Ghosts in the Pumpkin Soup

Chapter 16: The Darkness from the Denny's Bathroom

A college dropout, a knight, a succubus, and a scarecrow walk into a bar. Except it isn't a bar, it's Denny's. They awkwardly shuffled into the bustling diner, which resulted in the curious whispers of the various patrons who all wondered if there was some convention in town. James was glad to see so many people eating breakfast at night.

"How many—" The host was put off by their appearance, but she smiled and stayed true to her sworn oath as a Denny's host, "this way, please."

On their way to their seats, Crowsblood caught the stare of an adolescent boy. He lifted the tear in his mask. Utter joy filled Crowsblood when he witnessed the boy pass out face-first into his pancakes. The host presented them with their booth, and they slid into place at the table.

"Out of all the places in Midgard, why here?" Luna asked after finding a comfy spot on the worn seat.

"Because this is the place all great plans are made... where legends are born!" James slammed his fist down on the table. The silverware bounced and clattered.

"Like the Arena of Folk Stabbing Folk Until One or Two Dies?!" Aspen exclaimed with enough vigor to frighten the entire diner.

"No... not like that." James searched for a waiter and found a group of them arguing amongst themselves, most likely deciding which of them would be unlucky enough to serve their table. "Me and my friend Gary used to argue here all the time. Denny's hosts the round table of today's intellectuals; this is where we debate the hard questions of life. Such as: How much would someone have to pay you to take a shit on your chest?"

"This doesn't sound like planning." Luna interjected.

"Or the ever so troubling: How much would you pay to shit on someone else's chest?"

"You're disgusting." Luna scoffed.

"Them's valid questions." Crowsblood giggled.

"Those and many of the great questions of our time have been brought to you by yours truly, James Beasley!"

Crowsblood clapped, James bowed as much as he could while sitting down. Menus appeared before them; one waitress was brave enough to serve their table. She was rather cute too, James thought. Bronze skin and curly hair, she gave James a wary smile. A smile that begged him and his party not to cause any trouble. James thought about hitting on her, but he froze. It wasn't a fear of rejection but a fear of bodily harm.

"Any drinks to start?" the waitress asked.

They immediately replied, "Coffee." The waitress hastily embarked on fulfilling their order.

Crowsblood plucked up his menu and scanned through the options of cheap crap and cheaper crap. "Wha' te' hell is a gran' slamwich?"

"A grand slam, but all in a sandwich." James said.

"Wha' te' hell is a gran' slam?"

"A full course breakfast?"

"What kind o' mad man thought he could squeeze all tha' crap into a san'wich?"

"Yeah, well—"

"Mlehos."

"Mlehos."

"Mlehos."

A soft whisper tickled the back of James's neck, his eyes shot toward a dark corner of the restaurant.

"Something ails you?" Aspen asked while fumbling with his menu.

"No..." James looked over his shoulder a few more times but decided to ignore it for now.