
3B Sam Haggerty- New Mexico
SS Bryson Stott- UNLV
LF Taylor Ward- Fresno St.
CF TJ Friedl- Nevada
RF Aaron Judge- Fresno St.
DH Mitch Garver- New Mexico
C Seby Zavala- SDSU
INF Miles Mastrobuoni- Nevada
OF Kyle Isbel- UNLV
OF Jordan Luplow- Fresno St.
HM: SP Owen Sharts- Nevada RP Finn Del Bonta-Smith- San Jose St. C/INF Jordan Pacheco- New Mexico 1B Ruben Ibarra- San Jose St. INF David Hensley- SDSU UTL Charles McAdoo- San Jose St. OF Zach Reks- Air Force OF Greg Allen- SDSU OF Luis Gonzalez- New Mexico OF Cal Stevenson- Nevada OF Trenton Brooks*- Nevada
Summit League/Western Athletic Conference
SP Tarik Skubal- Seattle
SP Chi Chi Gonzalez- Oral Roberts
SP Zach Thompson- UT Arlington
SP Janson Junk- Seattle
SP Pierson Ohl*- Grand Canyon
C Jose Trevino- Oral Roberts
1B Rhys Hoskins- Sacramento St.
2B Tyler Saladino- Oral Roberts
3B Mike Boeve*- Omaha
SS Jacob Wilson*- Grand Canyon
LF James Outman- Sacramento St
CF Jonah Cox*- Oral Roberts
RF Nate Lukes- Sacramento St.
DH Hunter Dozier- Stephen F. Austin
C Logan Porter- Utah Tech
C/INF Bennett Hostetler*- North Dakota St.
UTL Jackie Urbaez*- St. Thomas
OF Homer Greenwood*- Grand Canyon
RP Jordan Romano- Oral Roberts
RP Blake Treinen- South Dakota St.
RP Caleb Thielbar- South Dakota St.
RP Sam Long- Sacramento St
RP Jake Wong- Grand Canyon
RP Joel Kuhnel- UT Arlington
RP Tyson Miller- California Baptist
RP Will Vest- Stephen F. Austin
HM: SP Casey Anderson- Utah Valley SP Riley Bauman- Abilene Christian SP Dylan File- Utah Tech RP Eric Yardley- Seattle RP Jay Flaa- North Dakota St. RP Brandon Kintzler- Utah Tech RP Juan Gamez- North Dakota St. RP Troy Watson- Northern Colorado RP Logan Britt- Abilene Christian RP Tyler Morgan- Abilene Christian RP Matt Hickey- Tarleton RP Paxton Schultz- Utah Valley RP Will Stevens- Tarleton RP Frankie Scalzo- Grand Canyon RP Brady Stover- South Dakota St. RP Cade Feeney- North Dakota St. RP Cade Denton- Oral Roberts C Elih Marrero- St. Thomas 1B Brandon Pimentel- UT Rio Grande Valley INF Channy Ortiz- Grand Canyon OF Hunter Pence- UT Arlington OF Kona Quiggle- Grand Canyon
Sun Belt Conference SP Justin Verlander- Old Dominion
SP Jeffrey Springs- Appalachian St.
SP Ryan Yarbrough- Old Dominion
SP Spencer Arrighetti- Louisiana
SP Hogan Harris- Louisiana
RP Kyle Finnegan- Texas St.
RP Nick Sandlin- Southern Mississippi
RP Daniel Hudson- Old Dominion
RP Sam Howard- Georgia Southern
RP Jared Koenig- Old Dominion
RP Nick Robertson- James Madison
RP Hunter Gaddis- Georgia St.
RP Kevin Kelly- James Madison
C PJ Higgins- Old Dominion
1B Paul Goldschmidt- Texas St.
2B Brendan Donovan- South Alabama
3B Tommy La Stella- Coastal Carolina
SS Zach Remillard- Coastal Carolina
LF Travis Swaggerty- South Alabama
CF Chase DeLauter*- James Madison
RF Matt Wallner- Southern Mississippi
DH Vinnie Paquantino- Old Dominion
C Chandler Seagle- Appalachian St.
INF Jared Young- Old Dominion
UTL Taylor Motter- Coastal Carolina
OF Jaylin Davis- Appalachian St.
HM: SP Dan Straily- Marshall SP David Buchanan- Georgia St. SP Kirk McCarty- Southern Mississippi SP Matt Peacock- South Alabama SP Connor Overton- Old Dominion RP Nick Jones- Georgia Southern RP Alaska Abney- Coastal Carolina RP J.D. Hammer- Marshall RP Anthony Veneziano- Coastal Carolina RP Locke St. John- South Alabama RP Louis Head- Texas St. RP Donnie Hart- Texas St. RP Tyler Zuber- Arkansas St. C Jonathan Lucroy- Louisiana C Chuckie Robinson- Southern Mississippi INF Brian Dozier- Southern Mississippi INF Eric Brown- Coastal Carolina OF Brandon Lockridge- Troy OF Trent Tingelstad*- UL Monroe
West Coast Conference
SP Corbin Burnes- Saint Mary’s
SP Tony Gonsolin- Saint Mary’s
SP Marco Gonzales- Gonzaga
SP Tylor Megill- Loyola Marymount
SP A.J. Griffin- San Diego
RP Paul Sewald- San Diego
RP Kyle Barraclough- Saint Mary’s
RP Eli Morgan- Gonzaga
RP Scott Alexander- Pepperdine
RP Kyle Zimmer- San Francisco
RP Adam Cimber- San Francisco
RP Steven Wilson- Santa Clara
RP Trevor Megill- Loyola Marymount
C Riley Adams- San Diego
1B Brett Sullivan- Pacific
2B David Fletcher- Loyola Marymount
3B Patrick Wisdom- Saint Mary’s
SS Brett Harris- Gonzaga
LF Connor Joe- San Diego
CF Bradley Zimmer- San Francisco
RF Kris Bryant- San Diego
DH Taylor Jones- Gonzaga
C/OF Cooper Hummel- Portland
INF Kevin Sim- San Diego
INF Ripken Reyes*- San Diego
INF Bryson Brigman*- San Diego
HM: SP Austin Bibens-Dirkx- Portland SP Ky Bush- Saint Mary’s SP Mitch White- Santa Clara SP Gabriel Hughes- Gonzaga RP Wyatt Mills- Gonzaga RP Alek Jacob- Gonzaga RP Cory Abbott- Loyola Marymount RP Ken Waldichuk- Saint Mary’s RP Patrick Weigel- Pacific RP Casey Legumina- Gonzaga RP James Pazos- San Diego RP Tommy Nance- Santa Clara RP Easton Lucas- Pepperdine RP Chris Murphy- San Diego RP Dylan Covey- San Diego C Rocky Gale- Portland 1B Eric Thames- Pepperdine INF John Peck- Pepperdine
Conference USA
SP Kyle Bradish- New Mexico St.
SP Logan T. Allen- Florida Int.
SP Hayden Wesneski- Sam Houston
SP Caleb Smith- Sam Houston
SP Nate Pearson- Florida Int.
RP Ryan Tepera- Sam Houston
RP Phil Maton- Louisiana Tech
RP Colin Poche- Dallas Baptist
RP Drew Smith- Dallas Baptist
RP Jake Walsh- Jax St.
RP Kody Funderburk- Dallas Baptist
RP Cy Sneed- Dallas Baptist
RP Zach Neal- Sam Houston
C Aramis Garcia- Florida Int.
1B Darick Hall- Dallas Baptist
2B Nick Gonzalez- New Mexico St
3B Edwin Rios- Florida Int.
SS Joey Ortiz- New Mexico St
LF Austin Shenton- Florida Int.
CF Bryce Johnson- Sam Houston
RF Colton Cowser- Sam Houston
DH Ryan O’Hearn- Dallas Baptist
C Nate Rombach*- Dallas Baptist
INF Irving Lopez- Florida Int.
OF Jason Krizan- Dallas Baptist
OF Daniel Johnson- New Mexico St
HM: SP Jaden Hamm- Middle Tennessee RP Phillip Diehl- Louisiana Tech RP Braden Bristo- Louisiana Tech RP Chance Adams- Dallas Baptist RP Eriq Swan- Middle Tennessee RP Seth Elledge- Dallas Baptist RP Nick Mikolajchak- Sam Houston RP Mason Fluharty- Liberty RP Fraser Ellard- Liberty RP CJ Weins- WKU INF Ryan Goins- Dallas Baptist OF Jake Sanford- WKU OF Jacob Rhinesmith- WKU OF Ryan Cordell- Liberty OF D.J. Artis- Liberty OF Jameson Hannah*- Dallas Baptist OF Lew Ford- Dallas Baptist
Southern Conference/Southland Conference
SP Wade Miley- Southeastern Louisiana
SP JP Sears- The Citadel
SP Landon Knack- East Tennessee St.
SP Sawyer Gipson-Long- Mercer
SP Adam Oller- Northwestern State University of Louisiana
RP Tanner Rainey- Southeastern Louisiana
RP Reed Garrett- VMI
RP Josh Winder- VMI
RP Austin Cox- Mercer
RP Max Povse- UNC Greensboro
RP Kyle Keller- Southeastern Louisiana
RP Andrew Wantz- UNC Greensboro
RP Grant Anderson- McNeese
C David Fry- Northwestern State University of Louisiana
1B Nate Lowe- Mercer
2B Jace Peterson- McNeese
3B Nate Eaton- VMI
SS Pascanel Ferreras*- Western Carolina
LF Phil Ervin- Samford
CF Kyle Lewis- Mercer
RF Nick Heath- Northwestern State University of Louisiana
DH Tyler White- Western Carolina
C J.C. Correa*- Lamar
INF Tyler Depreta-Johnson- Houston Christian
OF Colby Thomas*- Mercer
OF Justice Bigbie*- Western Carolina
HM: SP Zebby Matthews-Western Carolina SP Jacob Cravey- Samford SP Asher Wojcichowski- The Citadel SP Will Dion- McNeese SP Aaron Hernandez- Texas A&M Corpus Christi RP Greg Holland- Western Carolina RP Cory Gearrin- Mercer RP Josh Harlow- Mercer RP Austin Emener- East Tennessee St. RP Jason Blanchard- Lamar RP Geno Encina- Incarnate Word RP Morris Austin- Houston Christian RP Zak Kent- VMI RP Eric Orze- New Orleans RP Mac Sceroler- Southeastern Louisiana RP Adam Scott- Wofford C Christian Correa- Nicholls 1B Harrison DiNicola- Texas A&M Corpus Christi INF Danny Valencia- UNC Greensboro INF Corey Spangenberg- VMI OF Billy Burns- Mercer OF Brayden Jobert*- Nicholls
Big West Conference 1st Team
SP Shane Bieber- UC Santabarbara
SP Tanner Bibee- Cal State Fullerton
SP Joe Ryan- Cal State Northridge
SP Michael Lorenzen- Cal State Fullerton
SP Bryan Woo- Cal Poly
RP Chris Devenski- Cal State Fullerton
RP Dylan Floro- Cal State Fullerton
RP Joe Kelly- UC Riverside
RP Kyle Nelson- UC Santabarbara
RP Andrew Vasquez- UC Santabarbara
RP Cade Smith- Hawaii
RP Bryan Shaw- Long Beach St.
RP Dillon Tate- UC Santabarbara
C Chad Wallach- Cal State Fullerton
1B Justin Turner- Cal State Fullerton
2B Jeff McNeil- Long Beach St.
3B Matt Chapman- Cal State Fullerton
SS Garrett Hampson- Long Beach St.
LF Josh Rojas- Hawaii
CF Jarren Duran- Long Beach St.
RF Mitch Haniger- Cal Poly
DH Evan Longoria- Long Beach St.
BN Dustin Garneau- Cal State Fullerton
BN Keston Hiura- UC Irvine
BN Kolten Wong- Hawaii
BN JD Davis- Cal State Fullerton
Big West Conference 2nd Team
SP Spencer Howard- Cal Poly
SP David Huff- UC Irvine
SP Noah Davis- UC Santabarbara
SP Drew Thorpe*- Cal Poly
SP Taylor Dollard*- Cal Poly
RP Calvin Fauncher- UC Irvine
RP Andre Pallante- UC Irvine
RP Justin Garza- Cal State Fullerton
RP Justin Bruihl- Cal Poly
RP Mickey Jannis- CSU Bakersfield
RP Austin Davis- CSU Bakersfield
RP Connor Seabold- Cal State Fullerton
RP Darius Vines- CSU Bakersfield
C David Banuelos- Long Beach St.
1B David Freitas- Hawaii
2B Mark Mathias- Cal Poly
3B Matt Duffy- Long Beach St.
SS Brooks Lee*- Cal Poly
LF Jack Larson- UC San Diego
CF Denzel Clarke*- Cal State Northridge
RF Mark Contreras- UC Riverside
DH Ruben Cardenas*- Cal State Fullerton
C Rob Brantly- UC Riverside
INF Alex De Goti- Long Beach St.
INF Shay Whitcomb*- UC San Diego
OF Nicholas Torres*- Cal Poly
HM: SP Marco Estrada- Long Beach St. SP Steven Wright- Hawaii RP Joe Biagini- UC Davis RP Kyle Dowdy- Hawaii RP Robert Garcia- UC Davis RP Phil Bickford- Cal State Fullerton RP Clayton Andrews- Long Beach St. RP Kenny Rosenberg- Cal State Northridge RP Eli Villalobos- Long Beach St. RP Darren McCaughan- Long Beach St. RP Michael McGreevey- UC Santabarbara RP Nick Avila- Long Beach St. RP Matt Andriese- UC Riverside RP Erich Uelmen- Cal Poly C Daniel Cope- Cal State Fullerton C Kurt Suzuki INF Greg Garcia- Hawaii INF Daniel Descalso- UC Davis INF Ty Kelly- UC Davis INF Tanner Murray*- UC Davis OF Khris Davis- Cal State Fullerton
Coastal Athletic Association SP George Kirby- Elon
SP Aaron Civale- Northeastern
SP Bailey Ober- College of Charleston
SP Chad Kuhl- Delaware
SP Bruce Zimmermann- Towson
RP Evan Phillips- UNC Wilmington
RP Adam Ottavino- Northeastern
RP Ryan Thompson- Campbell
RP John Brebbia- Elon
RP Heath Hembree- College of Charleston
RP Ron Marinaccio- Delaware
RP Ty Adcock- Elon
RP Brandon Walter- Delaware
C Ryan Jeffers- UNC Wilmington
1B Jason Vosler- Northeastern
2B Max Burt*- Northeastern
3B Brooks Baldwin*- UNC Wilmington
SS Zach Neto- Campbell
LF Travis Jankowski- Stony Brook
CF Cedric Mullins- Campbell
RF Greg Jones- UNC Wilmington
DH Richie Palacios- Towson
C Kevin Krause*- Stony Brook
INF Ben Williamson*- William and Mary
INF Cullen Large*- William and Mary
OF Jared Dupere*- Northeastern
HM: SP Landen Roupp- UNC Wilmington SP Allen Winans- Campbell SP Nick Tropeano- Stony Brook SP Seth Johnson- Campbell SP Tom Harrington- Campbell RP Austin Warren- UNC Wilmington RP Brian Schlitter- College of Charleston RP Cam Schlitter- Northeastern RP Jimmy Joyce- Hofstra RP Nick Raquet- William and Mary RP John Rooney- Hofstra RP Brad Brach- Monmouth RP Trey Dombrowski- Monmouth RP Taylor Clarke- College of Charleston RP Xavier Meachem- North Carolina A&T C Vito Frescia- Hofstra INF Cam Devanney- Elon INF Alex Iadisernia- Elon OF Mike Wilson- Stony Brook OF Brett Gardner- College of Charleston
America East Conference/Atlantic 10 Conference/Independent
SP Nick Martinez- Fordham
SP Brett Kennedy- Fordham
SP Jimmy Yacabonis- St. Joseph’s
SP Jake Kalish*- George Mason
SP Connor Gillispie*- VCU
RP James Karinchak- Bryant
RP Mark Leiter Jr.- New Jersey Tech
RP Sean Newcombe- Hartford
RP Chris Wright*- Bryant
RP Greg Weissert- Fordham
RP Reiss Knehr- Fordham
RP Garrett Acton- Saint Louis
RP James Norwood- Saint Louis
C Brian O’Keefe- St. Joseph’s
1B Justin Bour- George Mason
2B Vimael Machin- VCU
3B Danny Mendick- UMass Lowell
SS Jeremy Peña- Maine
LF Justin Yurchak*- Binghamton
CF Ryan Ward*- Bryant
RF Vinny Capra- Richmond
DH David MacKinnon- Hartford
C Logan Driscoll*- George Mason
INF Tyler Locklear*- VCU
OF Cade Fergus*- George Washington
OF Brett Callahan*- St. Joseph’s
HM: SP Joe Van Meter- VCU SP Nolan DeVos- Davidson SP Zach Mort- George Mason SP Tim Brennan- St. Joseph’s SP Dave Kubiak- Albany SP Stephen Woods- Albany SP Connor Grey- St. Bonaventure RP Matt Mikulski- Fordham RP Bradford Webb- VCU RP Cody Lawyerson- Maine RP Kyle Wilcox- Bryant RP Joe Nahas- UMBC RP Joe Beimel- Duquesne RP Craig Stammen- Dayton RP Murphy Smith- Binghamton RP Nick Sinacola- Maine RP Ben Anderson- Binghamton C Kyle Schmidt- Richmond C Andrew Cossetti- St. Joseph’s C Erik Ostberg- Hartford C Chris Bec- Maine C Mickey Gasper- Bryant INF Quinn McDaniel- Maine INF A.J. Wright- UMBC INF Riley Tirotta- Dayton INF Mariano Ricciardi- Dayton OF Mark Coley- Rhode Island OF Ryan Wilson*- Davidson