Sly, the delivery guy.
Sly stopped his minivan and got out. He tucked in his shirt that displayed the company logo prominently. He straightened the lame cap he had to wear.
“They’ll be no complaints to the boss about how I look tonight,” he mumbled.
He reached across to the passenger seat. Pulling out a box, he checked the bill against the address he’d parked in front of.
“66 Sixth Street, this is the number!”
Sly began whistling as he strolled up the walk.
“This place is weird and eerie, straight out of a horror movie,” he muttered.
He looked for a doorbell, but found only a small noose hanging down near the door. Shrugging, he pulled it. A maniacal scream blasted him. Before he could recover, the door creaked open. A short, green-skinned, bald man eyed him hungrily.
“Pizza delivery,” he announced when he could speak.
The man grinned, showing three rows of sharp, pointy teeth.
“Does it have fresh eyeballs on it?” he asked.
“That’s not one of our toppings,” Sly answered, sure the man was joking.
“How about blood sauce?”
“Nope, not part of our pizzas either.”
“Then you must add thin slices of brain.”
“Nooo,” Sly said backing away slightly.
“Then come in and stay for pizza,” the man said, licking his bulbous lips.
“I’m not allowed to eat with the customers,” Sly said, turning to run.
A trio of long tongues emerged from the man’s mouth, wrapping themselves tightly around Sly so he couldn’t move.
“I insist, after all how else are my family and I going to get our favorite toppings,” the man mumbled as he dragged him in the door.
Shrieking, Sly woke up in a sweat, tangled in his bedclothes.
“That’s the last time I eat pizza while watching a horror movie,” he vowed aloud.