I work at a small diner in a rural town. It’s not a glamorous job, but it pays the bills and I get to meet some interesting people. Most of them are regulars who come in for their coffee and pie, or their burgers and fries. They’re friendly enough, and they tip well.
But there’s one customer who always gives me the creeps. He only comes in late at night, when I’m about to close up. He’s tall and thin, with pale skin and dark hair. He wears a long black coat and a fedora hat that covers his eyes. He never says a word, just points at the menu and slides some cash across the counter.
He always orders the same thing: a slice of cherry pie and a glass of milk. He eats slowly, savoring every bite. He never looks up from his plate, or at me. He just stares at the pie, as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
I don’t know why he freaks me out so much. Maybe it’s his silence, or his appearance, or his odd choice of food. Maybe it’s the way he leaves no trace behind when he finishes his meal: no crumbs on the plate, no stains on the glass, no fingerprints on the cash.
But what really scares me is what happens after he leaves.
Every time he comes in, something bad happens in town. A car accident, a fire, a murder. It’s always something violent and tragic, and it always involves someone I know.
The first time he came in was two months ago. The next day, my best friend Jenny was killed in a hit-and-run on her way to school.
The second time he came in was three weeks ago. The next day, my boss Frank was found dead in his apartment with stab wounds all over his body.
The third time he came in was last week. The next day, my boyfriend Mike was shot by an intruder who broke into our house.
And tonight…he came in again.
He ordered his usual slice of cherry pie and glass of milk. He ate slowly and quietly as usual. He paid with cash as usual.
But this time…he looked at me.
He lifted his head and stared right into my eyes with a cold and cruel smile.
He said one word:
“Delicious.”
Then he got up and left.
I don’t know what he meant by that word. I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me.
But I do know one thing:
I’m not going to make it through this night.
I locked up the diner and ran to my car, my heart pounding in my chest. As I drove home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following me. I checked my rearview mirror, but I didn’t see anything. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
When I got home, I locked all the doors and windows, and turned on all the lights. I tried to calm myself down, telling myself that I was just being paranoid. But deep down, I knew that something was wrong.
I heard a noise outside, a rustling in the bushes. I peered through the window, but I couldn’t see anything. Then I heard a knock at the door.
My heart skipped a beat. Who could it be at this hour? I hesitated, then slowly approached the door. I looked through the peephole, but all I saw was darkness.
“Who is it?” I called out.
No answer.
I cautiously opened the door, ready to slam it shut at the first sign of danger. But there was no one there.
Just a slice of cherry pie and a glass of milk on the doorstep.
I recoiled in horror. It was the same order that the man had made at the diner. How did he know where I lived? And why did he leave me this sinister gift?
Suddenly, the lights went out. I was plunged into darkness, with only the faint glow of the moonlight coming in through the window.
I heard footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming closer and closer. I could feel his presence, his malevolent energy. He was in the room with me.
I tried to run, but my feet wouldn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear. I felt a cold breath on my neck, and then a voice whispered in my ear:
“Delicious.”
And then…nothing.
I woke up the next morning, lying on the floor. The lights were back on, and everything seemed normal. But I knew that something had happened. Something terrible.
I went to the diner later that day, hoping to find some answers. But the man was nowhere to be seen. The other customers looked at me with pity and concern, as if they knew what had happened to me.
I quit my job that day, and left the town for good. I never found out who the man was, or what he wanted from me. But I knew that I would never forget him, or the taste of cherry pie.