Closing Shift

Halloween came early this year, five nights early, for that is when the real horror began.

          I knew nothing was going to happen, or so I foolishly and stupidly thought. I was no stranger to the closing shift; I had closed alone countless times at the old diner I worked at, but this evening felt different, unnervingly different. The air was charged with a suspenseful energy; I felt eyes peering at me from the large black windows and whispers warning me of something. But there was nothing more than the puddled, lonely highway and the sinister silhouettes of pines going on for miles and miles. Perhaps it was the unsettling strangeness of being in a new town, combined with the somber weather, that created an ominous and eerie atmosphere. Maybe it was how the dim, yellow lights flickered and buzzed, making the once vibrant chrome-styled walls feel more like a dull, cold scene of a morgue. I hummed a soft tune as I toiled away, but soon, unwelcome thoughts crept into my mind. Could small-town legends be true? Or perhaps there’s some psycho serial killer just waiting for me to begin my walk home in the heavy rain so he can pick me up and murder me in his basement. The thoughts kept rolling around in my head of everything I’ve ever read about in books and watched in films.
         I was scrubbing the stove top when suddenly, like a clap of thunder, I heard the front door open. Heavy, wet boots squelched across the tiled floor; each slow step sent icy shivers down my spine. I walked over to the front and stopped dead in my tracks as I made eye contact with the man. His unsavory appearance and menacing presence sent an overwhelming wave of fear over me. He was short and stout, like a sickly-looking toad. He wore black shoes, brown, worn-out trousers, and a green, tattered coat that was stained with who knows what. He had a beard-stubbled face with a fat nose that bent downwards, like the number six, and from his disheveled, dark, curly hair protruded two ears that resembled the handle of a coffee mug. He had puffy, gross-looking lips and a breath that smelled like spoiled broth. Dread seeped into my bones the more I absorbed his filthy appearance. I felt like a helpless baby rabbit caught in the sight of a hungry wolf, as his eyes looked me up and down with predatory intensity.
“What can I get for you?” I managed to say. The words escaped my lips in a quivering breath of fear and forced politeness.
“Pancakes and black coffee.” He said in a gruff manner, his voice almost too deep and slow to understand.
“We are about to close; would you like that to go?” I asked, as normal and politely as I could, hoping he would take the hint.
“No.” He replied sharply. Turning to seat himself in a booth.
I rushed to whip up his order with anxiety gnawing at my stomach. I served him the pancakes and coffee with a painfully forced smile. “Anything else I can get for you, sir?” I asked.
“Sit down.” He said in a breathy voice.
“Oh, I would love to, but I really—” I said in a trembly breath under the weight of his gaze.
“I WASN’T ASKING!” His voice boomed, “Now sit down.” The calm tone after felt more menacing than the outburst.
My heart began pounding like the drumbeat of impending doom, and fear gripped my stomach. A dozen thoughts rushed through my head, but all I could do was stare into his dark eyes. “Just listen and everything will be okay,” I said to myself. I sat down on the booth with my hands between my thighs and my legs shaking uncontrollably.
“Good girl.” He purred. Revulsion washed over me as he spoke those words with satisfaction. He began interrogating me with simple questions that got more and more intimate, personal, and invasive—making me squirm in discomfort on the vinyl seat that was now wet with my own nervous sweat. I felt like a prisoner of his whims.
I answered all the questions hastily, in a desperate effort to appease him, hoping he would leave me alone. He finally took a bite of his food, chewing it a few times before suddenly spitting it out on the plate. I knew trouble was brewing.
“These pancakes are cold and taste bitter,” he growled. I honestly thought that a man like him wouldn’t care all that much about how his food looked or tasted. But he threw the dish to the floor. “This coffee is cold and vile, too. What are you doing working here? Learn how to cook.” Anger flared up inside me, and I got up from the booth with trembling legs and told him to leave. “It’s midnight, we are closed, I need you to leave now, or I will call the police.” My voice sounded more like a pathetic plea than a command, as I had intended. But all he did was sit there. “Get out,” I said, pointing to the door.
He got up from the booth, intently slow, and grabbed me by the wrist, gripping it tight with his girthy sausage fingers. I pulled my arm trying to get out of his grip, but with a swift, brutal motion, he yanked my blonde hair back so that I was looking straight up at him. All I could do was tremble in absolute fear as I wondered what horrors awaited me.
“You’re going to lock the doors and shut off all the lights.” He said, releasing me with a harsh shove, asserting his physical dominance. My instincts screamed at me to run, yet I felt compelled to obey. I felt like a puppet to his sinister will, doing what I was told like I always did. I often replay that moment over and over in my head, ever haunted by the “what-ifs.” What would have happened if I had run out the doors instead of locking myself behind them? Could I have run fast enough to escape him, or would it have ended far worse for me?
Once the doors were locked and the lights shut off, he stared at me for a long minute. The longer the silence went on, the more I couldn’t hold in the tears of terror that welled up in my eyes. He was now a huge dark mass looming over me, an imposing dark outline against the faint neon sign outside, casting ghostly shadows.
“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, his voice chilling me to the bones.
“Plea—"
“I’m not going to ask again. Take. Off. Your. Clothes!”
With weak, trembling hands, I began unbuttoning the knee-length pastel uniform, feeling the goosebumps creep up on my skin as the dress unclenched my waist and dropped to the floor.