I’m a simple man, you know? Always played it safe, did my nine-to-five, and had my regular beer and burger at Wendy’s every Friday night. Routine was my solace until one unforgettable evening when I ordered something off the secret menu.
“Wendy’s Black Burger,” I’d heard a college kid whisper, a wicked gleam in his eyes. I was skeptical, but hey, curiosity and all.
That fateful Friday, I was served by a new guy, lanky and nervy. “One Black Burger, please,” I requested. His face turned pale, but he nodded and punched my order.
The burger was served with dramatic flair, arriving in a jet-black box. I bit into the unusually dark bun. It tasted…different, smoky with a hint of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Finishing my meal, I shrugged it off and headed home, the taste lingering in my mouth.
But the weird stuff started that night. I woke up to the sound of someone…chewing? In my damn kitchen, no less! As the sleep fog lifted, I felt a surge of adrenaline. Creeping down the stairs, I flicked on the lights to find…nothing. No one.
The next morning, my burger-craving wouldn’t quit, even though I’d just had Wendy’s the previous night. So, I returned to Wendy’s, asked for the Black Burger again, and was met with the same ghost-white face by the cashier.
“Are you sure?” he asked, a note of warning in his voice. I assured him I was. When the same black box arrived, I couldn’t help but notice the other employees watching me. I swallowed my anxiety along with the burger.
That night, the same sound awakened me, the chewing, louder and closer. But this time, it wasn’t the kitchen. It was…outside my bedroom door. I held my breath, the only sound in the silence of the night was that terrifying chewing. I didn’t sleep a wink.
And so, it went on. Each day, my craving for the Black Burger grew. Each night, the sound of chewing got louder, closer, till it was in my room, beside my bed. And each time, I would flick on the light, only to find…nothing.
This continued for a week, and with each passing day, my sanity dwindled. My friends said I was imagining things, a result of stress. I wanted to believe them, I really did, but each night the chilling chewing sound came closer, and each day, the craving for the Black Burger grew stronger.
One day, in a state of near madness, I confronted the cashier. “What’s in the Black Burger?” I demanded, my eyes wide and desperate. He looked at me, then around the restaurant, and pulled me aside.
“You’re not supposed to know this, man, but the Black Burger… it’s experimental, it’s not even supposed to be public yet.” He looked around nervously before continuing. “There’s something in it, something addictive…intense. Some say it even makes you… hear things.”
The revelation hit me hard, but at least I knew I wasn’t losing my mind. However, this didn’t explain the unnerving nightly visits.
That night, as the chewing sound began, I steeled myself. This wasn’t just my imagination. It couldn’t be. Armed with a baseball bat, I made a decision - I was going to face whatever it was that was haunting me.
As the chewing sound approached my bed, I waited, my heart pounding in my chest. It was right beside me now. Taking a deep breath, I switched on the light and turned… and this time, there was something there.
It was a figure, hunched over. I couldn’t make out its face, but in its hand was a half-eaten Black Burger. The sight was surreal, sending icy chills down my spine. With a primal yell, I swung the bat. It went right through the figure as if it was… air. The figure turned, its face hidden in the shadow, and then it vanished, leaving behind the half-eaten Black Burger.
This was not just an auditory hallucination. This was a full-blown apparition induced by the Black Burger. The revelation was horrifying, and I was its victim. I was stuck in a nightmare that was all too real.
I stopped going to Wendy’s, I stopped eating the Black Burger, but the damage had been done. The spectral figure kept coming, the chewing sound echoing in my head every night. I wasn’t safe in my own home.
Fueled by desperation, I stormed back into Wendy’s one day. The employees, recognizing the wild look in my eyes, grew silent. The same nervous cashier came over, the question clear in his eyes.
“The figure…how do I stop it?” I demanded, my voice shaking.
He looked at me, then motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. “It’s not guaranteed, but there’s an antidote. It’s a special shake, only given to those who can’t… handle the effects.”
With trembling hands, he mixed a strange concoction and handed it to me. “Drink this. It should… hopefully, stop the visitations.”
That night, as the chewing got louder, I drank the strange-tasting shake. I waited, heart pounding, but there was no sign of the figure. For the first time in weeks, I slept peacefully. But my peace was short-lived.
I woke up in the middle of the night to a deafening silence. No chewing. I sighed in relief until I felt it. A cold breath on my neck. I was too terrified to move, let alone turn around. It was so close, closer than ever. And then… it spoke.
“Enjoying the burgers, are we?” The voice was a low growl, the stench of the Black Burger filled the room. It was the same voice that took my order on that first day. I screamed, rushing out of the room, the monstrous laughter echoing behind me.
I spent the night at a motel, and the next day, I sold my house. I moved to a different city, leaving everything behind. I haven’t heard the chewing or the voice since, but I’m still plagued by nightmares. The psychological horror of it all took a toll on me, leaving me with scars that would never heal.
My life went from a peaceful routine to a living nightmare just because of a simple craving, an innocent curiosity about a harmless-sounding Black Burger. And now, every time I pass by a Wendy’s, my heart skips a beat, and I can almost hear the faint sound of chewing.