A man, of about 22, lived in a small house with his father, who was about 68. The man stood at an average 5'7, with brown hair and bright blue beady eyes. He wore large black glasses, balanced on the bridge of his nose, and almost never took them off, unless to sleep. Today, he was wearing a mostly blue shirt with a white grid pattern overlaying it, a small collar near the neck to top it all off. He wore simple blue jeans, a couple of small stains here and there, his phone in his right pocket. There was nothing too special about him. His father was slightly taller, at 5'8, and was a lot plumper than his son. He had brown, gleaming eyes, his hair turning a clear grey with age. He had a beard which flowed downwards a fair bit, and also wrapped up and around his mouth, leaving a small hole in the center, almost like a vacuum. He wore a simple, plain red shirt, a single pocket on his chest. He wore the same jeans as his son did, but instead of a phone in his right pocket, he carried a pocket knife with him at all times.
The father wanted to go grab a bowl of soup at the nearby diner late at night, around 10:32 to be exact. His son, being tired and just wanting to keep his old man happy, reluctantly agreed. It was only a five minute drive of empty road and streetlights beaming down, before they pulled in and parked near the front door of the diner. Walking inside, it wasn't anything special. On one side, there were booths lined up against the windows, looking out into the street and beyond. On the other side, there was a simple bar with a few condiments scattered about it. From the bar, you could look into the kitchen, where there was a single employee, washing things down. The son and father went and sat at one of the booths near the center of the room, waiting for the employee to finish what he was doing.
About ten minutes had passed with the son and father talking to one another about different events happening around the world, before the waiter finally came along. He looked down at the two people with his notepad, before finally speaking. "What would you like tonight, sirs?" The two men looked down at their menu's for a moment, reading off everything they could in the shortest amount of time possible. After a moment, they decided. "I'll take a bowl of your tomato soup, please." The father said simply. "Just water, I'm not hungry right now." The son responded, looking clearly annoyed, not knowing how long this trip might really take. The waiter smiled wide, giving an uneasy feeling throughout the room. He stayed like this for a good seven seconds before saying, "That's good. I'll have your order out in no time." He turned away without writing anything in his notebook, walking back to the kitchen and making a lot of noise, presumably cooking up a pot of tomato soup for the father.
"Hey, did you notice that? He kind of looks like the guy on TV. You know, the one that lives about a state away, who lured all those people to his house which were later found dead in his basement?" At hearing his son say this, the father seemed skeptical, and looked over at the counter at the employee, studying him closely, before sitting down again. For a moment, he didn't say anything, clearly uncomfortable. After enough silence had passed, the son was still waiting for an answer. "Shut your trap, be nice to the poor guy, he could just look similar, now let's get off this topic to something slightly happier already." The son immediately understood it was time to back off, and changed the topic. Something about the new presidential election coming up, and who was running. Though, it was quickly cut off by the son. "Dad, I gotta go to the bathroom, be back in a second." He got up from the booth and walked up and over to the bathroom, disappearing behind the door.
Fifteen minutes had passed, and the father was still at the booth, waiting for both his bowl of tomato soup and his son to return. He started wondering what was taking either of them so long, before the waiter finally came to the table, putting the thick, red soup in front of him on the table. "Here's your order, sir." He said, a wide grin already formed on his face. The father looked down at the soup, then up again at the waiter, speaking in a more serious tone than before. "Where is my son?" The waiter simply looked at him, the grin only slightly growing bigger than before, his eyes gleaming. "Oh, don't worry about that, I'm sure you'll see him very soon." The uncomfortable silence grew, the waiter standing at the end of the booth with his wide grin, staring down at the father, who he himself was staring down at the soup. This stayed for a moment, before the father finally picked up his spoon, and dipped it into the liquid. He picked it up to pull up some soup to his mouth, only to pick up a pair of big, black glasses, covered in the liquid.
The father, realizing who's glasses these were, put the spoon gently back into the soup with the glasses, staring down into it. "What's wrong? Is it too hot right now? I can go get you something else while it's cooling, if you like." The waiter's endless gaze stared into the father, the air growing tense. The waiter starts to stand back up with a smirk, but not before the father bolts up, stabbing with his pocket knife straight into the waiter's heart, who died a few seconds after hitting the floor, laying in a pool of his own blood. "Dad, wait, it's just a prank!" His son's voice was heard in the kitchen, as he poked his head out from around the corner, looking at his dad. Realizing what he had just done, he stared down at the body, while talking with his son, both their voices quickly rising as they enter a heated argument. After a few minutes of arguing, they both agree to hide the body, in fear that they would both get sent to prison if they were found out.
The father grabbed the head, and the son the legs, as they lifted the warm body up and started walking it over to the back of the kitchen, to the freezer. Opening the freezer door, they were shocked at the sight they saw. The waiter's brother, who was the chef, was back there, working the meat grinder. Multiple human bodies lay on hooks hanging behind him, the chef just finishing up shoving a hand into the grinder.
YOU ARE READING
The Diner: A Short Story
HorrorA son takes his father to a nearby diner, where they are greeted with an odd series of events.
