A man is running through the forest. It is early morning, misty, blocking his vision. The trees are scratching his face. He turns to see a tall shape, a face of bleached bone, large antlers sprouting from its forehead. He screams as his arm separates from him, muscle tearing and bone snapping, blood coursing from the stump, and the face of bone is red with blood as it speaks. “YOU HAVE EATEN FLESH IN THESE WOODS. YOU KNOW THE PRICE.” It began to raise its arm, vicious claws glinting off the moonlight. The man begins to run once more, tearing towards the lights of the town with a panicked fervor, eyes frantically scanning the woods behind him for signs of his assailant. As he reaches the backdoor of a small cafe, a bitterly cold gust of wind blows towards him, and it appears at the edge of the treeline, arm outstretched, dripping viscera and gore from its fist, and it screams. It is a terrible sound, a sound of pain and rage. The man is filled with fear, and he pushes open the door and enters the cafe.
*
On that same morning, in 1992, about ten minutes earlier, a man walked into a cafe, hugging his coat closer to him against the bitter cold. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face, obscuring his eyes. “Can I get you anything?” A man at the counter said. He had brown hair reaching down to the base of his neck and a friendly smile.
“Hash browns and some bacon.” He said, walking over to a booth and sitting down, removing his hat.
As the man was waiting, he looked around, taking in the cafe. It was small, with roughly ten tables and booths. There was a counter with small chairs, and a black and white checkered tile floor. The same man from the counter walked over to the booth with a large plate of hash browns and piled high with bacon, setting it down on the table.
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The man at the table started to eat, exclaiming to himself “Oh, that’s fucking great. Best fucking hash browns I’ve ever eaten.” His reverie was interrupted by the door ringing as someone came into the cafe, dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt.
“Doug! How’s it going? The usual, I assume?” The man at the counter greeted him ecstatically.
“Hey, Alec. That’d be great,” he said, sitting down at the table.
“So, what brings you back here after all this time?” Alec asked.
“There’ve been reports of some strange sightings. I found something in the woods that could be of use.” Doug responded in a hushed tone.
“Doug, you know I don’t do that much anymore. I’ve settled down, Eai is off talking politics in Hell, and all I have is a pistol. All of my stuff’s gone.”
Doug laughed. “I’ve got plenty of fucking weapons, my friend. Too many to count. You wouldn’t believe what I found in the woods.”
Alec walked into the back of the cafe and came out a few minutes later holding a plate of fried eggs, buttered sourdough toast, and steaming black coffee, setting it down before Doug.
“Thanks.” He said, tossing a few dollar bills onto the table.
The man at the booth had been listening intently, and now stood up, walking over to a jukebox and fiddling with it. A song began to play, a rhythmic droning punctuated by sharp guitar plucks filling the cafe. The man smiled, showing a mouth of impossibly sharp teeth, and sat down at his table again.