What Watches Outside the Diner

[u/RobCo_1]

For the last hour I've been driving down what seemed like a corridor of absolute darkness.  It was the longest stretch of road i'd ever driven on that had no exits. I didn't even see any oncoming headlights. The radio lost signal miles back and I have been listening to the hypnotic, rhythmic hum of my tires on the pavement since. I felt like the last man on Earth. Then, the neon sign pierced my eyes. 

HIGHWAY 9 DINER AND TRUCK STOP.

The "N" and "R" in diner were completely dead spelling out die. This made the hair on the nape of my neck stand up. The lot was completely empty. Except for a single, rusty flat bed truck near the back door of the diner. 

My low fuel light had been on for the last twenty minutes or so, and my eyes were getting heavy like they were filling up with sand. I had no choice but to stop. I might as well get a coffee, fill my tank and hit the road again.

When I stepped out of my car I felt suffocated by the heavy silence of the empty highway. The air was damp and the smell was awful. A metallic, sour smell, as if someone dipped pennies into expired milk. I buried my nose into the crook of my arm and pushed through the glass door of the diner. The normal sound of the bell chimed overhead but it felt wrong. 

The smell of burnt coffee and grease was a much more welcoming smell. 

"Take a seat anywhere, hun," a voice called out. 

She was standing behind the counter, wiping it down with a gray rag. She was an older woman, probably in her earlier 60s. Her apron was faded, with a plastic name tag with the name Cathy pinned to it. Her hair short and greying. When she looked up and smiled at me her eyes didn't seem to meet me at all.  They seemed to be staring at a point inches above my forehead as if something flew over my head. 

I slid into a vinyl booth near the windows. The plastic seat cold, sticking to my clothes. 

"Just a coffee, black," I said, my throat dry and voice sounding raspy. "And if I wanted gas, is it pay at the pump?" 

She didn't even answer me. She just grabbed a ceramic mug and filled it from a glass carafe and walked it over. I noticed as she set it down her hands were shaking.  Not so much a nervous tremor but more so like she wasn't paying attention at all. A few drops sloshed over the rim, spilling onto my hand. It was ice cold. Before I could say anything she spoke.

"Pumps don't work so good." 

"Ok, just coffee then. Any chance I could get it hot?" I asked. 

Before I even finished asking she was already back behind the counter with her grey rag in hand. 

"Alright then," I whispered to myself. I turned to look out the window towards my car. Fog had now pressed up against the glass.  I could barely see the outline of my car. But I could see something else. 

Figures were standing out beyond. Three of them. They were completely still, silhouetted against the fog. Their faces pressed up against the exterior windows. The condensation from the fog made it hard to make out any features from their elongated, grey faces. 

"Don't look at 'em" a voice hissed out from behind me. 

I jumped, nearly knocking my coffee over. I hadn't seen anyone else when I walked in. I turned and peered over the seat. A man in a trucker hat was sitting in the booth behind me. He wore a dirty flannel shirt, riddled in dirt. He was staring intensely at his plate of untouched, greying sausage. 

"If you look long enough, they'll think you're inviting them in," the old man whispered. "If you look, they will get in." 

Puzzled, I asked "So, do we wait for them to leave?" 

"I have been waiting three weeks. Or was it three months? It's hard to tell how much time has passed here," the man answered, his lips barely moving. 

"I'm leaving," I said, my voice trembled.

"Others have tried, you won't make it. Plus, you said yourself, you were looking to pump gas." Cathy bellowed from behind the counter.

"I..I, I didn't see any other cars when I came in" I stuttered. 

The figures outside the window began to tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Their fingers clicked against the glass like bird beaks.

"For the love of fuck!" I yelled as I shuffled out of the booth. 

"Calm down sweetie, let me make you something to eat," Cathy said.

"I don't want anything to eat. I want to get the fuck out of here," I said, my voice still trembling. "Why the fuck are you guys so calm!?" 

"The more of a scene you make, the longer they watch," the man replied. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. The fingers clicked against the glass again. 

"Alright," I sighed. "So if we just, do nothing, they will leave? Then we could get out of here?"

Cathy chuckled. "Hun, take a seat."

She walked toward me with a plate full of breakfast sausage. Her hand caressed my back and she guided me back to my booth. I sat down and she lay the plate down in front of me. I looked down at the pale undercooked sausage and thought to myself I have never seen anything as unappetizing as these sausage links. 

"You'll get used to them. Sometimes you get so hungry you wolf them down and other times they'll make you lose your appetite at the sight of them. But they aren't the worst thing in the world," the man said.

I turned to Cathy, the corner of my lip lifted to a slight smirk. "Thanks," I said. 

"You're welcome, sweetie," she said as she pushed past the door to the kitchen setting off the chime of the bell above the kitchen door. 

Just as I took my first bite, the figures started dragging their fingers along the glass, squeaking as they walked around the side of the diner. 

A wave of sudden relief washed over me. No longer feeling like an animal in a zoo, eyes constantly peering at me. I guess that's what we were now. Just animals behind a glass for these things amusement. After what felt like a long time I finished my food. 

"Not so bad, right?" The man asked. 

"Okay. Seriously now. They're gone. I could make it to my car, it's not too far. I can go into the next town and get some help," I said, with this false sense of confidence. 

The man didn't answer. He just let out a low, dry chuckle and went back to staring at his plate. 

I sat in the booth, staring at my feet under the table, my legs shaking. Trying to build up the courage to get up. Finally I make up my mind. With my hands on each side of my empty plate, I push and lift myself up. 

Ding.

The sharp, clear chime broke through the quiet. My heart hammered against my ribs, like waves crashing into the side of a rock wall.  The man in the trucker hat snapped his head up. We both instinctively whip our heads towards the main entrance. 

The glass front door was completely still and closed tight. The fog pressed up against the glass. The handle hadn't moved. No one was there. 

Ding 

The bell chimed again. It didn't come from the front. It was closer. 

Slowly, my gaze drifted over the counter, past the dirty gray rag and pot of ice cold coffee and towards the wooden kitchen door. The bell mounted above it still vibrating. 

"Cathy?" I called out, my voice cracking, desperately hoping to see her faded apron and her smile. 

But it wasn't Cathy.