I hate customers, especially the dead ones. Theres a reason Im a cook and not a waitress. I walk out into the dining room to get my 3 am. coffee. I immediately feel a chill down my spine.
He’s sitting at the bar, staring at me. This would be unsettling at the best of times, but our valued customer is translucent. There is a horrifying stream of blood pouring from his lips. He’s here every night.
Sullivan’s diner is a paranormal hotspot, or we have a full staff of mentally ill employees with shared delusions. Either way, I’m to broke to quit. I finish pouring my coffee and stumble over myself to get back in the kitchen.
I’ve worked at Sullivan’s for five years; you survive by adapting fast to whatever weird situation pops up. It’s been pretty lax since Ted bought this place, right before I started. Before Ted, the old owner was clueless. He didn’t know the importance of keeping the supernatural happy. It took the towns plumbing company a good two weeks of work to unclog his remains from the pipes.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Ivy.” Say’s Ted with a grin.
He owns this place. The dead don’t bother him as long as they pay with worldly money.
“You’re an asshole.” “Who was it?” “Bloody mouthed Randy.” “Fucking gross man.”
Normal customers can’t see them. The dead only appear when the restaurant is empty and quickly vanish when a normie walks in. They are also the bulk of our nighttime clientele.
If we want to keep Sullivan’s Diner in good standing with the dead, we have to serve them. Bad things happen when the customers aren’t satisfied, very bad things.
“Randy wants another egg. The first one is too runny.” Says Joann, she looks a little nervous.
Joann has been here a year, she’s our longest employed waitress. Longest surviving waitress works too. Customer service is brutal. The things people do for a little over minimum wage, or to pay off a contract with a demon. Whatever unfortunate circumstances brought us here, we can’t leave until something external deems our time to be up.
The night shift consists of Ted, me, Joann and our dishwasher, Frank. You have to have something a little wrong with you to hold this job, but I guess that’s why I’m here.
Ted sighs and drops another egg on the grill. I don’t see why Randy cares so much, he doesn’t even eat them.
Joann take hes eggs out front again. The sound of a plate aggressively smashing on the floor comes from out front and we hear Joann scream.
“Fuck.” Mutters Ted and we both rush out into the dining room.
Eggs and broken ceramic cover the floor. Bloody mouthed Randy has corned Joann and I can hear him gargle something into her ear.
“Eggs… he’d like more eggs, not runny.” Her eyes are wide with fear. Ted rushes back into the kitchen to make them again. The customer is always right I guess.
Frank pops his head out to see what all the commotion is about. I can see him shake his head and mutter something about at least he doesn’t have to wash the plate. He disappears again a second later.
It’s been months since something like this happened, and Randy is usually a very laid-back dead guy. Me and Joann exchange helpless glances as we wait for Ted to come back with the eggs. I have to break my gaze and turn away, so Randy doesn’t see the look of absolute disgust at his appearance. Yet another reason I’d make a terrible waitress.
Ted comes back and slams a plate on the counter. The ghosts are known to be docile and harmless as long as they get what they want, a hot plate of food, and some decent service.
“Randy, back off.” Ted’s voice is low.
Randy turns back to the counter and sits. He inspects the eggs. “Good.” He gurgles, blood dribbles out of his mouth and down his throat.
Joann composes herself, tucking loose strands of red hair back into her messy bun. She starts a fresh pot of coffee and me and Ted head back to the kitchen.
“Freak.” I mutter. “Valued. Customer.” Corrects Ted sarcastically.
I can see Randy through the window in the kitchen door. He is just staring blankly at his eggs, and he will do so until he is satisfied. Eventually he will disappear, leaving a plate of cold eggs, a ten-dollar bill, and a lukewarm warm cup of coffee behind. At least he tips.
It’s been a pretty slow night all things considered. Ted remedies this by making me and Frank scrub down and polish every stainless-steel surface in sight. The place is cleaner than a retired addict’s spoon by the time we’re done with it.
Our next regular walks in, an old woman named Hilda. She must have died in a peaceful way, she is not covered in the obvious injuries many of our otherworldly customers have. You can usually tell, but most ghosts aren’t happy when you ask. I know enough to know that only restless souls who never found peace after their death frequent here.
Her appearance is welcomed warmly as a change in energy. Hilda orders her usual, a corn muffin, extra hot. She sits in her booth and mimes sipping a cup of green tea.
She looks usually chatters away with Joann. I’m sure she mainly comes for the conversation. A lonely old woman, almost like every other daytime customer, but dead. They can move objects, but don’t consume them. I’ve never figured out how ghost physics work.
Tonight is different though, the front of house is quiet, and I catch a glimpse of Joann unnecessarily dusting. I guess Hilda wasn’t in the mood to talk, that’s the first I’ve ever seen.
I’m pretty sure her spirit lingers around waiting for her husband Jerry to die. I catch him sometimes early in the morning as I’m leaving. The old bastard hobbles in here two or three times a week at 5am. for a black coffee and a plain pancake. We don’t talk about the spirits but it’s almost as if he knows she’s here, the two always pick the same booth in the corner by the window. Old habits take longer to die than people I guess. I venture out into the dining room again to top up my coffee.
“Hello Hilda, how are you?” She doesn’t even look up; she just stares almost angrily at her muffin. Joann gives me a glance and I turn to head back into the kitchen.
“Not hot enough.” Comes as raspy voice from Hilda’s booth in the corner.
“Let me fix that for you.” I say and take the muffin off of her table. It is quite literally steaming but I’m not willing to risk another Randy incident.
“Another one?” Asks Ted as he watches me microwave the muffin an excessive amount. The damn thing will explode if I heat it up anymore.
“Yeah, Hilda.” “This isn’t good, something’s up.” Ted says almost to himself. “Don’t break this plate I don’t feel like taking out sharp trash.” Says Frank. Me and Ted give him a look.
I take the muffin back out to her table and Hilda doesn’t even look up again.
“Not hot enough.” “Hilda it’s very hot I promise you.”
Hilda reaches out, head still down and grabs my wrist with a translucent hand. I feel cold wrap around me and loose my breath. I haven’t had one touch me in years, the feeling is absolutely horrible. Death comes a little too close. Again, I could never be a waitress.
I drop the plate on the floor and Hilda abruptly let’s go. I feel the warmth of my own blood rush back into my wrist.
“I want… a hot… corn muffin…” She says it almost in a whisper.
Ted comes bursting out of the kitchen holding another plate, it’s so hot he’s wearing an oven mitt. This plate has an almost black muffin on it, steam is swirling up into Ted’s face fogging his glasses.
“I’m so sorry about that Hilda, here you go. Girls get into the back, now.”
Hilda slowly nods in approval and me and Joann hurry out of the dining room.
“What the fuck Ted?” Asks Joann. “Yeah, what the fuck?” I rub at my sore wrist, what looks like a mild case of frostbite has appeared in finger forum. “Yeah, what the fuck?” Chimes in Frank.
“I don’t know exactly what’s going on but it’s not good. We need to keep the customers happy, just stick it out until sunrise and I’ll try to see what’s happening. You know how important this is.” Ted looks instantly exhausted, like he’s been up for days. I can see the worry lines forming quickly in his face.
“I’m not going back out there.” Says Joann. “Customer service Joann.” “I don’t care Ted I’ve had enough for tonight please don’t make me go back out there.” “Then you’re putting us all in danger. Don’t make me send you home early.” Ted’s voice is stern. Joann eyes widen at the threat.
Getting sent home early when you work at Sullivan’s almost certainly means you don’t be coming back, at least in one piece. I stay quiet, she knew the risk when she started working here. You simply can’t bail mid shift, it would put the whole town in danger.
We are just as, if not more important that the police when it comes to keeping the community safe. We work in the background, but if we weren’t here the town of Lastdale would crumble from the inside out. There’s more going on here than anyone fully understands.
“Yes Ted, I’m sorry.” She looks as the floor, tears welling in her eyes and hurry’s back to the front.
I do feel bad, I don’t think she’s ever worked a day like this before and the first time the regulars turn on you is bound to make anyone scared.
“We’re two plates short boss, I need them in the morning.” Ted barely nods in acknowledgement at Frank.
The diner has to stay fully stocked, we can’t risk running out of anything. We have to be overly cautious so even two broken plates will quickly be replaced. As long as we’re running smoothly, the spirits have less of a reason to become aggressive.
The rest of the night goes by quietly. We serve a few of the usual drunks, some truckers, but no more supernatural guests. I can’t shake the feeling that something bigger is off. Our regulars are almost never aggressive. Anyone worth their salt knows the ghosts respond to things going on behind the scenes. I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow, I might even have to speak to a customer or two.
The bells on the front door jangle as I walk in to start my shift. 11:00pm. every night the bullshit starts again. My arm is sore from where Hilda grabbed me yesterday, luckily the frostbite seems to only be superficial but I can still feel a blister forming. I also have blue finger shaped marks on my arm. We call it Ghostburn. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.
“Goodnight ladies.” I say, holding the door open for the afternoon shift. “Goodnight Ivy, I started you a pot of coffee.” Says Amy as she rushes to grab her coat and keys. “Heads up Ted’s not in a good mood.” Chimes in Laura. “Thank you.”
They look exhausted. They don’t deal with the dead, but the creepy old men who come in before or after a few drinks are bad enough. I see three of them at the bar and rush past them avoiding any drunken conversation or unruly comments. I head to the back and catch the daytime cook, George as he’s leaving.
“Good fucking luck man, the shipment didn’t come in. I had to 86 half the goddamn kitchen.” He says while hastily taking off his dirty apron.
“Oh shit, where’s Ted?” “He emptied all the cash out of the register and booked it to try to get to Stockshop before they close. We’re even out of freaking cheese man. American cheese, guess how I had to make omelets all day? Supplemental cheddar. This is bullshit, people were not happy I can tell you that.”
He doesn’t even make it all the way out the door before shoving a handful of chewing tobacco into his mouth, not a good sign. I notice he didn’t take out the trash, a nip bottle that he made a half assed attempt to his pokes out from under used parchment paper. If there’s one, there’s definitely five of six laying around.
With the way the customers were acting yesterday this could mean serious trouble. Stockshop closes at eleven thirty and the dead start coming in a little after midnight. That’s when our half-off pancake special starts. Dead people love pancakes.
I hear the front door as Joann walks in. She looks like absolute shit and definitely spent the last ten minutes before her shift starts crying in her car. She barely gets a chance to put her stuff down before having to take the orders of some more alcoholics. If tonight is anything like last night, they’ll be the tolerable ones.
“Heads up Jo we’re out of cheese, and strawberries, and muffins and spinach. The delivery never came in.” She stares at me and I can see more tears welling up in her eyes.
“Ted’s at Stockshop now try not to worry about it too much.” “They’re going to eat my soul or something.” “Only if they want a spinach omelet or strawberry pancakes.” I wink at her and she gives an exasperated sigh. I glance at the clock, 11:30 pm. Ted comes bursting through the front door groceries in hand. He runs through the swinging doors while checking his watch.
“You got everything?” I ask, opening bags and starting to put things away. “They didn’t have strawberries, I got everything but the strawberries.” He’s breathing heavily. “What do I do?” Asks Joann.
“If they order strawberries try to get them to pick something else. They’ll start coming in soon try to stay calm I can’t have everyone panicking. Where’s Frank? We’ll need him if shit really hits the fan.” It’s 11:35 pm. now, Frank should have come in five minutes ago. He’s late. Never once in the ten years he’s worked here have I known Frank to be even a minute late. It’s dangerous and only the dumb or dead would risk not showing up for their shift on time. Midnight is getting closer and if Frank doesn’t show up, we’re more than screwed.
11:40 pm. comes and goes and I can see Ted look sweatier and sweatier. 11:50 pm. Ted is packing back and forth wringing his hands together. 11:55 pm. has everyone sick to their stomach. 11:59 pm. the front door opens, and Frank comes hurtling in.
“What the fuck Frank?” Starts Ted, he stops talking as soon as he gets a good look at him. Frank is filthy, covered head to toe in mud. Blood is running down his face and he has a black eye. His nose is definitely broken, and his greying hair is a hot mess.
“Are you okay?” I ask and Joann is already rushing to open the first aid kit. “Some drunk out of towner kids were spray painting gravestones, we’re going to have a busy night. I fought them off and called the cops, but they did a lot of damage. It’s bound to have pissed off some spirits. It looks like this was their second night pulling that crap.” “That checks out.” Says Ted.
We all jump a little as the front door chimes. Looking through the doors the woman who enters is not anyone we recognize. A new customer. She has the trademark ghostly translucence. Her hair covers her face and I see her shuffle to the bar. She’s sopping wet and is dripping real water everywhere. A drowner, those are horrible to clean up after. Their bad mood also often makes them bad tippers.
“Get out there Joann. We have a customer.” She gives Ted a pleading look but does not open her mouth. The only thing she will get is a reminder that she landed herself here at this job to pay off some kind of spiritual debt. Shorting the supernatural comes with grave consequences.
I wince a little as Joann enters the dining room and the woman looks up. Her skin is bloated and pale. Blue veins can be seen under her skin. She smiles at Joann and I can see a hush if water spill down her parted lips.
“What can I get for you mam?” Joann says, keeping her composure. “Pancakes half off?” The woman gurgles slowly. She coughs and dirty brown water splatters onto the counter. “That would be correct mam.” “I’d like two pancakes please… strawberry.” “I’m very sorry, we’re all out of strawberry.” Says Joann nervously. I can see her take a quick step back as the woman stands up.
Me, Frank and Ted rush out into the front just as the woman jumps over the counter and onto Joann. The poor girl is having a tough week. The drowner is scratching at Joann and pulling her hair. I can see rapidly forming frostbite appear on her face and arms as Joann unsuccessfully tries to push her off.
Frank grabs for the woman and she turns on him. He screams in shock, but the sound dies out quickly as the woman wraps her wet hands around his throat. Franks face is turning blue and his skin starts to bubble. He’s clawing at her hands, but she just won’t let go.
I takes me and Ted to rip her off, burning our hands in the process. Working on the grill this week is not going to be fun. Frank is unconscious on the floor. “My grave has been disturbed. I cannot go home until it’s fixed. I want strawberry pancakes.” The woman says wetly. She coughs more brown water onto the floor.
She’s sitting on the floor now, seemly calming down. She’s pulling at a loose thread on her dirty dress. I can’t see her face, but I hear her start sobbing. Joann jumps up and rushes over to Frank who’s not moving. He has severe Ghostburn on his neck and the skin has turned black.
“I don’t think he’s breathing.” She says, she unbuttons his shirt and starts to do CPR.” “Call 911.” Says Ted. “On it.” I rush over to the old-fashioned payphone next to the register and dial. “911 what’s your emergency?” Says a bored sounding woman. I recognize her. Doreen is one of our small towns only two dispatchers. As the only night shift worker, we’ve unfortunately spoken several times before.
“It’s Sullivan’s diner, we need paramedics. The usual.” I really don’t need to explain much, anyone in any nightshift job knows exactly what’s going on. We’re all bound by the same obligations, keep the town safe, the dead happy, and don’t ask to many questions. “Paramedics are on route to you now. It will be less than five minutes. What is the nature of your medical emergency?”
“Severe Ghostburn on neck, Frank is unconscious.” The black burns on his neck mixed with the fact that he has a black eye, blood-stained clothes and graveyard dirt makes Frank look like a corpse. “Has CPR been started?”
“Yes.” I look at Joann and Frank, she’s frantically and unsuccessfully trying to revive him. Ted is crouched in front of the ghost, trying to keep her calm. If she starts again this situation will get a whole lot worse. “Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes.” The drowner is muttering to herself over and over.
“Paramedics have arrived at your location.” I hang up as EMT’s burst through the door. Joe and Steve, familiar faces. They start the deliberator on Frank and with the first shock I he gasps and sits up. The EMT’s rush to get him on a stretcher and into the ambulance. “I’m alive.” Frank gasps out.
“He’s going to be alright. A night’s stay at most.” Joe says as him and Steve start to wheel Frank out. They barley even give the dead woman a glance. “Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes. Strawberry pancakes.” The girl is rocking back and forth, docile for now.
“I have strawberry jelly does that work for now? I promise we’ll have real strawberries by tomorrow night.” Says Ted in his best customer service voice. “Fine.” The woman mutters. Ted winces in pain as she takes a hold of his hand as he guides her back to a barstool. Joann has already started cleaning up, more customers will be coming in soon and they won’t be happy with the mess.
“That will just be a minute ma’am. Jo, get her a cup of coffee on the house. Ivy-“ “On it.” I don’t need to be told twice.
The difficult part now is figuring out how to make decent pancakes out of strawberry jelly. I end up just mixing it into the batter with whipped cream, powdered sugar, and more jelly as a pretty topping. Joann takes the pancakes out and after a few minutes of staring at them I guess the woman is satisfied.
She disappears, leaving behind a slightly wet five dollars and ninety-five cents. Ted is on the phone with the hospital getting Franks room number, he’s going to go check on him. Ted is the only person who can leave on shift without punishment from the diner. Frank is going to have a price to pay when he gets back on top of almost dying.
The last time someone had to leave during a shift the diner took something close to them. Joann’s little dog Denny didn’t deserve what happened to him. It really traumatized her, going home at the end of a long shift to find her beloved Denny in the oven, fully cooked. She’s lucky the diner only went for the dog; it must like her.
“I’ll probably be gone for the rest of the night. I have to sort some things out.” Says Ted apologetically as he grabs his coat and heads out the back. It’s just me and Joann now.
Not ten seconds after he leaves the bells on the door jingle and a group of three regulars walk in. Construction workers who died in an accident last year. They were regulars in life to, the definition of loyal customers. The permanently dirty faces of Morty, Logan and Kyle are a welcome sight. The three are usually our friendliest customers but today their expressions are flat.
“Goodnight boys, we’ve had a crazy shift so far. Coffees all around?” Says Joann while passing out menus. Her voice magically sounds upbeat the arrival of friendly regulars. The men nod. I can hear everything being said at the bar while I’m prepping scrambled eggs.
“You look like shit Jo are you okay? That ghost burn is pretty bad” Asks Morty, he’s had a thing for her since he first laid his ghostly gaze on her. Anyone would really, Joann is gorgeous. “I got attacked by a drowned dead woman and Frank is in the hospital.” “Is he going to be alright?”
“Yes, but he’s off for the night, I hope the diner understands. He said something about some out of towners spray painting graves. Have you guys heard anything about that? We’re expecting a busy night with more disturbed dead wandering around.”
“Yeah, those fuckers sprayed mine!” Chimes in Kyle angrily. “I can’t even rest until it’s all cleaned off!” “The graveyard staff will be on it tomorrow the latest. No need to get all rowdy.” Says Logan. The oldest and calmest of the three.
“You get to Rest in Peace I don’t want to hear anything out of you!” Shouts Kyle. I’ve never seen him so worked up before. Ghosts can’t help it when their resting place is disturbed, they get angry. Luckily for us, Morty and Logan are here to keep him in check.
“Our graves are fine, yes, but we’ve been through this before Kyle remember when the graveyard staff had the day off and our graves were dirty?” Says Morty. “You know that’s not the same you idiot. My grave was intentionally disturbed, and you have no idea how this feels. I’m so angry it’s scary. If I see those kids, I’m killing them.”
“We’ll see how you feel tomorrow Kyle, after all this calms down a bit. What can I get for you for now?” Asks Joann. “The usual Hun, we all want the half off pancakes.” Says Logan. “I want eggs.” Says Kyle in a whiny voice.
“Shut up and eat your pancakes unless you want to take a turn paying. A man permanently in his 60’s is a sucker for a good deal. All I see when I go out now is the inflation. How is a ghost supposed to afford to die around her?” Says Logan.
“Technically you don’t have to eat.” Says Joann. “I enjoy my small pleasures Hun.” Logan says flashing her a smile full of cracked teeth. I get on it right away, the faster the food comes out the better especially with the mood Kyle seems to be in. I’m too tired to deal with any more shit tonight. “How you holding up Jo?” I ask as she comes back to grab the hot plates.
“I’m scared, I think we should ask them to stay just to keep the other regulars in check.”
“That’s a great idea, I’m running around with my head chopped off with Ted and Frank gone.” Dish and grill at the same time is not fun. The bells ring again, and I gasp in horror to see about twenty dead people shuffle through the door. They load themselves into the booths and fill up the remaining bar-seats. Shit.
“How many graves did those kids spray?” Asks Joann looking absolutely terrified. “If I had to guess, it looks like they got about twenty-five total if you count Hilda, Kyle and the drowned woman.” Joann turns and runs out the door plates in hand.
I listen for a few minutes while Joann is taking the orders, waiting to get absolutely smacked. I hear disgruntled mumbling paired with Logan and Monty shouting for people to calm down. Even Kyle tells someone to shut up and just order something else if we’re out. I don’t know what we’d do if we didn’t have the extra help. They don’t seem to be as bad in groups, it’s like they hold each other accountable. I guess even ghosts pass judgement.
I put my head down and get to work as dozens of pancake and omelet orders pour in. Joann is refilling drinks and running food so fast I’m worried her legs will give out. I can hear the occasional correction yell from Logan or Marty but other than that the next few hours pass without issue. A lonely trucker comes in around 3:00 am. and all the ghosts disappear the second he enters. A normie from out of town stopping by for a coffee and an English muffin.
“What are you? In the middle of a rush.” He says in a thick southern accent. I watch as he makes a puzzled face as at all the full plates of food on every table and in front of almost every stool. Joann doesn’t say anything to even try to satisfy him with an excuse. “Your food will be out in a minute sir.” The faster he’s gone the better, the dead don’t like to wait very long to get their diner back.
“It is kind of weird Hun.” Joann stares at him blankly as she hands him his food and a to-go cup. “Goodnight sir.” “Yeah… Whatever you say.” He is basically tripping on himself to get out faster. He must have gotten the normie chills. They never know exactly what’s going on, but they can definitely sense it.
The second he’s gone all the ghosts reappear again as if nothing happened, in the same seats, having the same conversations. The rest of the night goes by without incident. Ted comes back around 5:00 am. he informs us that Frank is alive and will be back into work tomorrow. He doesn’t say much after that and me and Joann let him have his silence as he helps with the mound of dishes.
By 6:00 am. everybody is beat but it’s finally the end of shift. The opening crew stumble in one by one, some of them even have the luxury of being a few minutes late. To them, Sullivan’s is just a normal diner. The closest thing they’ll see to danger on their shift is a regular unhappy customer, not a dead one. They are not in debt to some evil supernatural force and no one will kill their puppy if they call out. They never leave with life treating injuries and the obligation to come back the next day.
“Place is dirty, what did you guys even do all night?” Asks Jackie. I look at her and smile. “Sorry about that, we’ll make sure it’s much cleaner tomorrow.” I say sarcastically. Joann gives her a withering look and we both head out together. “Get some rest Jo, as long as those graves get cleaned tonight tomorrow shouldn’t be so bad.” “You to Ivy, I sure hope so.”