Bogleech.com's 2018 Horror Write-off:
Grease Spoon
Submitted by The Bee Keeper
Grease Spoon
"Can you tell me about this sauce?"
Nope. It's a secret.
"You're killing me here."
No can do. It's called a secret sauce for a reason.
"Your diner made it's name in this glorious county of ours because of this sauce. You reeeaaallly can't share it with a fellow Meadowbrookian?"
Nope.
The foodie reporter was left with no answers, not even a hint. Or was she?
Carol waited until Joe shuffled back to his grill, then she took a short stroll behind his diner. The heavenly scent of fresh fries drifted just over head. But it wasn't fries Carol sought. She slowly, cautiously pried the back door open. It was already ajar and just beckoning to her during the whole interview with Joe. But moving it a tad, so she could slip though, proved oddly difficult. The door must have weighed a ton, even though nothing indicated that this door was in anyway special. Just a little grease clinging to the handles.
Carol sucked in her gut and fell forward into a pitch black room. She flicked the switch and sparkles flitted about as her eyes readjusted to the piercing inflorescent light. The room was stark and bigger than she had expected.
There wasn't much to say about the back room. Perfectly clean white walls, ceiling, and floor tiles. A cardboard box in the middle of it contained nothing more than little packets of ketchup and mustard. She bit her lip as her shoes squeaked as she strode to another door. But no one seemed the wiser.
Blackness and silence. Another dark spacious room. Click! And what did Carol behold but an identical room with two cardboard boxes. One marked "FRAGILE" had jars of pickle chips. The other had some shakers filled with pepper and salt. Carol tried some of their contents. Yep, everyday salt and black pepper. No exotic peppercorns. No pink Himalayan salt or black Hawaiian salt. Typical greasy spoon fare. No secrets here.
Squeak, squeeeaaak, squick, squeeeak, squeak. Carol opened the next door. Then she flicked the switch pretty my by reflex. Another white room. Three cardboard boxes. One box held garlic powder. Nice, aromatic, but not the sweet and tangy component of Joe's secret sauce. The other two boxes held bags of burger buns and red pepper flakes. Why would anyone store ingredients like this? Inefficient, but to each their own?
Here we go, thought Carol. Another door, another switch, and another room. Clearly Joe's diner couldn't hold anymore rooms. So this had to be the last one. In the center of this room was something other than cardboard boxes. Finally, the secret to the secret sauce? Well maybe... it wasn't exactly what Carol had in mind.
Hooves, a long tasseled tail, a docile expression on its marble face.
She walked up to the sculpture, a beautiful white marble cow. There was a small red milking stool next to it and a silver pail. Gingerly Carol grasped a teat and squeezed it. To her surprise the rock yielded like warm pliable tissue.
A red stream issued forth...
...and an astringent odor tickled Carol's nose.
Dipping a finger into the fluid she sniffed and then supped it.
...
...
...
"Well I'll be damned! It's ketchup!"
"Can you tell me about this sauce?"
Nope. It's a secret.
"You're killing me here."
No can do. It's called a secret sauce for a reason.
"Your diner made it's name in this glorious county of ours because of this sauce. You reeeaaallly can't share it with a fellow Meadowbrookian?"
Nope.
The foodie reporter was left with no answers, not even a hint. Or was she?
Carol waited until Joe shuffled back to his grill, then she took a short stroll behind his diner. The heavenly scent of fresh fries drifted just over head. But it wasn't fries Carol sought. She slowly, cautiously pried the back door open. It was already ajar and just beckoning to her during the whole interview with Joe. But moving it a tad, so she could slip though, proved oddly difficult. The door must have weighed a ton, even though nothing indicated that this door was in anyway special. Just a little grease clinging to the handles.
Carol sucked in her gut and fell forward into a pitch black room. She flicked the switch and sparkles flitted about as her eyes readjusted to the piercing inflorescent light. The room was stark and bigger than she had expected.
There wasn't much to say about the back room. Perfectly clean white walls, ceiling, and floor tiles. A cardboard box in the middle of it contained nothing more than little packets of ketchup and mustard. She bit her lip as her shoes squeaked as she strode to another door. But no one seemed the wiser.
Blackness and silence. Another dark spacious room. Click! And what did Carol behold but an identical room with two cardboard boxes. One marked "FRAGILE" had jars of pickle chips. The other had some shakers filled with pepper and salt. Carol tried some of their contents. Yep, everyday salt and black pepper. No exotic peppercorns. No pink Himalayan salt or black Hawaiian salt. Typical greasy spoon fare. No secrets here.
Squeak, squeeeaaak, squick, squeeeak, squeak. Carol opened the next door. Then she flicked the switch pretty my by reflex. Another white room. Three cardboard boxes. One box held garlic powder. Nice, aromatic, but not the sweet and tangy component of Joe's secret sauce. The other two boxes held bags of burger buns and red pepper flakes. Why would anyone store ingredients like this? Inefficient, but to each their own?
Here we go, thought Carol. Another door, another switch, and another room. Clearly Joe's diner couldn't hold anymore rooms. So this had to be the last one. In the center of this room was something other than cardboard boxes. Finally, the secret to the secret sauce? Well maybe... it wasn't exactly what Carol had in mind.
Hooves, a long tasseled tail, a docile expression on its marble face.
She walked up to the sculpture, a beautiful white marble cow. There was a small red milking stool next to it and a silver pail. Gingerly Carol grasped a teat and squeezed it. To her surprise the rock yielded like warm pliable tissue.
A red stream issued forth...
...and an astringent odor tickled Carol's nose.
Dipping a finger into the fluid she sniffed and then supped it.
...
...
...
"Well I'll be damned! It's ketchup!"