It’s been hard to digest this dining experience, and not in the ways you might think. I’ve been trying to make sense of it, and to find others who’ve experienced something similar. But at the end of the day, all I’ve come up with is loose rumors and stray photos. I know it was real, and I know it is out there, but that’s all I got so far.
Back in February, I was stood up on a date. I’d dressed up all nice and brought her flowers. She just texted me that she’d met someone, not even twenty minutes before we were supposed to meet. I’m thinking she’d been juggling several people at once and decided to settle on someone else. No matter the reason, I was left with a bouquet of sunflowers (those fancy blue ones from the corner shop) and nothing to do.
As I was walking home, I decided I was going to treat myself. In the immortal words of RuPaul, if you can’t love yourself, how the hell are you gonna love somebody else?
That’s how I ended up outside the Cardinal Secret Kitchen.
This was the kind of place I’d always passed by. It was just out of sight enough to be out of mind, and I’d never thought about going there before. It looked a bit too fancy, and it had this intimidating maître d’ outside. A hawk-nosed woman who stared at me as I considered checking the place out.
But I was fired up. I wanted to do something different. Break some molds, be risky. Go out of my way to try something new. So I thought “what the hell” and stepped up.
If I’d just thought about it, I would’ve realized I’d never seen this place before in my life.
“Table for one?” she asked.
“Yeah, how… if one’s available, yeah.”
She looked knowingly at my bouquet of flowers and gave me a wry smile.
“I’m sure we can arrange something. Please come with me.”
Of course. A pity table.
We followed a wide staircase to a set of large double doors, leading down into a large cellar. It was this wide-open space with cobblestone walls and marble floors. The first room had a sort of lounge area with an oak-hewn bar and four sets of tables spread out across the room. There were already plenty of people there, most of them very much not looking for a table for one. Most of them had their coats on and looked about to leave, some of them bringing meals in doggy bags. Business-like type of people, laughing and drinking.
I stepped up to a large metal door as the maître d’ held out her hand.
“Pardon,” she said. “No phones in the dining area.”
She pointed to a small sign on the side of the door. A little phone with a red circle and a cross.
“Of course,” I smiled, like an idiot. “Where do I-“
She held out a little silver tray, which I put it on.
“We can charge it for you while you dine, if you wish.”
“Sure, I- uh… thanks.”
“Absolutely. If you just keep going to the next room, Antonio will meet you.”
I thanked her as I stepped through the doors. I actually thanked her.
As I walked through the door, I came into a dining area. It was a long room, about 50 by 30 feet, with an identical metal door on the other side. I realized I was still carrying my bouquet of blue sunflowers, so I dropped them in a little garbage can by the door. There were eight tables in total, four on each side of a red carpet. There were thin mirrors on the side of the wall, as if to simulate slim basement windows. The large door swung shut behind me rather forcefully.
The dining hall was full of dinner guests, most of which seemed to be waiting for their order. I did as I’d been told and just kept going straight through. I opened the door on the opposite side.
Another room, almost identical. This place seemed larger than I’d thought. I could’ve sworn it would have one main room, and at most, one side room. This seemed excessive. Then again, I’d never been there before. Still, I’d lived in this town for seven years and never heard anyone even mention it. Another 50 by 30 feet of dining area.
There were a bit fewer guests in the second room, but no waiter, so I just kept going. There was no Antonio coming to meet me, so I figured there was a room even further off. There was yet another door on the opposite side of the room after all. Just how big was this place? I noticed some of the guests giving me side-eyes, as if I’d stepped into something private. At the moment I wasn’t really paying attention, but thinking back on it I think at least half of them were talking in foreign languages.
Just as I was about to step through the next door, it opened. Two guests stepped out, carrying a paper bag. A doggy bag, like the ones I’d seen in the lounge. I figured I was on the right track.
But as I stepped through, and the door closed behind me, I realized something was off.
The third room, identical to the other two, was completely empty. Not a single dinner guest. 50 by 30. The same type of tables and everything, but empty of people. I thought I’d stepped into someplace I shouldn’t have, like it was closed off for some reason. I turned around to head back, thinking I might’ve missed something.
But the room I just came from was also empty.
I just stopped, as my heart skipped a beat.
I was standing in the doorway between two identical, empty rooms. Looking back and forth, I was having trouble wrapping my brain around it. I was sure there’d been people there. It was messing with my head. Had I been turned around somehow? Had I imagined them?
“Hello?” I called out. “I, uh… I’m looking for Antonio?”
No answer. Just these two beautiful rooms, full of dimly lit tables. I could hear my voice bounce off the cobblestone walls. I decided to go back, to ask for directions. Bother or not, I was getting uncomfortable.
I walked through the room I came from, now empty, and opened the door on the opposite side. Again, an empty room. The room looked identical no matter which side you were coming from, and it was messing with my head. Standing in the doorway I couldn’t tell where I’d come from. And now it was all empty.
I turned around towards what I knew to be “backwards”. It had to be. And I just started walking.
Through another door, into another empty room. Another door, another room. Yet another door, and yet another room. I could feel my pulse rising, as I started to jog. Another door. Another. Another. All leading into the same kind of empty room, with the same cobblestone walls. The jog turned into a run, and then a sprint. I didn’t stop until I collapsed against one of the doors, gasping for air. I must’ve run through twenty doors.
I figured I’d gone insane. Something must’ve broken inside of me. Maybe I was having some kind of seizure. I collapsed against one of the doors, trying to catch my breath.
There was a garbage can on each side of the room, placed in an identical way. Out of exhaustion, I checked it.
My blue sunflower bouquet was in there. How? I’d dropped it in the first room. This wasn’t it.
I picked it up and clutched it to my chest like a teddy bear. This was impossible. What I was experiencing was impossible. There was no way this place was so big, and there was no way everyone would just decide to collectively leave. Counting the petals on the bouquet, I started thinking that maybe the place itself was crazy, and not me. If I was sane enough to calmly count, to think things through, maybe I wasn’t the problem.
The maître d’ had taken my phone. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Then again, even if she hadn’t, I might not have coverage underground anyway. But it got me thinking; maybe there was some sort of method to this madness.
What did they want from me?
As I kept walking forward, I started noticing little changes. The tablecloths were a darker shade, and the red carpet started to look black. There were irregularities in the floor, making me almost trip over my own feet. The mirrors on the wall were less reflective, until they were just glass. The cobblestone patterns were changing room by room, going from even sizes to these absurd and almost biological shapes. The simple dining room chairs were changing into stools, office chairs, and even a bean bag at one point. It seemed that the further I went, the less the place resembled a dining room hall. Like I was going further and further “away” from what it was supposed to look like. Devolution, in a way, one room at a time.
I tried turning around, but it seemed that whatever direction I went was still “forward”. Good thing I had my bouquet to comfort me.
I must’ve wandered around for hours. My feet were killing me, so at one point I sat down at one of the tables.
That’s when I noticed there was a servant’s bell.
I stood right back up. I was sure it hadn’t been there. I’d seen hundreds of iterations of this room, and there’d never been any bells. Had it appeared as I sat down?
As I put my hand over it, I considered what to do. Whoever lead me into this must’ve anticipated me ringing that bell. It was part of their plan. And while I didn’t know much of their plan, I knew for a fact that it couldn’t be anything good. These were not caring people, or they wouldn’t have put me in this position to begin with. This had to be nefarious, one way or the other.
So no, I wouldn’t ring the bell. Not without planning.
I had no idea what to believe, but I had to expect the worst. One of the dining room chairs had been replaced with a bar stool, held up by a large metal pipe going down the middle. It was a bit wobbly, so I managed to pick it apart. I would feel a lot better ringing that bell if I was armed with a hefty chunk of metal.
But I took it one step further. I pulled down the lights on both sides of the room, turning the room from dimly lit to pitch black.
I took off my shoes, as they clacked against the floor. They couldn’t hear me in just my socks.
Now I felt ready. Someone had to answer for this.
I rang the bell.
I hid behind the door, as I heard the metal hinges squeal. I was fully committed to just beating the shit out of whoever stepped through, but something stopped me. The way they walked just sounded… weird.
Their steps were large, and meaty. Like slapping a large steak against stone, over and over. Long, heavy steps. Also, a sort of crinkling noise. A paper bag? Like the doggy bags?
I just stood there, listening. I snapped out of it as I heard this awful moan, followed by a pair of heavy arms slamming into the table with the bell. The sound of heavy meat being flung onto a stone slab. Whoever, or whatever that was, I wasn’t gonna hit it with a pipe. No way. Instead, I just stepped out onto the carpet and felt around for the door handle. There was something wet on the floor, where that thing had stepped.
As soon as I touched the handle, I heard a muffled voice. It came from somewhere low, possibly inside something. The shrill voice of a young man, panicked.
“There! He’s there!”
As I pulled the door open, I expected the dining room again. Possible with minor changes, like things had gradually changed over time so far. But no, this looked like the original room. There were even a few guests. Just three of them, spread out among the tables. My first feeling was this intense relief, but it got stuck in the back of my throat.
Something was off with these people.
One of them, a man in his early fifties, didn’t have any eyes. Next to him was a young woman in her twenties, sporting a pearl necklace made of eyeballs. In the very back was an older woman missing her lower jaw.
They all turned their heads towards me, grabbed their silverware, and stood up. Behind me, from the door I’d just passed through, I could hear meaty steps coming.
I just ran, flailing my pipe against anyone coming even close. I clocked the middle-aged man on the side of his head, collapsing him over one of the tables. He didn’t even scream. He made no sound whatsoever; not even acknowledging that I’d hit him. I could hear the door open behind me as I burst forward, crashing through to the next room.
Just a single guest. A kid, no more than seven years old, chewing on an ear. Flickering lights made it look like he moved in stop-motion. On the other side of the room, the garbage can had been knocked over, revealing a pile of paper bags. I just ran. The kid was nowhere fast enough to get close to me. I could hear his lips smack as he kept snacking on that ear, like a dog.
As I passed the pile of paper bags, I could hear voices coming from them. Sad, desperate voices.
“Wait.”
“Come back.”
“Take me with you.”
“Wake me.”
“Please.”
I just kept going, my heart pounding. Not so much from the running, but the absolute panic. The feeling that no matter how far I ran, and no matter which direction I went, I was going the wrong way. I was just going further and further out, as the Cardinal Secret Kitchen was slowly starting to forget what it was supposed to look like.
After another twelve rooms, I could no longer hear the steps behind me. Then again, it wasn’t as if there were many places to hide. It just had to keep going forward; it’d catch up to me soon enough. The guests were fewer and fewer. It was as if they appeared more frequently the closer I got to the “waiter”. Antonio, I guess.
I had no idea what time it was, all I knew was that I was exhausted. I decided I’d go fifty rooms in total before I stopped to rest, just to put some kind of distance between me and whatever was out there.
After forty rooms, I called it quits.
By now, the dining room was barely recognizable. The cobblestone walls no wlooked like red tendrils, and the ceiling was so low I could just barely stand up straight. The tables were just slabs of stone sticking out of the ground, covered in some kind of plastic sheet. The ground, which had turned to dirt. The red carpet had turned into a puddle of muddy water, and the garbage cans were just hollow pieces of log.
Nevertheless, I collapsed in a corner of the room. I listened for footsteps, but couldn’t hear anything. I grabbed plastic sheets from the “tables” and covered myself in them. My bouquet of blue sunflowers leaned against the wall, along with my metal pipe. My hands were cramping from holding them so hard.
I couldn’t imagine myself falling asleep in that place, but I did. I got a few minutes here and there.
After what felt like a “night” of rest, I got up. Thinking it was all a bad dream, my heart sank as I opened my eyes. I was still there. This was still my reality. The Cardinal Secret Kitchen was still there.
This was my reality for at least six days.
Going from room to room, seeing it morph and change over time. At one point it was a forest, at another point it was a sinking ship. I managed to find some edible bark on a tree that’d replaced a garbage can. At one point I walked through what looked like a travel booking agency of some kind, complete with brochures. It wasn’t even readable brochures, just… symbols that sort of looked like an alphabet. Like the place was just trying to emulate something to an approximate.
I did hear the footsteps at times. When I did, I broke the lights (or whatever equivalent was there) and hid. As soon as I slipped past the “waiter”, I’d run through the door and just keep going – no matter what I heard that muffled voice scream at me.
The carpet was often replaced with a ditch, or a puddle of water, so I did have something to drink. It did have a faint whiff of ammonia, but when you’ve literally crawled from one room to another looking for moisture, you stop caring.
My sweat-soaked clothes were cutting into my skin, and I’d gotten dozens of rashes. I’d tied my socks into a makeshift bandana to keep sweat out of my eyes. I’d picked up tablecloths along the way to make myself a sort of bag. This allowed me to pick up little things of use, like ashtrays, loose rocks, firewood, and similar things.
I was shaking from exhaustion as I stepped through another door. That was the one thing that never changed – the door. The same metal door, the same metal handle. I’d examined it for hours, looking for patterns or clues. There was nothing, just… a door.
But this time, I stepped into a train. A night train. Four sets of seats, next to four sets of windows. It was fresh, the seats were soft, and the rhythm of the track was almost hypnotic. It took me a full ten seconds to realize I wasn’t alone.
On the other side of the room was a woman. She looked about my age. Unlike other guests I’d seen, she didn’t look like a complete horror. There were no missing limbs, no threat. She was just reading a pocketbook, paying me no attention.
As I walked up to her, she put it aside and met my eyes. Suddenly she looked concerned.
“Are… are you alright?” she asked.
“N-no.” I huffed, clearing my throat. “I, uh… I’m not alright.”
“What happened to you? You look… you look awful!”
“You, uh… I…”
I’m not proud of it. I just broke down sobbing. Talking again made me feel like a person, like there was a chance I might make it out of there. It reminded me that I had something to lose, and that I was a victim.
Despite me looking like absolute shit, she hugged me and comforted me. I broke down in the middle of the train car, just bawling my eyes out. Holding her tight, I felt my salty tears soak into her hair. A person. A living person. She could help.
“Do you… do you have a phone? Can you call the… the police?” I cried.
“Sure, sure, sit down, please. You want me to fetch an attendant?”
“No, please, just… just call them. D-don’t go.”
“Alright, no problem. What is your stop?”
“I don’t even know where-“
Footsteps.
My single thought was ‘no’.
Not again. Not now. Not when I found someone. The meaty steps were coming closer. I grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her seat, and she almost dropped her phone.
“What are you-“
“He’s coming,” I cried. “Please, w-we have to go!”
“Let go of me, you’re-“
The door on the opposite side of the room opened.
A large black silhouette resembling the image of a man. Covered in some kind of slick black goo, holding a doggy bag in his left hand. Impossibly long fingers, with at least six joints bending in both directions. It was so tall that it leaned its’ head to the side just to fit in the room. It held up its’ paper bag, as if pointing it towards me.
“There!” the bag wheezed. “He’s there!”
“Come on!” I screamed. “Come on!”
She tore away from me and pressed herself against the window. Clearly, she was more afraid of me than what was coming towards us. It was as if she couldn’t see it. I reached out to her, but she just screamed and fought me off. The thing, the “waiter”, was coming towards me with long multi-jointed legs. Meaty steps slapping onto the carpet, leaving black footprints behind.
I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t drag her along. I just had to keep going.
Door, door, door. Room after room after room. I was growing more and more exhausted. Not only physically, but I was losing my will to run. Help was long gone by now. I was trying to convince myself that maybe they weren’t all bad. Maybe they wouldn’t kill me. Maybe they could be reasoned with.
Finally, as I collapsed into a room looking like an approximation of a 40’s roadside diner, I just couldn’t get up. I tried crawling forward, but as I reached the door on the opposite side, I couldn’t go on.
The waiter opened the door behind me, on the opposite side of the room.
“Finally!” the bag wheezed. “Finally, he’s done!”
They were right. I was.
With a final effort, I grabbed the metal garbage can by the door to try and pull myself up. Instead, I just knocked it over, spilling paper bags all over the floor. Bags, moving just slightly, whispering for me to take them along. I just collapsed back onto the floor, preparing myself to die right there on the clean floor of a copycat diner.
I noticed I’d fallen on my makeshift bag, and crushed my now-dried bouquet of blue sunflowers. The petals were barely hanging on, but some were still there. With a desperate effort, I looked through whatever trash I’d picked up along the way, but there was nothing to save me. I couldn’t beat this thing with a pipe, or a rock. This thing was a monster.
As the creature loomed over me, I could barely hear my thoughts. My blood was running through my mind, pounding at the back of my eyes. There was a sound coming from my throat, like my body wanted to scream more than my mind did. I grabbed the closest things I could and shielded myself.
The worst part was the waiting. Not knowing what would happen.
But nothing happened.
I looked up.
The thing was just looking down on me, holding that paper bag in one hand.
“ H e l l o “
This time, the sound was coming from the creature itself. I noticed I was clutching one of the paper bags from the garbage can. That was the first thing I’d grabbed. I could feel a faint outline of a face through the paper.
“H-hello,” I said. “I, uh… I’ll t-take… take this to go.”
It just looked at me. My mind was just a thousand miles an hour. I was trying to figure out four different ways to run at once, but my body wasn’t letting me.
“H-here, for… for your trouble.”
I handed it my dried bouquet of blue sunflowers. It gingerly picked it up with two fingers, studying it with intent.
“ H e l l o “
It pondered the gesture, studying the flowers, and just walked right past me.
I laid there, counting my breaths. The footsteps kept going. Gone.
Clutching the paper bag to my chest, I stepped through the door.
All of a sudden, I was outdoors. A February night, just outside the double doors leading to the Cardinal Secret Kitchen. My aching bare feet were inches into fresh snow, and the wind was howling. I opened the bag, just to find a sealed container with fresh chicken tikka masala.
I barely remember what happened next. I fumbled my way into a corner shop, begging for them to call the police. I remember a patrolwoman asking me questions about my whereabouts. Apparently, I’d been reported missing. After my attempt at an explanation, they labeled it a kidnapping.
But of course, nothing has come of it. There is no such place as the Cardinal Secret Kitchen. There never was. That cellar is just part of an industrial warehouse, it’d never been a kitchen or social club of any kind.
While the investigation didn’t lead anywhere, I’ve since heard rumors. There are people online who’ve taken pictures of it. The same maître d’, the same doors leading to the same lounge. Hell, some people talk about their friends going missing after texting about the place. But no one else seems to have come out of there and lived to tell the tale.
I think that, to escape the Cardinal Secret Kitchen, I had to do what was least expected of me; to act like a guest. Like I was supposed to be there.
If the woman I met on that train is out there, I’d love to talk to her. To explain, and to apologize. If she reads this, by any chance, I’m sorry.
And if you pass by this place anywhere in your travels, just… just don’t.
Just walk away.