The Cook

The cook knocked on the door. When no one opened it for more than a minute, he tried turning the doorknob. To his surprise, it was unlocked.

No lights were on inside and it was pitch dark. It looked like the power was out.

“Hello! Anybody home,” he shouted. When he got no answer, he started walking towards the kitchen. He was used to this. The guys who used to live there were lazy bums, mostly holed up in their rooms doing geeky stuff. And if they didn’t find food when hunger made them drag themselves to the kitchen, guess who would get an earful? The cook, of course! But it also worked out better for him. As there was no one to supervise, he could quickly put together something edible and get the hell out of there. And the geeks paid well.

This was the first time the power was out though.

The cook made his way to the kitchen and started looking for a candle to light. Just then, he heard the sound of muffled footsteps behind him. Startled, he turned around and saw someone standing at the door, holding a old fashioned kerosene lantern in his hand. The man’s face was not visible, but he assumed he must be one of the geeks.

“What should I cook today, sir?” the cook asked, cursing under his breath for all the extra effort he would have to put in if this guy asked for something elaborate.

“Make whatever is in the refrigerator,” the man with the lantern replied. His voice was eerily flat and utterly without expression, but the cook paid it no mind and opened the refrigerator. He groped around in the dark till he found a plastic bag. He opened the bag and pulled out what was inside it. Then, he froze.

“But.. but this is a foot. A human foot,” he said. He had turned white and the words were barely coming out of his mouth.

“I know,” the man replied, “I was in the mood for a leg-piece tonight.” He raised the lantern to illuminate his face. He had no eyeballs and his mouth was smeared with something that looked a lot like blood. The cook screamed, dropped the foot and started running, knocking over the eyeless man in the process. A number of candles had miraculously lit up the main hallway of the house and what he saw made his blood curdle. A trail of fresh blood smeared the floor, as if someone with a heave bleed had staggered across the hallway.

The main door was in the direction of the blood trail, but he had no choice but to follow it if he wanted to get out of there. He ran. The door was just around the corner. As soon as he made the turn he froze, and screamed again. One of the geeks was standing beside the door with his face covered in blood and the hilt of a dagger jutting out of his forehead. He was laughing like a maniac. Without thinking or waiting to take stock, the cook threw his weight against the nearest window and landed heavily in the lawn outside.

He staggered to his feet and looked back at the window. A skeleton with glowing orbs for eyes was waving at him. He screamed again, turned around and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him. Needless to say, he never came back.

The sounds of hysterical laughter from inside the house could be heard even after he was long gone.