The Pizza Guy: A Halloween Story

The Pizza Guy - Death Delivered to your Door...In 30 Minutes or Less!

He saw the sign. Entering Salem, it read. In between the two words, one above and one below, was the following information: Est. 1626. There was a symbol, he believed, in between those two items that must have been the symbol/logo/crest/whatever of the state of Massachusetts. There was also a witch on a broom adorning all of this. 

He drove along Bridge Street. He'd be activating the delivery app soon to start taking orders. 

His name: Gary. He thought of himself as Gary the Pizza Guy. He'd actually started to become famous. He had left a lot of business cards at the crime scenes. Those that weren't so bloodstained so as to be damaged and unreadable were used to immediately connect the various murders. He traveled from state to state, city to city, all in a quest to be famous as the one and only pizza-guy serial killer. He hadn't heard of any serial killer branding him(or her)self as The Pizza Guy (or gal). Perhaps there were some murderous pizza people out there, but if there were, they weren't that famous. Gary, though, was becoming known...and he loved it. 

Time to make some deliveries in the Halloween capital of the world.  

Gary powered up the app. In no time at all, an order came up. And, yes, it had to be delivered in less than a half-hour, or your money back...or whatever.

He got the name of the shop he'd be using and the GPS started barking its directional orders.

He drove down to Pickering Wharf. It was the weekend before Halloween itself. People were everywhere. Tour groups were crossing streets, large ones, the ones where the guide told you about the history of Salem and how every nook and cranny of the city was possessed, haunted, and just plain old bad. 

There was a pizza place down by the little shopping/dining area near that old-time sailing ship that floated on the water. A harbor that no doubt had a few creatures-from-the-black lagoon swimming around in its murky depths. 

Who was he kidding? The only monster in this town right now, the only real one, was him. He was your Halloween scare of the season...only you didn't know it.

He hit the joint. Picked up the order. Wasn't a big one. Probably not a big party. Just a cozy one. That was good. That would make things simpler. 

Gary liked simple...

The GPS was screaming its orders at him again. Gary didn't like the GPS. He thought it was weird. One time it gave him directions to a weird place. Some cabin out in the woods in the region he came from, down deep in the south, a haunted place. He walked into the cabin and thought he saw something within it. Something dark. Within the shadows, within the corners. But he was probably wrong. He probably didn't see anything.

He came out a changed man, though, with a new outlook on life, and some new goals...

Gary found the place. There were decorations out front. Everyone had that Home Depot giant skeleton thing. That was okay, he liked it. 

Well, time to put the special toppings on the pizzas. He had to go out back to the trunk and get them from their terrariums. 

This time, he wanted to make sure he didn't lose too many crickets...

He made his deliveries. Three twenty-something women. College co-eds probably. They said they would leave a tip on the app, but they said it in such a giggling manner that Gary highly doubted there would be a tip. Which is fine; did it really matter?

The girls were still giggling, having a great time. They were sexy, they were youthful, they had their whole lives ahead of them.

They also had pizzas. 

One of them opened hers and screamed. At just about the same time, someone else opened one of the boxes. 

Tarantulas crawled all over the cheesy dough pie. Some had sunk deep into the gooey slices, pawing with their hairy legs at the pepperoni to release themselves from the quagmire. 

They ran into the living room. The one who had opened the first box put her iPhone to her ear to summon the authorities. 

That's when he walked in, a shape in the dark, sauntering forth from the shadows...

They were tied up now. In the kitchen chairs. It was easy; too easy; too boring, to tell the truth.

They cried. Begged. Screamed. Gary didn't think anyone could hear the noise. He had the television volume at an elevated level, but more importantly, there was another party a couple houses down, an extremely loud one. And it was near Halloween. He doubted anyone would pay any mind.

"Okay. Listen to me. Please."

Two of them immediately stopped. Their mascara had run so much and their tears were so thick they looked like racoons that were crying their eyes out...literally. 

"This isn't going to be so bad." There was that one who wouldn't stop blubbering and complaining. He had to do something about it. 

He picked up one of the tarantulas. He held it close to her face. She recoiled and begged, so phobic. He put it down again, far away. He had stepped on just about all of them as a peace offering, but he always allowed  a couple to live just in case he needed some leverage. Like now. 

"Like I say, not so bad. Now, you girls, tell me...you must know what ASMR is."

They did. They were confused. They nodded. 

"That's all I want to do. Just have your attention and...do some ASMR with you." He really meant ASMR on you, but using the other preposition always sounded more fellowship-like. 

He started the session. He spoke in a soft, ultra-soothing tone of voice that somehow blocked out all the other noise...the party down the street, the television. All of it. 

He was lecturing them on how to trade stocks. He had done a lot of stock trading to fund his little expeditions, as he thought of them. For some reason, he seemed to have the luck of the devil, more successful trades than failed ones. He had never traded stocks before. 

But then, he had never been an ASMR artist before, either. One who was so good he could put people to sleep...

Gary left when he was sure the ASMR had taken. The girls' heads fell at unnatural angles on their necks. And even though he had put them to sleep, the expressions on their faces, even with their eyes closed, were full of pain. 

Sometimes his victims were in the coma for a year; sometimes three. Not usually longer than that. Others were in them for maybe six months, a rare bunch.

Then they woke up. Screaming; always. Then they were sent home. Then, some short time later, they committed suicide. It was never a long time before they did that.

Gary held in his hands a couple of spiders that survived. He put them back in the trunk, back in the habitats. He would have to find another pet store. He had an app for that, and the GPS, of course. 

As he drove off, exiting the Halloween capital of the world, he couldn't help but think that his victims probably dreamed of dark woods and cabins (and spiders) while they were out...oh, and pizza...