Scary Stories - Twist in the Tale Series

Enjoy your Meal

Carver was watchingher again. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of herneck. He gave her the creeps when he stared at her like that. Whycouldn't he go and pester somebody else?

Sandra crammed theStyrofoam box into the bag, almost spilling its contents as herfingers, made nervous by Carver's penetrating gaze, played trickson her.

"There you go,sir. One Special, fries and a strawberry shake," she said tothe youth at the counter, uncomfortably aware of the dubious lookhe gave her spotted face and the trickle of sweat running downher cheek.

"Enjoy yourmeal, and please call again."

Sandra handed thebag to the youth and turned her fixed, artificial smile to thenext customer, a housewife with a legion of offspring in tow.

"Yes madam,how may I help you?"

"FourKiddymeals, a Fishyslice, one Megaburger with double cheese, aBaconburger, one Special, two big fries, three small fries, acoffee, two Chocshakes and three Orangolas," the womanreeled off at breakneck pace.

Sandra's bigfingers rattled clumsily over the keypad, desperately trying tokeep up with the rapid-fire order as she punched it into the till.Still feeling Carver's eyes upon her, she prayed that she'd gotit right. What a disaster it would be if she got it wrong whilehe was watching her.

Eager todemonstrate her capability to the ever observant Carver, sheturned quickly from the till intending to get the woman's orderfrom the heated dispensers behind her with as much speed andefficiency as she could muster. At that moment, the waitressattending the neighbouring till - a smaller, though still chubbygirl - was returning, hands laden, from the same destination.Sandra, flustered by Carver's watchful gaze, her mind locked onthe imperative of getting the order right, failed to see theother coming amidst the melee of the bustling serving area. Therewas a solid, meaty thump as Sandra's bulky frame made abruptcontact with the other's, less well-padded person. The smallerwaitress rebounded off Sandra, her arms flailing to maintain herbalance, straight into the iced drinks machine. There was a loudcrash and the girl slid slowly down the machine to the floor, themachine's freezing contents pouring over her, and came to rest inthe mess of Megaburgers cast from her hands by the impact withSandra.

Ridiculously,Sandra still wore the smile she'd been intensively instructed tomaintain at all times as she looked down on the fallen girl.Mercifully, she seemed unharmed: dazed, bedraggled and soaked,but otherwise unhurt. Sandra bent over her and, picking scraps oflettuce and cheese from her, blustered, "Are you all right?I'm terribly sorry... I wasn't watching where I was going. I'mreally sor..."

"Sandra!"A strident voice interrupted her panicked solicitudes. "Whatthe hell have you done now, you lumbering great oaf? Get up.Leave her alone, before you cause more havoc."

Sandra rose, thesmile even yet still fixed to her face, though it resembled morea pained grimace now. Carver, the manager of Megaburgers, glareddown at her, his six-foot-plus skin and bone body trembling withbarely suppressed fury. Sandra, head bowed, stared at her feet,around which a sticky pool was forming as the drinks machinecontinued to spew forth iced liquids in six different flavours,and tried to steel herself for the tirade that was sure tofollow, while staff and customers looked on with varying degreesof concern.

Carver's mouthopened to deliver his wrath to the creator of the chaos, when,just as several choice invectives were about to disgorge from hislips, he was halted by a voice from the rear of the heateddisplay: "No Specials left, Mr Carver!"

Carver turnedsharply from Sandra to the sweating cook who had uttered thesewords, the anger on his face now mixed with dismay. His headjerking on his long neck, he looked from the cook and then cast aworried glance to the lines of queuing customers at the longcounter. He turned back to the cook, expectantly awaitingCarver's managerial response to this latest disaster, thenfinally back to Sandra's bowed head.

Throwing up hisarms in despair, he spluttered, "That's all I need! A floorswimming in grease and cola because of a clumsy fat hulk'sstupidity. And now... We're out of Specials at our busiest time."

This last he saidwith a lowered voice, while looking furtively at the prospectivediners at the counter, some of who were already starting to leave.

"You," hesaid, pointing at Sandra, "get your gross body out of mysight and go clean the toilets. It's all you're fit for. I'lldeal with you later. You, you and you, clean that mess up andstop that bloody machine dribbling all over the place. The restof you, get serving."

With that, Carverstalked off, like an oversized stick insect, to the steamypreparation area at the rear of the display to vent his ire onthe unfortunate cooks who should have informed him earlier of theimminent deficiency of the restaurant's main claim to fame.

With a scowl at themanager's retreating back, Sandra went off to her banishment:hurriedly, and keeping her head down lest her colleaguescastigate her for inflaming Carver's already notorious temper -temper they would all, no doubt, feel the brunt of before the daywas out.

In the confines ofthe toilets, Sandra angrily wiped a cloth over the alreadysparkling sinks while looking her reflection in the wall mirrorsabove them. Near to tears, the practised, servile smile finallygone, she stared disconsolately at her reflected grossness.

Her eyes, almostlost in the folds of her blotchy fat face, stared back at hersullenly. Her heavy jowls wobbled with the motion of her flabbyarms as her wiping became more vigorous. She had to agree itwasn't a pretty sight, but what right did Carver have to say suchthings to her?

She knew she wasoverweight: she didn't need that skinny so-and-so to tell her;she could see it for herself. True, she had been clumsy, and notfor the first time - she was always having accidents. But thatdidn't mean the bony sod could insult her, did it?

She felt bad enoughabout her size, without some undernourished skeleton needing topoint it out to her. She'd tried to slim, time after time, butthere must be something wrong with her glands: diets didn't seemto work. No matter how religiously she tried to stick to them shejust got bigger and bigger. She hated her body, every wobblingpound of it; she hated even more being reminded of it.

Lumbering great oafindeed! Fat hulk! How dare he?

Her unattractivelybulging bosom strained at the fabric of her uniform, threateningto burst the buttons as she took out her anger on the sinks.

She wasn't the onlyfat person on the staff, anyway: none of them were what you couldcall willowy. Every one of them was large. So why pick on her? Itwas Carver's responsibility to hire the staff, and the fact was,he rarely employed anyone who didn't have a weight problem. Itwas as if for some reason he wanted to emphasise his owncadaverous frame; make his own lack of substance look attractivewhen compared with those around him. Or perhaps he just liked topick on fat people.

And he didn'texactly encourage them to lose weight, did he? On the contrary,he was continually pressing them to eat his rotten burgers andfries. "Show the punters how good our food is," he wasalways saying, "So good, we eat it ourselves."

How did he expectthem to slim if they were always eating stomach-swelling chipsand quarter pounders? It was as though he wanted them to be fat.

Anyway, the foodwasn't all that good. In fact it was decidedly poor. Greasy andunappetising: Sandra wouldn't have touched it if it weren't free.She would rather have a Big Mac any day.

Just so long as wedon't eat his precious Specials, she thought bitterly, swiping ather image in the glass with the cloth as if to erase the fatnessfrom it. We're not allowed to eat them, are we? Oh no, we mustn'ttouch them. That said, the Specials did always seem to be inlimited supply for some reason: there never was enough of them.Why this was, Sandra didn't know; she only knew they were forconsumption by customers only. It wouldn't do for the staff todevour the only thing that got people to come into Carver'sgrotty burger bar in the first place.

And they did comein - in their droves. And for what? What was so special aboutSpecials anyway?

They were justordinary-looking burgers in ordinary buns with no trimmings. Nolettuce, tomato, mustard or relish to brighten them up; just apiece of meat in a bun. They certainly didn't look very special.The meat itself was yellowish-white, sort of shiny-looking andcreamy in texture, something like chicken or pork. It couldn't bechicken however, because another item on the menu wasChickburgers, which were supposed to be made of chicken - gristlyand tasteless though they were. The restaurant also served whatpassed for pork ribs - if you stretched your imagination a bit -so that ruled that particular animal out too. What the Specialswere composed of was a mystery.

The menu gave nodescription of the Specials as it did for the rest of therestaurant's so-called fare; it merely said, 'MegaburgersSpecial,' and the price; no list of the 'delicious' ingredients'to tempt the taste buds and make the mouth water' like the otheritems. No, the contents of the Specials were a secret, known onlyto Carver.

Whatever they weremade of, they were certainly popular; much to the dismay of themajor nationwide burger branches nearby. These household nameshad suffered a dramatic fall in their custom since Megaburgershad opened its doors a year ago and had tried all sorts oftempting offers and publicity campaigns to recapture theirdwindling share of the market.

All in vain. Oncepeople got a taste of a Megabugers Special no ordinary burgerwould do. This despite their price, which was four times morethan any rival burger. The American owned conglomerates gnashedtheir teeth and Carver raked the money in.

The enigma of theattraction of the insipid-looking delicacy had perplexed Sandrauntil the day she tried one. This at great risk to her continuedemployment, for Carver, though he had no objection to his staffsampling anything else on the menu, who even actively incitedthem to eat all they wanted, forbade them to so much as think oftasting the famed Specials. This was a decree he enforced byconstant surveillance. Like some predatory bird he hovered overhis employees, gimlet eyes watching their every move, swoopingdown constantly to check his prized product like that same birdits aerie.

This particular dayCarver had been called away to check a discrepancy in a deliveryof fresh buns. Sandra, having just coped with a rush ofcustomers, all virtually salivating for the restaurant'sspeciality, and feeling more than usually hungry determined that,while the coast was clear, she would finally discover for herselfwhat all the fuss was about. After furtively peering all aroundto ensure she was unobserved she secreted one of the mysteriousburgers in the folds of her striped uniform and sneaked off withher contraband to the toilets.

In the privacy ofone of the cubicles, not, she knew, the most hygienic place toeat, but at least safe from Carver's vulture-eye, Sandra tastedher first Special. Her initial instinct upon first biting intothe bun was to gag and spit out the mouthful of bread and meat.It tasted awful! Slimy, sickly sweet, yet at the same timeastringently bitter, it was utterly disgusting. It was cloyingand nauseating and induced an urgent desire to vomit. Perhaps itwas off - Sandra couldn't believe that it was this rancid-tastingsubstance had made Megaburgers the most popular fast-foodrestaurant in town. Trust her to pick a bad one!

Leaning over thetoilet bowl, face ashen, about to spit out the noxious mouthful,she paused, chewed a little more, then slowly straightened up.Her look of sickened repulsion gradually became a voracious grin.She gave the burger a puzzled frown then, almost unaware of heractions, she began to cram the meat into her mouth as fast as shecould. Wolfishly, hardly pausing to chew, she devoured the burgeras if it were the last meal she would ever eat.

It was as thoughher taste buds had suddenly woken up for the first time. Gone washer nausea. How could she have thought the burger so disgusting?The yellowish meat melted in her mouth, so juicy and succulent.Savoury and so appetising, it demanded to be eaten; it had aflavour so exquisitely different from anything else Sandra hadever tasted. Large greedy bite followed large greedy bite, andall too soon the burger was gone, even to the last crumb andsmear of grease adhering to her fingers. Sandra remembered howdeflated she'd felt then, and how strangely dissatisfied. Theburger had woken a hunger in her - a hunger she knew no otherfood would fulfil.

Even now, severalweeks after her illicit feast in the toilets, she remembered theSpecial's unique taste and she salivated at the memory. Theopportunity had not presented itself again for her to stealanother, though not from want of trying. She took to hangingaround the section of the heated cabinet where the Specials werekept ready to be served, eyeing them lustfully and ever seekingthe chance to snatch one. However, Carver suddenly seemed to beextra vigilant, as if somehow he knew her intention. Perhaps itwas the hunger in her eye, the greedy way she looked at theSpecials; perhaps somehow he knew she had tasted one, for heseemed to watch her more intently from then on. Sandra's cravingwent unsated. She could only jealously ogle the customers astheir Specials to their tables to eat them with the same feverishrapaciousness she had done.

Now there were noSpecials left. Word would quickly go round, and before too longthe restaurant would be desolate. Its famous speciality not beingavailable and the quality of its other dishes not sufficient totempt diners in, they would soon go elsewhere. If they had to eatordinary burgers, they'd go to where the ordinary burgers weremuch more palatable. The McDonald's across the precinct would doa roaring trade, so too the Burger King by the cathedral, whilegrotty old Megaburgers would be full of nothing but empty plastictables. Carver would prowl around like a bad tempered bear with amigraine seeing his profits plummet and would make life hell forall of them.

Sandra had seen ithappen so many times before. There never seemed to be enough ofthe strangely delectable burgers. They were always running out.It was so stupid. Why, she wondered, when Specials were so goodand made the restaurant so well visited, were they in such shortsupply? Surely it made sense to ensure they never ran out? Evenshe could see that.

Sandra squeezedherself into the same cubicle in which she'd eaten her one andonly Special and disinterestedly mopped the tiled floor. She hadno doubt Carver would keep his promise to deal with her later. Hewould have plenty of time, after all, what with the place beingempty as the Sahara desert.

Her only prayer wasthat he wouldn't sack her. That she couldn't bear. She knew herlimitations only too well and was well aware how difficult itwould be for her to get work anywhere else. She thought herselfextremely fortunate to have been set on at Megaburgers, much asshe hated the place. She had no qualifications, no talents, shewasn't overly intelligent: unemployment was very high and nobodywanted a fat, clumsy girl like her. At least the money wasn't toobad and the work not too taxing - if it wasn't for Carver shecould almost be happy.
Her hopes were low, though. In the short time she'd worked thereshe had seen staff come and go with alarming regularity. No onestayed very long, and they rarely left under their own volition -Carver needed little excuse to dismiss anyone.

Now she thoughtabout it: it always seemed to be the fattest that got the sack.Strange that: one day there they were, slaving away with the restof them, the next they were gone. It was almost as if they weresingled out because of their size. Did Carver really havesomething against obesity? If so, why did he always appear tomake a point of employing the grossest people he could find?

Then, the mostworrying thought of all: Sandra knew herself to be by far thefattest person currently on the payroll! If Carver was mounting aone-man vendetta against the overweight, that, and her latestmishap - one of a long series- was ample reason for him to comedown on her. The chances of her having a job tomorrow looked veryflimsy.

Sandra continuedher exile in the toilets for a further two hours, half-heartedlymopping and cleaning while she brooded upon life in general andMegabugers in particular. As her sojourn continued she becameincreasingly depressed, her thoughts getting more and more self-pitying.She was feeling particularly sorry for herself when, finally, toher great relief, another large waitress, sent by Carver,released her from her ostracism.

Her punishment wasyet not complete, however. Carver still not trusting her behindthe counter, the rest of the day saw her morosely cleaning tablesand mopping the floor of the restaurant itself, disregarded byeveryone. Fortunately, this task was not too arduous as, herprediction being fulfilled, the place was virtually deserted andremained so, news rapidly having spread that no Specials were tobe had. Thankfully too, Carver didn't trouble her, his attentionbeing fully occupied in assuring the few customers who did strayin that the speciality of the house would again be available thenext day.

Closing timedragged its slow, cumbersome way round, and still there was nosign of Carver keeping his promise. Perhaps he's forgotten,thought Sandra, or maybe he considered her to have sufferedenough. Yet past experience told her otherwise. On too manyprevious occasions she had been kept back after closing to feelthe razor-sharp edge of his tongue, to be humiliated for herclumsiness and worthlessness. Why should this time be different?

Still she hoped.Finally, when the chairs were neatly stacked on the tables andthe floor given a final mop and Carver had still not approachedher, her hopes rose. With the rest of the personnel she troupedoff to the staff room to collect her coat. She'd got away with itafter all!

None of hercolleagues had much to say to her while they changed out of theiruniforms. They had all, in one way or another, suffered Carver inone of his foulest tempers and held Sandra responsible for makingtheir day as miserable as her own. As a result none of them feltdisposed to talk to her, so all ignored her.

Sandra hung back,avoiding the cold stares of the others, trying to make herself asinconspicuous as possible given her size. Soon everybody was goneand she was left alone. Closing the door of her locker on heruniform she got into her coat and walked heavily back into therestaurant, her thoughts on home and freedom.

"Sandra!"

Her hand on thedoor to the street, inches from liberty, the sharp voice called.She toyed with the notion of pretending not to hear it. But no,it would be much worse for her tomorrow. She turned to confrontCarver.

He was smiling!

He never smiled.Sandra couldn't recall ever seeing his face with any otherexpression but one of saturnine gloominess. She had alwaysthought it set in plaster. Yet amazingly he was almost beaming!This was weird.

"Sandra, Ithink I was a little harsh with you earlier. Perhaps I shouldn'thave said the things I did - after all, accidents will happen."

He was apologising!

"Oh, that'sall right, Mr Carver. I suppose I was a little clumsy," shereplied flustered, her face glowing brightly.

"Perhaps...But I shouldn't have referred to your, er, figure in the way Idid. It really was uncalled for." This in a simpering tone,his smile becoming oily.

"Yes, well..."

"No. It waswrong of me. As it happens, I prefer to see people who are... Howshall I put it? Pleasingly proportioned." He cast adisparaging eye at his own skeletal frame. "With plenty ofmeat on them, you might say."

With that his smilecontorted into a leer. What was he up to? Surely he wasn't on themake? Sandra didn't have much experience of the opposite sex, andwas completely bewildered by Carver's alien behaviour. She didn'tknow whether to be flattered or repulsed by his unusual comments.

Carver's bony armdescended on her ample shoulder. "Let's go to the back, I'mabout to prepare some Specials for tomorrow. Perhaps you'd beinterested in seeing how they're made? He began to propel hertowards the cooking area. What was this, now he was letting herinto his secret?

Carver's arm,though thin, was surprisingly strong. Sandra found herself beingforced behind the display stands despite not yet having made upher mind she wanted to go. An innate fear of authority made herreluctant to disobey her superior, yet she still expected to bepunished in some way, despite his uncharacteristic kindness. Ifthat punishment was to be the sack, then she was willing toconsider almost anything to avoid her fate. But was she willingto consider carver's sexual advances - if that was what hispresent strange behaviour could be construed as?

Her thoughtswhirling from joblessness to the revolting prospect of Carver'sembrace and back again, Sandra found herself standing at thesolid, gleaming steel-topped table where the various componentsof the Megaburgers menu were prepared. Lost in her confusion, shedidn't realise that the manager was speaking; also his arm hadleft her shoulder and was now wrapped around her middle, his andcasually toying with the embarrassing roll of flesh above herskirt.

"Sorry... Whatwere you saying, Mr Carver?" she said hurriedly.

"Oh please,call me Cecil," he said, his smile now ingratiatingly sickly."It is after hours, after all." His hand tweaked thefold of fat.

Cecil! Cecil Carver!He was definitely after something, entrusting her with theknowledge of such a ridiculous Christian name! Was he into fatgirls or something? He seemed to be taking great delight inplaying with her flabby waist. Sandra had heard of bosses takingadvantage of their position to seduce their staff... But Carver?She tried to edge away from him, but he gripped the handful offlesh tighter causing her to wince.

"I'm sorry. AmI hurting you?" he asked, his hand mercifully leaving her,though not before accidentally, or not so accidentally, brushingacross her extensive buttocks.

What did he wanther for? He wasn't going to sack her, that was becomingincreasingly plain. Was he really lusting after her body? Sandrafound it hard to believe. Despite her dislike of him she feltfaintly flattered; not many men - hardly any, if she was honest -fancied her in that way. But he was horrible - bony and creepy -she couldn't bear the thought of... Doing it with him. How gross!He was speaking again: "You might not have realised that Ipersonally prepare the Specials myself. They don't come ready-madelike the ordinary burgers," he said with a proprietorialair, "They're not mass produced in some factory like therest."

Oh good! He was onabout his precious Specials again. Perhaps she ought to keep hismind on that subject; it might stop him groping at her at least.

"Oh really, MrCarver... Er, Cecil," she said, feigning an interestedexpression, "No, I didn't know that. But why do you do themyourself?"

"Because,"Carver replied, taking hold of her upper arm, his long fingersencompassing most of it despite its girth and brushinguncomfortably against her breast, "No one else knows whatgoes into them but me. They are made to my own secret recipe. Iwould never dream of allowing anyone else to make them. The cooksmerely warm them up after I have created them. They are mySpecials." This he said with a look glowing with almostfatherly pride.

His hand wassqueezing her flesh as if it were testing its consistency. "Andyou, my dear, can consider yourself highly honoured. I am aboutto let you into my little secret."

Suddenly Sandradidn't want to be there. Carver's hand left her arm and he wentto a cupboard where he selected several different jars of herbsand spices, these he returned with and placed on a small table atthe side of the steel-topped one.

Meanwhile Sandratried to back away, but to no avail; his hand was back around herwaist. Smiling conspiratorially at her Carver said, "Thesehelp bring out the flavour - the subtle nuances - of the mainingredient."

Reaching with hisfree arm into a drawer and sorted through it until he found whathe wanted: a large butcher's cleaver. His grip on Sandratightened and he looked down on her with a gleam in his eye thatmatched the one of the cleaver's blade.

Suddenly thingsfitted into place. The strange meat from an unknown source; itsrestricted availability; Carver's predilection for overweightemployees; the large turnover of staff; his assurances thatSpecials would be on the menu again tomorrow - it all madesudden, gory sense.

With an awfulrealisation screaming in her brain, Sandra somehow managed toextricate herself from Carver's grasp. She backed away from themadly gloating manager, his fingers now testing the cleaver'ssharpness as he came after her. Then her wide behind came upagainst the steel-topped table's edge. Carver towered over her,cleaver raised.

"Now for themain ingredient."

The next dayMegaburgers was crowded to capacity. Hungry customers impatientlywaited their turn at the long counter as heavily built, smilingwaitresses rushed to serve them and bid them to: "Enjoy yourmeal."