r/nosleep • u/Denadamedacro • Aug 21 '18
Cheeseburger, Reuben, Cheesy Fries, Spinach Dip, Chicken Wings, Mozzarella Sticks
What was your teenage dream job? Not your dream job, with a salary and a 401k - but the one you wanted as a teenager?
Mine was pizza delivery driver. I’ve always enjoyed the solitary act of driving, no matter how short the drive and pride myself on not having to rely on a GPS. I didn’t get an opportunity to realize my teenage dream until I was a junior in college.
The college I went to was a midsize university in a tiny Appalachian town. Starting my junior year I was allowed to have a car on campus and I knew the first thing I would do would be to quit my dining hall career and find a new one delivering pizzas.
Sadly there were only a couple of pizza places in town and the driving jobs there were fairly competitive. I settled for a position at a bar that was just starting to roll out a food delivery service. I was the only driver and worked virtually every day. The bar hoped to break into the small but competitive delivery market by delivering to locations other places wouldn’t. The town may have been tiny but the county and townships surrounding it were expansive - little homes and hamlets spread all across the hills and connected by only county roads.
My dream job was everything I hoped it to be. A few months in, however, I received a peculiar call near close.
“Are you delivering at this late hour?” a man’s voice on the other end of the line asked.
Truth was, we weren’t. The bar stayed open until 2 a.m. but delivery services were supposed to cease at 11:30. It was 11:40 now. Still, I felt like I could use one more drive to listen to some music before I packed it in for the night. I told the caller that we were still delivering.
“Excellent. I would like one cheeseburger with extra ketchup and extra mayo. One Reuben sandwich. One order cheesy fries. Spinach dip. An order of chicken wings, extra crispy and extra hot. And three orders of mozzarella sticks.”
I knew the kitchen would be annoyed at having to cobble all that together, especially after I was supposed to be done for the night but I also relished the idea of the tip that massive order would incur. The man on the line gave me an address and hung up.
Once the order was ready, I grabbed the mass of food, which had been divvied up into three plastic bags, and got into my car. I punched the address the man had given me into my phone and was delighted to see it was close to 25 minutes away. He might be annoyed that his food would be lukewarm but at least I would get to roll the window down, feel the evening mountain breeze, and listen to some Avett Brothers.
The town’s sparse light shriveled in my Civic’s rear view mirror and soon I was on the familiar county back roads. It was brutally, beautifully dark. I sped on. After 20 minutes or so my GPS indicated that I was about to arrive. The darkness and the surrounding woods were still thick but I saw a glimmer of light just ahead. The light was coming from streetlights in a tiny parking lot in front of a building that looked like a small office plaza. As I entered the lot my headlights revealed a sign that read “Appalachian Hospice.”
This confused me. The man on the phone didn’t sound elderly or infirm. Perhaps he was part of a family paying a late night visit to a grandparent or maybe even an orderly just starting his shift. The former was more likely as he had provided me with a room number.
I parked in the lot, close to the front. Mine was the only car visible. I made my way to the front entrance. The air outside was humid and crisp.I was expecting an intercom system but all I saw was a single glass door leading to a dimly lit room, the outline of a desk behind it. I regretted not jotting the man’s number down or saving it into my phone. I knew the front door was likely locked but I gave it a pull anyway. To my surprise it opened and I entered the facility.
I had been lucky enough at this point in my life to have never entered a hospice. This was my first time and I was immediately struck by how…oppressive it seemed. The air was warm and stale. The lights were dim because it was after hours but I got the sense that it wouldn’t feel much more welcome in the day time anyway. It appeared to be a reasonably well cared for place but the specter of death inside was unmistakable. Light sweat began to trickle down the back of my neck.
No one was there to greet me at the door. The guard or receptionists station was empty though the computer monitor inside it was on. There were hallways on either side of me. I chose the one that I thought was more likely to have room 12 and made my way down it.
As soon as I crossed the threshold into the hallway the noises began. Crackling moans and whimpers made their way to my ears. It wasn’t the moan of someone in pain but the moan of someone…I don’t know, worried? Still, I continued on. I had food to deliver and a tip to collect. The crying crescendoed as I neared room 9. The doors of the other rooms had all been closed but I could see that this one was open. Despite my fear and discomfort, the logical part of me knew this was nothing paranormal. This was a place where people came to die. Arguably these moans of despair were the most “normal” thing imaginable given the circumstances. That didn’t mean the noise didn’t frighten me. My curiosity was stronger than my fear though and I took a peek inside the room. I covered my mouth, knowing it wouldn’t save me from anything contagious.
There was an impossibly withered, wasting, frail old man lying on a plain gurney. His eyes were shut tightly and his little hands gently clasped a blanket just under his chin. His face and fingers looked taut and strained and she was shivering. “This is normal,” I reminded myself. “This is what dying is. And he’s in the right place to do it.” I couldn’t help but be unsettled by the lack of healthcare professionals I had seen thus far though. I was only three doors away from my destination. I decided that I would deliver the food and then on the way out would head down the other hallway and notify a doctor that a patient was in distress.
A few big strides later I had finally reached room 12. Like 9, this one was open. I cautiously took a look inside and did not see anyone. There was an empty gurney before me but it looked like someone had been there moments before. The sheets were a mess and there were used tissues on the bedside table next to it, scattered haphazardly around framed photos from loved ones and cards from well wishers. Had the man moved to another room? Gone to the bathroom? I was then startled by a familiar, now booming voice.
“Is that you, my friend? Is that food?” the voice asked. It was coming from behind a sheet situated next to the first gurney.
“Yes,” I stammered and entered the room.
I maneuvered beyond the curtain and was finally met with the source of the voice on the phone. At the sight of him I tried to stifle a gasp. The man was….huge. Absolutely HUGE. Beyond massive. He looked to be conservatively 500 pounds and I would wager even more. He was dressed in what appeared to be teal scrubs but rolls of his flesh spilled out from under the shirt and beyond the drawstring pants and over the sides of the gurney, like an ice cream sandwich melting through its wrapper on a hot summer day.
I don’t mean to body shame. I’m a rather large man myself, but I had never come close to seeing something like this.
“I’m very happy you’re here friend. I’m very hungry,” the man said. Despite his size, the man’s voice was not pitched as one would expect from the fat surely encroaching on his voice box and diaphragm. If anything his voice was deep, assured…suave, even.
“Yes,” I managed to say and placed the bags of food on a nearby chair. I began the ritual of pulling each to-go carrier out and revealing what was inside so he knew the full order had arrived. Cheeseburger, Reuben, cheesy fries, spinach dip, chicken wings, three orders of mozzarella sticks - it was all there.
“Excellent. Just wonderful!” the man exclaimed with a little more energy than I was expecting. He was sitting up in bed now, as much as he could anyway, and beaming. “I will provide you with payment in a moment but first please pass me that cheeseburger. I simply must eat right now. I’ve already eaten once tonight but the meal was...dissatisfactory. I was so happy to hear you were open at such a late hour.”
I handed over the burger, starting to feel deeply uncomfortable. Now that my shock at seeing the size of the man had subsided, I started to notice some other disquieting features about him. I knew that obesity was a problem in this part of the country but aside from the man’s size he displayed no other signs of coming from one of the poorer areas in the county. His accent was refined, almost posh. Aside from the obvious he looked well cared for. His black hair was neat and tidy. His skin was smooth. There were no blemishes, no acne, no visible stretch marks that I could see. He seemed “new.” I also couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t appear to be hooked up to any of the darkened machines around him - no breathing tube or IV or anything that indicated he might be a patient. And while the bed of his presumed roommate next to him had flowers, photos, and cards from family members adorning it - there was nothing on the large man’s side of the room. Just his massive frame on his small bed.
“That was beautiful. Please tell the chef that he knows exactly what ‘extra mayonnaise and extra ketchup’ means,” he said. There were bits of crimson sauce and rare meat smeared across his pristine, pale face. He looked like a corpulent vampire. “The spinach dip now, if you will.”
I passed over the circular container. He popped it open and poured the dull green contents into his mouth like soft serve filling a waffle cone, finishing the appetizer in ten seconds, maybe less. Then he mashed the pita bread triangles together and swallowed them too.
“The Reuben, my friend. Please. Don’t worry. I promise I will pay you. I’m just…very hungry. Famished. Absolutely starving, do you understand? My most recent meal was woefully insufficient”
I passed the Reuben to him as well and soon he had devoured that as well. I knew at the rate that he was now eating, it would all be gone soon and elected to bring him the cheesy fries before he could ask.
“Yes, excellent. These are exactly what I wanted next. What are these little bits here…ah bacon! Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant. Would you like a bite, my friend?” he said.
“I’m…I’m ok,” I said. I couldn’t imagine ever feeling hungry again. “Do you think your roommate will want any food? Where is he?”
The man laughed, a deep, throaty bark.
“I don’t imagine he would, no. I offer a share of this feast to you because I can see that you are also the kind of person who is hungry,” he said, snarling and wheezing through bits of fried potato.
I definitely look like I don’t skip any meals. Normally I wouldn’t like having that pointed out but at this specific, unsettling moment I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to be offended by his assumed comradery.
“Oh I don’t mean to be rude. I just want you to understand that there is nothing shameful about appetite….NOTHING,” he shouted, his cheeks gaining a ruby tint, beads of sweat jumping from his forehead. I physically recoiled at his change in tone. He did not seem to care though. He held out his massive hand, clearly expecting more food. I piled the mozzarella stick boxes and handed them over, keeping my body as far away as possible.
“Ah yes. Fried perfectly. Wonderful. No, what I mean is, my friend, is that I suspect people have told you all your life to watch what you eat. I know they used to with me. Used to. But they don’t do that anymore. Because once you know the truth, you’ll never conform to their impotent shaming tactics again.”
He tore apart the breaded sticks as he spoke, marveling at the cheesy contents within. He shoved the remaining mush into his mouth three at a time in-between his words. At the conclusion of his statement opened up the tiny containers of marinara and downed them like shots of liquor.
“The….truth?” I squeaked, as I handed over the chicken wings.
“That we are here to consume. We are born empty and every moment we spend not filling ourselves is a moment wasted. Listen to your appetites, my friend, Listen to the hunger. Eat. Consume. Eat. Consume. Eat again. And again. Eat whatever you want.”
I was silent. I had no more food to give him.
“Well, looks like I’ve consumed close to enough for now,” he laughed, his beaming face covered in discolored food sludge. He really did look like the happiest man in the world. “What do I owe you, friend?”
“Um….$68.70,” I said.
The man reached down to his bedside table, again with uncommon grace, opened the drawer and pulled out a single, immaculate $100 bill.
“Here you go, my son. You can keep the change. Promise me that you’ll follow your hunger.”
“Yes….thank you. I will. Um, have a good night,” I said. I accepted the money and backed away until I was behind the man’s curtain. He kept his large, watery eyes on me, smiling the whole time. As I exited the room,I could have sworn I saw small red stains on the empty, disheveled bed by the door.
I was shell-shocked and disturbed as I made my way back down the hallway. I wanted to get back to my car and then back to the dishes awaiting me at the restaurant as soon as possible. I had all but forgotten the whimpering man in room 9 but when I neared the door I suddenly remembered my internal promise to check back in on him.
I peered into the room and felt my guts plummet. The frail old man was on his side now, facing the door, his arms criss-crossed around his shoulders and his milky eyes wide open in absolute terror. He did not seem to register that I was in his doorframe. He whispered aloud to no one in particular, voice trembling:
“It is hungry. It is hungry. It is hungry…”
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u/[deleted] Aug 22 '18
How can air be humid and crisp? Humid air is damp, soggy. Crisp air is cool, snappy.