Creepypasta: Nightmare Fuel

105: A Diner Opens 25 Hours a Day

A Diner Opens 25 Hours a Day by Christopher Maxim

Late one night, I found myself driving down what seemed liked an endless stretch of road. I was on my way back from a week-long business trip, facing at least a twelve hour drive home. Having always been afraid of planes and heights in general, the monotonous trek was unavoidable. Though tedious and sometimes downright soul-crushing, I’d grown used to the lonely road trips back and forth from state to state.

In an effort to minimize my time behind the wheel, I usually refrained from making pit stops. I would push through exhaustion and discomfort, making my way home in one fell swoop. I would then enter my bedroom and meet my blankets with a hard thud, falling asleep almost immediately after my head hit the pillow. Picturing my eventual slumber is what kept my foot on the gas pedal.

On this drive, however, I grew particularly hungry. I tried to ignore the feeling, but this became increasingly difficult as the night went on. I found myself longing for sustenance, fantasizing about dreadful gas station food – anything that would placate my insatiable, late-night hunger. I was between a rock and a hard place, as tightly squished as one could be.

Unable to fight off the urge to eat any longer, I gave in to my stomach’s groaning and got off the highway somewhere in Massachusetts. I had been to the state on several occasions, but this time I was in unfamilar territory. There were many trees – more than the average cape-side town. On top of that, there were no buildings in sight. Despite the lack of residential growth, I was sure I could sniff out a 7-11 and indulge in a microwave burrito or a slice of rubbery pizza.

I drove on for what must have been thirty minutes or so. No gas stations, no fast food joints, no buildings of any kind. Just miles and miles of wooded area. Worst of all, I didn’t even have a phone signal to pull up my GPS. I was just about to give up on “Operation: Midnight Snack” when I saw a faint glow off in the distance. This signalled to me that I must have been reaching the outskirts of civilization – furthermore, it meant nourishment was just around the corner.

As I approached the glimmering light, I realized it was that of a large, neon sign. Coming closer, I was able to make out what it said; “Supernova Diner”, followed by an even larger subheading; “Open 25 Hours a Day”. I guessed that they really wanted to drive the “we never close” angle home, and in a cheeky manner no less. Cheekier and larger still, there was a big flashing arrow beneath the sign, pointing to the diner in question.

Hungry as ever, I pulled in without hesitation. I jumped out of my car and rushed towards the entrance, but not before taking a quick look at the place. It was a beautiful, retro-themed, silver, box-car diner. The smooth metal exterior gleemed in the moonlight as I walked up. It was so sleek and well-crafted, that I wondered why it was located in the middle of nowhere. Could they really get by on the odd passerby here and there?

After admiring the diner’s craftsmanship, I barged in, intent on satisfying my late-night case of the munchies. The diner was void of life, but I heard a voice yell out from the kitchen.

“Be right there!”

While I waited for service, I surveyed my surroundings. A gorgeous, red checkerboard pattern painted the interior of the building. Lining the perimeter were red booths and tables so immaculate, they looked as though they’d never been touched by human hands. To top it all off, there was a row of similarly red, identical, cushioned bar stools at the counter. The diner definitely had a classic, 50s vibe to it, but it was too crisp and clean to feel truly authentic.

After a few minutes of waiting, a middle-aged man came out from the kitchen, drying his hands with a dish rag.

“Hello there! Welcome to the Supernova Diner. My name is Hank, and I’ll be your server, tonight. How can I help you?”