Read Online Anything Can Be Dangerous by Matt Hults - Free Book Online Page A

sighed. “There’s something that
looks like meat hanging in the janitor’s closet…I’ll go cut some
slabs off that in a minute.”
    He reloaded the fryers and returned to
the registers, delivering a tray of fish sticks. Ahead of him, a
sea of pale-skinned patrons waited their turn at the
counter.
    A teenage girl dripping mud and
seaweed stepped forward.
    “ How…” he began, then had
to stop, trying to work up saliva. He wiped sweat off his face.
“How may I…”
    But he pivoted away without finishing,
leaning against the ice cream machine, which currently churned a
mixture of vanilla soft-server and black sludge.
    “ Screw this!” he cried. “I
can’t. I can’t do it anymore––”
    “ Hello, sir,” a voice said
at his back.
    Ron flinched and spun around,
recoiling at the sight of a tall gaunt figure dressed in a paper
hat and apron. Behind it stood a trio of men with wads of bloody
gauze taped over their eyes.
    “ We’re here about the
jobs,” the tall one said. He handed Ron a quartet of papers labeled
‘Application for Employment.’
    Ron blinked, stammering a string of
unintelligible sounds before finally saying the one thing that
seemed the most appropriate. “You’re hired.”
    “ Thank you, sir,” the
emaciated creature answered. It immediately took up a position near
the deep fryer, causing Wendy to scream when she saw it coming. The
thing reached into the bubbling oil with its bare hands,
transferring the cooked food to the proper containers. The other
men each manned a register, two up front and one at the drive-thru
alcove.
    Wendy hurried to Ron’s side. “What…”
she started, but then trailed off, perhaps knowing he’d have no
rational answer for her question.
    The hours passed. Customers continued
to arrive, flooding the dining room far beyond what would normally
be acceptable by state safety regulations—yet the restaurant
managed to accommodate them. More employees showed up, as well.
They no longer approached Ron, acting out the formalities of
regular job applicants as the first few had, but just turned up and
went to work.
    The rhythm of the restaurant filled
the air. Pots clanking, registers buzzing, voices calling out the
orders. From the dining room came the constant slavering sounds of
snapping teeth and chewing jaws while the patrons devoured meal
after meal after meal.
    And they were getting stranger, too.
As were their orders.
    Ron glimpsed a walking jumpsuit with a
mass of purple vines sprouting from the neckline; a mound of black
fur whose hidden claws clicked against the tile; a skinless beast
that reminded him of the malevolent mound of sentient beef in the
freezer.
    He avoided the front line as much as
possible now, busying himself by stocking mundane supplies that
mysteriously showed up in the storeroom: plastic forks; paper cups;
napkins; straws. Occasionally he’d come across a box labeled ‘Dried
Monkey Heads’ or an economy-size can of ‘Powdered Semen’, but at
least those items were contained and out of sight. It was when he’d
encounter a worker delivering some hideous tray of ingredients to
the kitchen that he felt his stomach somersault inside him. Twice
he’d vomited on the floor, not having time to find the restroom.
The first time a dutiful employee appeared with a mop and bucket;
the second time they brought a carryout bag.
    He was more concerned about Wendy than
himself, though. She followed him like his shadow, crying out each
time one of the malformed workers came within arm’s reach of
her—which had become a regular occurrence given the cramped
conditions. More than once he’d needed to lift her from the floor
after she’d slumped into a corner.
    Now he looked up as he deposited a
fresh container of salt and pepper packets at the counter, shocked
to see a normal-looking gentleman in glasses approach the register.
He had a nervous, sheepish way about him that reminded Ron of the
acting style of Woody Allen, and he almost screamed at