Finger Soup

“Ma’am, why is there a finger in my soup?” Such words should never leave my mouth, ever.

The waitress, a young creature with long legs and bleached blonde hair, leaned over and checked out my entrée. Her gray eyes flicked over the finger. A smirk twitched on her face.

Anger replaced my horror. Why wasn’t she reacting in a more reasonable manner?

“There’s a finger in my soup.” I jabbed at the offending digit to reiterate my disgust.

“Yeah, so that there is.” She chewed her bubble gum, the smacking noise filling the silence following her agreement.

Outrage made my eyes bulge. “That’s a finger. What is it doing in my soup? Where’s your manager?”

The girl’s shiny, pink lips curled up in an unmistakably cruel smile, “Whose finger do you think that is?”

My gaze dropped to the ragged stump. A cold wave rushed through my blood. The quiet of the diner sunk in. Why hadn’t I noticed it was just me and this waitress in the roadside restaurant?

My vision locked on the bowl, I was uncomfortable meeting her eyes again. I feared seeing that wicked grin on her facade of an innocent face again.

Bright, pink-painted fingernails slipped into my vision, pulling the finger out of the soup.

I couldn’t help it, my eyes followed the digit. My stomach clenched as she raised it to her lips and mouthed the fingertip.

She tucked the limb in until her lips brushed her fingers on the torn end. Her eyes closed as if she tasted the most delicious thing ever. When she removed it from her mouth, her eyelids sprung open with a sudden bark of laughter.

“Chris got that there broth right today. You should really finish your soup, sir. It tastes delicious. Once in a lifetime delicacy.” She turned her back on me and sashayed back to the kitchen. The sloppy sounds of her sucking on the torn finger followed her.

Vomit rose in the back of my throat. I swallowed and launched out of the booth. My focus zeroed on getting back to my car and as far away as possible from this hellish diner.

I’d call the cops and set them on the cannibalistic kitchen crew.

The bell on the door jingled as I bolted through it. Her laughter trailed out behind me. Terrified, I raced to my car. My feet tripped up and almost spilled me in my haste. I half-expected to find my tires slashed or ‘Chris’ guarding my vehicle. Thankfully, the only obstacle was my dumbass dropping my keys into the dusty parking lot.

My hand shook so bad I almost dropped them again. I flung myself into the safety of my car and locked the doors. Before I started the car, I checked my cell phone. A groan rolled out of me.

Seriously? No service?

“How much more cliche can we get?” I shouted and tossed the useless phone in the passenger seat.

I glanced at the diner. The young waitress leaned against the window by the door. She smoked a cigarette and chuckled to herself. Her gaze met mine and she laughed out a puff of gray haze.

My tires sprayed up dirt and rocks as I peeled out of the parking lot. The rear view mirror kept grabbing my attention. The movie ‘Jeepers Creepers’ prepared me for the big truck of death to tap my rear view bumper.

Nothing pulled out behind me but I couldn’t shake the feeling.

How could someone who looked so sweet be so cold-blooded? Her icy laughter, the way her lips looked wrapped around that bloody stumped finger. A gag choked in my throat.

To distract from the hysteria building inside, I reached towards my cell phone. I took my eyes off the road for only a moment. As my fingers closed around the slim device, I glanced up in time to see the road curved.

“Shit!” I jerked the wheel and fishtailed around the corner.

When I slid around the curve, my heart dropped. I yanked the wheel again to avoid the barricade blocking the road. The multiple maneuvers threw the car into a spin.

My head cracked the window. Pain blinded me. The car crunched against a tree on the side of the road.

My lids closed in a vain attempt to quell the pounding pain in my head. Blood trickled down the side of my face. I opened my eyes but the imagined spinning caused me to clench them shut again.

A husky voice broke through my suffering. “Damn, he’s pretty screwed up.”

I opened my eyes again, but once more the world tilting made my stomach coil. Shut-eyed darkness swallowed me again.

Another voice; sweet, cold, and far too familiar, said, “He’s mostly unspoiled. At least the important parts.”

Panic jerked me awake. Desperate to get out of my metal coffin, I struggled with the door handle. I ignored the spinning, just needing to escape, but I couldn’t seem to convince my limbs to function the way I told them to. My fingers slipped off the blood spattered handle, not gripping like my wobbly brain instructed them to do.

The waitress stepped into my view and pressed her face against my spiderwebbed window. “Hey sweetie, don’t worry, you won’t hurt for much longer.”

‘Chris’, a huge bearded mountain of a man, replaced her bubblegum pink face. He tapped the glass and it crumbled inward. With a smirk, he reached in and opened my door for me.

My body tumbled onto the road. Still wearing a twisted smile, he scooped me up as if I weighed nothing and chucked me over his shoulder. An image of the waitress sucking my fingers popped into my mind and I whimpered. Chris chuckled, patted my back, and continued forward.

I prayed it would be quick and painless.