I’ve received flyers in my mailbox for the new pizza place every week for the past month or so. First, introducing the grand opening. Then, advertising they were open until 3 AM. And finally, the standard fare of special deals and promo codes. Though the 5$ medium pepperoni was tempting, I was loyal to my local mom-and-pop shop. I’d been going there for years I would never have considered cheating on them had I not had a sudden hankering for pizza at 2 AM one night. The new place was the only thing still open in the suburbs. Given the circumstances, I figured I could be forgiven for my indiscretion, so I grabbed my keys and headed out.
The parking lot was empty, with the light of the pizza place acting as a beacon in the otherwise dark surroundings. Safe for a gas station a few streets down, every other building was empty, and when I say empty, I mean, with “coming soon” signs plastered on the windows announcing their future tenants and little to no furniture inside. I’m sure it was fine in the light of day, but in the early hours of the morning, there was something eerie about the new development. It didn’t feel lived in – probably because it wasn’t. They were connecting two suburbs that used to be separated by a forest and a highway. In the last year or so, they’d razed the forest to raise the buildings. Construction was nearing its end. In a few months, I had no doubt the place would be popping. For now, like I said, there was just the pizza place.
I walked in and the industrial lighting stung my eyes, forcing me to squint while they adjusted. To its credit, the place was nice and clean, and it smelled amazing. I got a whiff of pizza and meat that had my mouth watering almost instantly. The place also had a semi-open concept: there was the order counter and behind it, a wall spanning only two thirds the length of the room, leaving door-wide gaps on either side. The wall had a large kitchen hole cut out of its center with two shelves lined with heating elements. You could see straight into the kitchen both through the hole or by taking a few steps to the side and peering through the gaps. There were the usual pieces of equipment, like fridges, fryers, and ovens. But then, there was the motherload: a ginormous conveyor belt oven. Think the little ones some hotels have where you put your bagel down and it slowly gets toasted before coming out the other end, only, like, SO much bigger. It had to be the width of at least two large pizzas side by side.
I craned my neck to get a better look, and that’s when an employee scared the shit out of me. He just kind of…appeared in my field of vision. Quiet bugger. The guy was young. Maybe 18. Either right out of high school or about to graduate. He was pasty white with greasy hair and dressed in the store colors. He stared me down with laser focus and without uttering a single word of greeting. After a prolonged silence, I said hello. The fingers of his right hand impatiently tapped his leg. I checked my phone to see if I was one of those annoying last-minute customers, but he still had another 45 minutes to his shift, so it couldn’t be that. I figured I’d caught him in the middle of something.
“Can I get a large pepperoni-bacon?” I asked, pausing for him to punch it into the register. He did not. Instead, he kept his death glare on me. He was emanating pure irritation. “And a side of curly fries. If it’s not too late. It’s fine if the fryers are off for the night, don’t worry about it.”
Still, I got nothing out of him. Not an appreciative smile, not a nod of acknowledgement, zilch. Maybe it was my English? Even in the mostly bilingual city, some people could be a bit rude about that.
“Uuh. Je suis un pepperoni bacon si vous plat? Et uh. Des frites uhm. Uh. Curly?” I spun my finger around in circles to try to get the point across. He didn’t react. Maybe he was high? I pointed to the cash register. “You might want to, uh…”
He hit a few keys while never looking down, and then somehow simultaneously turned on his heels while also keeping his head angled towards me. I want to be clear, I’m not saying he dislocated his head to do this; he was kinda glancing over his shoulder. But the way he did it was so smooth and while unnatural to see, seemed completely normal to him. He kept me in his sights as he walked down the counter, around the gap, and into the back – all without requesting payment. Maybe it was due on pick-up? I lost sight of him somewhere around a corner.
“O…kay.”
I took a seat and looked out into the parking lot, feeling uncomfortably exposed. In contrast to the brightness of the pizza place, outdoors, I could barely make out distant houses and treetops. I was basically a billboard for anything or anyone out there. It felt like any moment, a monster would slam into the window like a hockey player. I imagined demonic eyes stalking me from a distance, waiting to pounce as I walked back to my car. That, or just as I reached safety, a clawed hand would grab me from beneath, slashing my ankle so I couldn’t escape. My imagination became too vivid when I saw a pale white face in the window slowly approaching, its features were melting off like cheese on a slice of pizza. Its hollow eyes drooping more and more with every step, like a latex mask melting off its wearer’s face. It looked so real, I got goosebumps. I blinked, and it was still there, creeping ever closer. That’s when I felt the electric sensation of someone behind me, and realized the reflection could just as easily have been of someone inside. I turned around, but there was no one there, and I heard a door closing somewhere in the back. I let out a sigh of relief.
Had my pizza even been made? If so, I wasn’t sure I had the stomach for it anymore. I hadn’t heard anything from the kitchen since I’d gotten there. Pushing myself to my feet, I contemplated telling the kid I’d wait in the car, if only to get out of the bright light where I felt most vulnerable. Plus, I was kind of hoping it would nudge him into action, or that I would see him kneading my dough.
I called out, “Excuse me?”
There was no reply, and from my angle, no kid.
I took a few steps closer and scanned what I could see of the kitchen. It was empty, with some pizza pans littering the floor, which I hoped would be cleaned up at closing time. More importantly, I hoped I wouldn’t spy the kid grabbing one straight from the ground and putting my ‘za on it.
“Hey kid, you back there?” I held up my phone and pointed to it. “I gotta bail. Got a text. My wife’s giving birth. I’m leaving cash on the counter for the trouble!”
My wife wasn’t pregnant. Scratch that. I don’t even have a wife. But it was the first excuse that came to mind. I remember thinking this was what I got for being disloyal to my mom-and-pop shop. I pulled out my wallet, but before coughing out the dough (pun intended), I wanted to check the oven. I can be a little flip-floppy at times, I admit it. I thought I was overthinking things, and maybe my pizza was already baking, and the kid had just run to the bathroom. I mean, he had looked impatient earlier. Maybe I’d caught him right as he was about to have the biggest assplosion. Pressing my hands on the counter, I boosted myself up to look into the conveyor oven. There was something in there, but it was way larger than a pizza pie, and it was slowly inching forward.
I hate that I looked at him for so long without realizing what I was looking at. I hate the growing curiosity as the shape slowly emerged from the shadows, like a picture being printed one line at a time. I know I was transfixed on it for a few minutes as he inched along. I know the image burned itself into my retina even though I couldn’t consciously make it out. That all changed when he reached the end of the belt and became bathed in halogen. The pasty kid, his face equal parts blue and roasted, rolled out of the oven and onto the pizza serving platform. Most of his greasy hair had been singed off. His face was twisted in pain. His mouth agape as though he’d been screaming in terror. His fingers were wedged under a black tie around his neck, which had gotten stuck in the belt and held him in a chokehold. It couldn’t have been for that long, as I’d only just spoken to him, but he looked long dead. I don’t know how I’d even know the difference. I just did.
I heard a crack as the belt turned over and headed towards the underside, pulling his neck along with it. I didn’t know if the crack was the machine or his bones. I just know the way his head was dangling didn’t seem right. This time, the machine failed, not strong enough to pulverize a skull and pull it into the narrow space beneath it.
I didn’t realize I was running out of the store until light turned starkly to dark. It was an out-of-body experience. When I think about it now, it’s like I can see myself from a bird’s eye view running away, like I had no control over my movements or thoughts. I was consumed with terror. It wasn’t until I was sitting in my car with the ignition on that I snapped back to my senses and called the emergency line. Firefighters were the first on the scene, as they typically are in the suburbs. I felt one of them gently pulling me out of the car and wrapping me in a foil blanket. They probably thought I was in shock. They were probably right.
The police assured me it was an accident – it could’ve happened to anyone. One of them clapped a hand on my back and, in what was probably an attempt at making me feel better, explained he’d likely suffocated long before he started roasting. I’m not sure that really makes a difference.
Here’s the problem: the whole time I was there, it was dead quiet. I didn’t have headphones on. I was fully alert. I never heard this kid scream. Or him knocking over the pizza pans in his death throes. I never heard any sort of commotion you’d hear from something like this. And I know I heard a door closing in the back. What’s more, I later found out it takes 15 minutes for a pizza to bake. In other words, 15 minutes to go through the oven. I was at the pizza place for 5, maybe 6 at most.
I told my friends about what happened. One of them said I probably saw the kid’s ghost and maybe he was asking me for help. I don’t think that’s what it was. His impatient mannerisms, the silence, the almost predatory stare? I got the impression I was interrupting something waiting for its meal.
You don’t expect creepy things to happen in new developments, but I guess they’re just as susceptible. I’m going to stick to the mom-and-pop shop from now on.