The Diner from Hell

Chapter 2 - Burning

Burning. That was the only thing I could feel. I was parched and my throat felt like it was on fire. I needed something to drink. Now. Water?

Disgusting. The mental image repulsed me.

God, it hurt. That was all I felt. Pain. All I knew was that if I didn't get something to drink, I was going to die—again. Though the “again” part didn't really register in my mind at that point.

And then I smelled something, and I just knew it would quench the thirst, stop the burning in my throat, put out the fire. Whatever it was, I needed to get to it. I went with pure instinct. I stood up and sniffed out the...whatever it was that was going to help me.

I found it, too. Not exactly in a form that was beneficial to me, however. That didn't process in my brain, though. Nothing processed in my brain except that he was the solution to the fire. Going on instinct alone, I lunged at the man. I think I took him off guard, but that didn't matter much.

I snapped at his neck with razor sharp teeth—now that registered in my brain; I mean for Pete's sake, I had fangs—and knew that if I could just manage to sink my teeth it, I'd be satisfied.

But alas, he wasn't taking too nicely to being a meal, and whipped out a stake. With said stake, he stabbed me. I think he aimed for the heart, but he missed. Lucky me, he got my stomach instead.

Yeah, that hurt. It hurt worse when he ripped it back out. I screamed. The wood burned more than the fire in my throat, that was for sure. And it cleared my head. Suddenly, I wasn't an animal in search of prey.

I was the freak who just tried to bite some random guy, and said guy was the other freak who stabbed me with a stick. And I wasn't dying. I was pretty sure most people die when they're stabbed in the stomach with a stake. I was also pretty sure most people didn't wake up after having their throats slit. And that they didn't try to bite random guys.

My life had just gotten about one hundred times weirder. And more painful.

I doubled over, wheezing, and screaming in agony. Can I really be blamed? I was just stabbed in the stomach, I think that give me the right to yell a little.

As soon as it got to the point where I was wishing I was dead, it stopped. Just like that, I was fine. No more agonizing pain. I blinked. Huh. Then I realized I was still bent over.

The first thing I noticed when I stood up was that god-awful stake pointed right at me. The second thing I noticed was the man holding it. He looked pissed. I'd be pissed, too, if someone tried to eat me, so I couldn't really say anything there.

I was scared Sammi again. I didn't want that thing near me. It caused me pain, and I feared pain, therefore I feared the stake.

I backed away slowly, like you're supposed to do with bears. I didn't know if it worked on freaks with sticks, but it was worth a try.

“Don't move, or I stake you.” Yikes. Apparently it didn't work too well.

I winced, then took a breath, ready to launch into a long speech. “Look, I'm sorry I just...like, tried to bite you. It was weird and freaky and I don't know what it was but I swear I'm not a murderer or anything and if you'd just let me leave I'd never bother you again. Please don't stab me again because that really hurt and I don't want to die. I'm really, really sorry I just attacked you. I have no clue what got into me and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't kill me.” I about sucked in a gulp of air, but froze when I realized I wasn't even out of breath. Frowning, I held my breath. Nothing. No crushing feeling in my lungs.

I didn't have time to dwell on the creepiness of not breathing, because Stake Guy (as I'd taken to calling him in my head) moved closer. I closed my eyes, feeling tears on their way. I didn't want to die. Again.