The group didn’t walk anymore.
They speed-walked.
Because whatever that was back there? Nope.
No one spoke for a full minute. Maybe because they were processing. Maybe because no one knew how to phrase, "Hey, remember when reality stopped making sense?"
Finally, Mr. Wachira sighed. “Nobody talk about it.”
Hassan wiped his forehead. “Yeah. Agreed.”
“…So, do you think they’re ghosts?”
Everyone groaned.
“NEON-SHIRT GUY, I SWEAR—”
---
They finally reached the town.
Up close, it wasn’t any better.
The streetlights flickered. The buildings were old but not abandoned. The air smelled weird—like burnt toast and bad decisions.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Nothing should’ve been wrong.
And yet.
Brenda shivered. "I hate this place."
Hassan nodded. “Yeah. Let’s just—find a phone, call for help, and never come back.”
Simple plan.
Of course, the universe hated them.
---
The first door they tried? Locked.
The second? Also locked.
The third? A guy opened it, looked them over, and immediately slammed it shut.
Mr. Wachira knocked again. “Excuse me, we—”
A voice hissed from inside. “Don’t bring the outside inside.”
“…What?”
Silence.
Then— fast footsteps running away.
Brenda turned to the group. “So. That’s normal.”
“Perfectly fine,” Hassan agreed.
“We should definitely keep walking and pretend that didn’t happen.”
Mr. Wachira sighed. “Agreed.”
And then they reached the diner.
---
From the outside, it looked… normal.
From the inside?
Slightly less normal.
The waitress didn’t blink.
The customers didn’t chew.
The food was untouched.
And the clock on the wall?
Spinning backward.
But hey. They had chairs.
So everyone sat.
And pretended this was fine.
Brenda leaned in. “Someone order something. See if it’s poisoned.”
“Why me?” Hassan whispered.
"Because you're the kind of person who says 'It’s not a horror movie' while in a horror movie."
Fair point.
He sighed and raised a hand. “Uh, waiter?”
The waitress turned too fast.
“Yes?”
Hassan swallowed. “Uh. A… milkshake?”
Her face twitched.
Then she smiled.
It was wrong.
“Flavor?”
Hassan hesitated. “Vanilla?”
She nodded. Didn’t write it down.
Then turned and glided away.
---
Two minutes later, she came back.
With a plate of spaghetti.
Hassan stared.
“…This is not a milkshake.”
The waitress smiled. “Yes, it is.”
“…But it’s spaghetti.”
Another too-wide smile. “No, it’s not.”
The whole group leaned back.
Because something was VERY WRONG.
Brenda whispered, “Bro. Don’t drink it.”
“I WASN’T GOING TO.”
Mr. Wachira sighed. “Okay. We’re leaving.”
The waitress stopped smiling.
And in a voice that wasn’t hers, she said—
“No. You’re not.”