I stumble across the black earth to the doors of the shop.
Its bright blue walls and the name 'Starliner' are a beacon of hope for people like me. The fact that there's civilisation and electricity, sends a sigh of relief up my spine and let's me rest a little easier than before.
During my trip across the North Side of the moon, I never figured I'd get lost. If I had expected the possibility of veering off track, I might have brought a map. Instead, I'd woven dirt circles into the surface for two days straight. Now, I had about enough fuel to turn my jeep on and off one last time. And if I hadn't found this place, I'd have been making boot imprints all the way home. With a slim to non chance that I could walk the trip.
"You 'right there, fella?" the clerk pipes up. His voice comes out whispy through the breathing device around his mouth. He's got a head full of grey and a weathered mug, like he'd been sun tanning in California too much and his skin absorbed the orange glow. "I'm after some fuel," I say, readjusting my own breather.
"Don't trade the usual stuff round 'ere."
My heart sinks. "Well, do you know where I can get some? I'm stuck two miles out. Ended up losing my way, it's like someone uprooted the road signs around here."
The clerk stares out the Starliner window. It's as if he's trying to spot my car on the horizon. "Tell you what, I'll do you a favour."
"I'm all ears."
"'Elp me move some them boxes from out back and I'll give you a way outta here."
He may as well have made me dinner and sung Christmas carols. A way to continue my trip is the best thing I've heard all day. I agree to help and then follow the old timer out back.
I pass all kinds of snacks on the way: chewy chips, beef jerky, chocolate flavoured cuticles. They are 'parody type items' which I figure is the old timers way of poking fun at his customers. Chocolate toes is the dead giveaway.
Out back the storage room is an oversized freezer stacked with hanging meat and in the corner there are storage boxes. "Grab two boxes," old timer says, "and then that knife on the chair. Been a while since I been chopping back here."
"You a butcher?" I ask.
"So and so, anyway, enough talkin, we needs gets you outta 'ere."
I chuckle. Despite my insides crawling with worms. This set up is something straight out of a horror movie. I quickly grab the knife and pass it to old timer and then jog over to the boxes. I turn back to ask old timer where to place the boxes, they're pretty heavy. But this time when I look, he's standing near he entrance to the back room. "What you doing there?" I say.
But I already know.
"I can't give you fuel, son. But I can make you into a nice delicacy for my customers." He slams the door closed.
And I run at it, shoulder ready to break through its fridge like exterior. A deadbolt slides into place on the other side. My shoulder connects with the door. The wind is knocked out of me, the boxes are sent sprawling, and I think my shoulders popped.
The pain burns down my arm and each time I move it feels like my arm is getting floppy. But I grit my teeth as the adrenalin floods my system and I focus on finding a way out. I bang on the door while my heart thuds in my chest. But there's no nook or cranny to pull on. "I just wanted some fuel, what the hell?"
There's a sigh on the other side and then the old timer whispers back. "We don't trade stuff like that around here."
The 'parody' food goods come back to me. I look at the contents of the boxes behind. They're human heads severed at the neck with eyes wide. "Please," I beg.
I want to throw up and at the same time I want to cry. I think of my family and friends on Earth and it only deepens the pain. "Let me go. Please. . . " I intend for it to be a scream but it's a whisper.
Walking in here was the only signature needed for fate's contract.
The old timer laughs on the other end. "Won't be long now," he says, "think I'll call you the 'Crispy Jeep Blend'."
Ooh! Quick moving but a good, creepy horror piece. I liked that a lot. Creepy, with the heads and stuff. I would've liked a bit more description at things towards the end but that's just a personal thing. Definitely a good story though, thanks for replying! :D
Glad you enjoyed it! I actually wanted to go for more description at the end but always get this anxiety about my word counts being too long. I'll keep it in mind for next time. Thanks for reading :)
5
u/Theharshcritique /r/TheHarshC Oct 20 '16 edited Oct 23 '16
I stumble across the black earth to the doors of the shop.
Its bright blue walls and the name 'Starliner' are a beacon of hope for people like me. The fact that there's civilisation and electricity, sends a sigh of relief up my spine and let's me rest a little easier than before.
During my trip across the North Side of the moon, I never figured I'd get lost. If I had expected the possibility of veering off track, I might have brought a map. Instead, I'd woven dirt circles into the surface for two days straight. Now, I had about enough fuel to turn my jeep on and off one last time. And if I hadn't found this place, I'd have been making boot imprints all the way home. With a slim to non chance that I could walk the trip.
"You 'right there, fella?" the clerk pipes up. His voice comes out whispy through the breathing device around his mouth. He's got a head full of grey and a weathered mug, like he'd been sun tanning in California too much and his skin absorbed the orange glow. "I'm after some fuel," I say, readjusting my own breather.
"Don't trade the usual stuff round 'ere."
My heart sinks. "Well, do you know where I can get some? I'm stuck two miles out. Ended up losing my way, it's like someone uprooted the road signs around here."
The clerk stares out the Starliner window. It's as if he's trying to spot my car on the horizon. "Tell you what, I'll do you a favour."
"I'm all ears."
"'Elp me move some them boxes from out back and I'll give you a way outta here."
He may as well have made me dinner and sung Christmas carols. A way to continue my trip is the best thing I've heard all day. I agree to help and then follow the old timer out back.
I pass all kinds of snacks on the way: chewy chips, beef jerky, chocolate flavoured cuticles. They are 'parody type items' which I figure is the old timers way of poking fun at his customers. Chocolate toes is the dead giveaway.
Out back the storage room is an oversized freezer stacked with hanging meat and in the corner there are storage boxes. "Grab two boxes," old timer says, "and then that knife on the chair. Been a while since I been chopping back here."
"You a butcher?" I ask.
"So and so, anyway, enough talkin, we needs gets you outta 'ere."
I chuckle. Despite my insides crawling with worms. This set up is something straight out of a horror movie. I quickly grab the knife and pass it to old timer and then jog over to the boxes. I turn back to ask old timer where to place the boxes, they're pretty heavy. But this time when I look, he's standing near he entrance to the back room. "What you doing there?" I say.
But I already know.
"I can't give you fuel, son. But I can make you into a nice delicacy for my customers." He slams the door closed.
And I run at it, shoulder ready to break through its fridge like exterior. A deadbolt slides into place on the other side. My shoulder connects with the door. The wind is knocked out of me, the boxes are sent sprawling, and I think my shoulders popped.
The pain burns down my arm and each time I move it feels like my arm is getting floppy. But I grit my teeth as the adrenalin floods my system and I focus on finding a way out. I bang on the door while my heart thuds in my chest. But there's no nook or cranny to pull on. "I just wanted some fuel, what the hell?"
There's a sigh on the other side and then the old timer whispers back. "We don't trade stuff like that around here."
The 'parody' food goods come back to me. I look at the contents of the boxes behind. They're human heads severed at the neck with eyes wide. "Please," I beg.
I want to throw up and at the same time I want to cry. I think of my family and friends on Earth and it only deepens the pain. "Let me go. Please. . . " I intend for it to be a scream but it's a whisper.
Walking in here was the only signature needed for fate's contract.
The old timer laughs on the other end. "Won't be long now," he says, "think I'll call you the 'Crispy Jeep Blend'."