Read Online Satan Burger by Iii Carlton Mellick - Free Book Online

forgotten all about me.  Lucky me, all alone in an empty world with no sound, with a spin-wheeling picture.
    It’s so cold now.  There’s no wind but it’s still freezing, even for New Canada.  My teeth start chattering.  It scares me at first.  I’m not used to having my teeth chatter in me.  Maybe they are trying to communicate, to tell me there is something wrong with this place and to leave immediately.
    "CHATTER, CHATTER, CHATTER," my teeth scream at me.  But I don’t seem to leave.
    I begin to look for my friends.

    All the nearby streets are closets.  I do not take them.  The buildings behind the gas station look more admitting: a slight light shining from that direction.  Once I go, I see all but one of the windows are darkened, still silent.  An alley of vacant crabwebs and pallid scraps of plastic dolls.
    The only lit building looks like this:
    A wood shack structure with one window and one door.  It has no sound coming out of it, but there is a dull light.  The structure blends in with all the alley garbage.  It is moist from rain, malodorous, stodgy.  There is a sign that comments, Humphrey’s Pub , looks to be made from the aluminum of beer cans and black house paint.
    I enter to a small room made for no more than ten sitting or eighteen standing.  There are four people inside of here, but it still seems as lifeless as the outside.  They are bundled up in snow clothes, seem to be Russian. One man is a waxy-faced bartender, polishing his beer steins, and the others are on stools, nodding at their drinks.  The only noise they make is a tipping of their mugs.
    I pause, waiting for a response to my presence. 
    No response.
    "Has anyone seen three men?" My voice echoes over the silence.  The sound seems stale.
    Nobody answers.
    "One pirate-like Asian, one in a suit, and one vampire-looking wannabe German?" 
    Nobody even turns around.
    "I’m talking here."
    Nothing.
    Patience . . .
    Then I get an answer:
    One of the customers speaks without turning to me.  His words slip out from under a bushy handlebar mustache, whisper softer than the breath that carries them.  "We heard you.  Nobody’s seen anyone here.  Nobody ever sees anyone here."  His voice has no sensation.
    Another one, an old man, whispers, "You should be quiet.  Nobody talks here."
    "Why doesn’t anyone talk here?" I crusty-ask without whispering.  I’ve always been annoyed by whisperers.
    "Nobody ever talks in Silence," the third one answers.
    My eyes curl about.  The bar rolls in my vision. 
    The bartender remains silent.
    I don’t understand them.  I say, "I don’t understand you."
    "You’re inside of the Silence," he says.  "The Silence has eaten you away from your friends and put you in her belly.  You are not dead, however.  And you will not be dead for as long as you keep quiet.  If she doesn’t hear any noise inside of her belly, she will think there is no food.  She will figure you are part of her and forget about you.  Otherwise, she will digest your meat and you’ll be excreted as part of the wind."
    "I don’t understand," I say.  "I go to this gas station all the time.  And it has never been quiet here before."
    "What gas station?" one asks.
    "The one outside.  You’re all cracked on dippy bobs, aren’t you?"
    "I’ve never heard of your gas station, nor dippy bobs," another says.
    "All of you, be quiet," whispers the bartender, cop voice.
    "You can see the back of it from outside the window," I say.
    I try peaking through the window but I see blackness; the glass doesn’t seem transparent.  Huff-frustrated, I open the door and point to the station’s backside.
    "See," I say, still pointing.
    None of them speak.  They ignore me.
    "You’re all crazy."

    I go back to the front of the gas station, afraid that it has disappeared.  But it’s still there and so is the Gremlin autocar.  Mort, Vod, and Christian are back, smoking cigarettes on the pavement, drinking some fresh-bought