It was always the waiters or waitresses that disappeared. Never the man who did the dishes.
Or at least it wasn’t usually the man who did the dishes.
The man was working until close that night at the diner. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. He had picked up the shift from a coworker who was sick.
The manager came back to check up on him.
“Hey Paul. I’m locking up. You almost done.”
“Yeah… just finishing this.” He gestured absentmindedly to whatever he was cleaning.
The managers gaze softened. She opened her mouth, hesitating for a moment.
Here it comes… Paul thought.
“If… you want someone to talk to…” the manager began.
Paul scrubbed the dishes harder.
“Divorce isn’t easy… I would know…” she continued.
Paul turned to glare at his friend. “Let me deal with my own problems ok?”
The manager raised her hands to calm him down and left.
Paul turned back to the dishes, his hands shaking and his eyes blinking quickly. A tear fell into the sink.
Paul left the diner.
He climbed into his truck and pushed the key into the ignition. He struggled to regain his composure and looked on his dashboard at the picture of his daughter.
He smiled.
Tomorrow’s my Day to have her. He thought. Stephanie better not be late again. I have big plans.
He turned the key and the car stalled.
I’m going to bring her to the movies, we’re gonna eat here at the diner! It’s gonna be the best. Day. Ever. The truck continued to stutter.
Paul got out and popped the hood. Black smoke met his face and he coughed.
He sighed and looked up directions to the nearest mechanic.
“Two miles. Probably within walking distance.” He muttered to himself.
He began the walk.
The moon and streetlights lit his path. Tree’s towered to his left and a long road stretched into the horizon before him.
Paul entertained himself with thoughts of how excited and happy his daughter would be to see him again.
A streetlight flickered.
Paul began to feel uneasy. He tried to calm himself by telling him that “No one would attack me. I’m too menacing. It’s always the waiters or waitresses that disappear. Never the guy that does the dishes!”
A dark voice whispered to him.
“Not usually.”
Paul turned around. The only thing there was a flickering streetlight.
Paul screamed. His face twisted in pure terror. His eyes became black holes leaking blood. His mouth was stretched to an inhuman degree. He began to levitate before suddenly snapping to the right, as if flung, and disappeared into the bushes.
