Scary Stories to Tell in the Drive Thru

The Soggy Man

John had been promised the salty dream of an order of hot and crispy fries, but what John did not understand was that the curse of the Soggy Man was no joke. John reached into the bag of food and went hand first into a grease soaked mess that could barely even be classified as fries, let alone food. This was not the first time, nor the last that John was faced with limp, soggy fries. When the Soggy Man arrives, no fries are safe.

Let's go back a moment, to a time when John's fries were hot and edible instead of the soggy, rotten mess he now seemed doomed to consume for the rest of his days.

It was dark, but the lights of the Wendy's kept the parking lot bright as John walked back to his car. He looked up at the stars as the gods gazed back envious of the paper bag in his left hand. He got in the car, tossed the bag in the passenger's seat, reached in and gingerly lifted a hot and crispy fry out of the bag and ate it, savoring every last morsel.

Across the street, in the golden beckoning glow of pure evil, the Soggy Man watched. He watched and waited, John's joy at consuming his fries eating away at him. The Soggy Man had found his next target, and the Soggy Man doesn't like to lose.

When John would watch videos at night he could not hear the sopping, sluggy, wetness that followed the Soggy Man. Each of his steps mired in the slurping steps of a boot in deep mud. For a moment John might remove an ear bud, thinking he heard a strange sound, but no it was nothing. The Soggy Man crept forth until he was nearly dripping onto John's shoulders.

"Try different fries," he'd whisper his faint hauntings into John's ever churning subconscious mind. He would manipulate the ads playing between the videos on John's phone, with a constant barrage of clowns, and crowns, and other creepy children's characters promising golden salty fries while offering regret and disappointment.

John did not know he had been targeted by the Soggy Man, but he was quite aware of his ravenous cravings for fries. For some reason he was set on trying something new. Sure, Wendy's guaranteed their fries would be hot and crispy, but why not take a risk. The Soggy Man's whispers still resonated in John's ears, "Try different fries."

He sought out golden stars and arches, he ventured into the lands of guys and kings, he even tried to think outside of the bun for a change. Nothing helped, nothing changed. Each bag that John reached into was filled with a crumbling mushy lump of fried potatoes and sadness. Each limp tater dripping grease like the tears of an unfulfilled destiny.

Now you might ask yourself, "How did he get here? How does he work this? This is not my beautiful wife."

And I might reply, "That last one isn't a question."

The truth is that no one is safe. Not from the ever present threat of mediocre and lukewarm sadness labeled fries and tossed into a salty terrarium of blech. John knew Wendy's had the hot and crispy fries guaranteed, but the slippery words of soothsayers and snake oil salesmen got past his better judgment.

This is not the end for John, the Wendy's drive-thru is blessed with the counter hex which will drive away the Soggy Man and lift his curse from John's foods forever. Next time John considers trying new fries, hopefully he will remember to buy better fries.