I love my parents, it's true, but spending the utmost of my life on ranch outside of Sweetwater, Texas wasn't what I wanted with for my life. So in ‘99 I packed up my things and moved to California to work as a newspaper reporter. Every couple months my father would call, not so subtly suggesting that he hated the idea of Cousin Ted inheriting the ranch and Ma would beg for me to visit. I convinced the editor to let me run a series of articles about the difference between southern and Californian cultures. And after four years, in ‘04, I finally packed up to drive down home for a couple weeks.
The drive through southern California and Arizona was mostly uneventful. I even brought a kind hitchhiker from San Bernardino to Phoenix without issue.
It was around 11pm when I was driving up Highway 20. Even in the dark, I was familiar with the long empty swaths of dry Plains that is Texas. I've always wondered if all the bigger than life Texan attitude was actually a defense mechanism to hide the fact that Texas is actually pretty small. Big in size, sure, but most of it is long stretches of nothingness.
Somewhere around an hour outside Midland, I noticed the sign for a turnoff. Gas, Food and Shopping: next two exits. The stores would be closed at this hour but If I was lucky it would be a twenty-four hour diner and on top of that I was puttering around two gallons of gas. As I pulled up the turnoff to see the bright neon lights November Highway Diner. To my surprise I actually had heard of the place. Back in high school a couple friends talked about the place. Evidently when coming down from a nice high, this diners famous Burger on Grits hit just the spot. At this time of night, running on fumes and exhausted, a burger sounded amazing.
I pulled into the gas station that was connected to the diner. The touchscreens on all nine pumps were gray and lifeless. The minimart where the cashier would be was dark but I still tried pulling on the door. No luck, it was locked. Then, I decided to try my luck at the diner. I walked around to the other side of the gas station where the entrance to the diner was. The lights were dim and I peered into the diner to see it empty. I cursed under my breath and turned around. I pulled out my phone but I had no reception. I flipped roaming on but still had nothing. I walked around the parking lot looking for any place where I could get a call out. There was a creeping feeling rising up inside, like the paranoid feeling you get when you're being watched. I turned back to the diner to now see a figure over by the counter. He was a thin man in what looked like overalls and a striped shirt. He was smiling and waving at me. The smile was off putting, a little creepy in a way I couldn't put my finger on. I dismissed this as an awkward man trying his hardest to be friendly and maybe he was willing to let me use his phone, and if I was especially lucky, grill me one last burger for the night.
I entered the diner, welcomed by the jingle of the bell and the smiling man on the other side of the register.
“Gee, I'm glad you're still here.” I said
“Yes, good evening.” He spoke in almost monotone, like he had a hard time speaking
“I was hoping to use your phone. And if it isn't too much to ask, do you mind if I order something to eat?” I tried being as polite as I could as I spoke to the strange man in front of me
“I am the cook.” He responded
“Okay…” He was strange but I tried to remind myself that he was probably just trying his hardest. I noticed a payphone in the corner.
“Let me make a call real quick, then I'll order” I pointed towards the phone but the man never turned his gaze from me. I walked towards the phone, rummaged for a quarter and made my call. I only got my parents’ message machine. I left a quick message about where I was and hung up. Quick because I could feel the man was still watching me. Impatiently, I assumed. I turned towards the man, who was still smiling at me with his strange yellow tinted teeth. I sat down at the stool closest to him and pulled a menu close to me. The man's strange glare had taken away most of my appetite by this time.
“You know what, I'll make it easy. Can I just have some fries and a coke.” I said
There was a pause before his mouth moved in a twist.
“I am the cook.”
At this moment I noticed that, as far as I could tell, the man had yet to blink and his eyes had this glazed dry look to them. Then I looked down at the small name tag that hung upside-down on his shirt and read “Juan”. I didn't want to be racist but the man in front of me was far too pale and white to be a Juan, I thought. Then I noticed a small red streak of red something on the name tag. Sure, it could have been ketchup but something told me that it wasn't. Something told me that the longer I stayed sitting in that chair, the less chance I had to leave. As the man slowly turned towards me, I got up and back peddled towards the door.
“You know what, I better get going instead. Uh, thank you though.” I said, stuttering over my words
“Yes, good …” The man's voice devolved into a gargle and I watched in horror as the man's lower jaw dislodged from the rest of his head. It just hung there loosely connected with stretched flesh. He cocked his head to the side, still staring at me. Still approaching me. I could feel the door behind me and I threw it open and charged through the parking lot. I heard a loud crash and took just moment to look at the diner behind me. The strange man, with his jaw still hanging, was pressed against one of the windows. He was still watching me and now he was waving again.
I ran back to my car. I didn't care about the gas. I sped down the on ramp and drove as fast as I could to get as far as I could from that place. Forty miles later, just outside of Midland my car finally sputtered and shook to a stop on the side of the road. I called the police, told them about the diner, about the man. I left out the part about his jaw, partially convinced that imagined that, but made sure to tell them about the blood. About a half hour later a pair of officers picked me up. I spent the early hours in the morning repeating my story several times. Finally, around 5am, they told me that back in the kitchen of the diner there were the four dismembered corpses of the gas station and diner’s night crew. All of them had their lower jaws ripped from their heads. The meat grinder was broken on the ripped and shredded limbs stuck in it.
I was eventually released. I drove back to my parent's house and that night, on my voicemail, was a single message. It was two minutes of silence but in the distant background was the familiar sound of gurgling.
Comments (3)
See all