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TOAST AND COFFEE
By Michael A. Kechula
Joe was munching toast in a diner when the clock struck midnight. This was the third diner he’d visited since arriving in Jersey City. If this were the right one, a woman with horrible body odor would show up and take the stool next to his.
As he sipped coffee, a reeking woman flopped onto the seat next to him. Her stench was so putrid, he almost vomited.
The woman elbowed him so hard in the ribs, his cup went flying. Exactly as predicted in the manual he received when attending a secret workshop.
“What’s your problem lady?” Joe said, using words memorized from the manual.
“My problem?” she hollered. “What’s yours, you freakin’ jerk!”
Her words had been predicted verbatim by the manual. So were those of the owner when he said, “Hey! I don’t want no hassles here. If you can’t settle down, get the hell outta my diner.”
“Tell him, not me,” the washed out, baggy-eyed woman said. “He was supposed to meet me at Louie’s Lounge last night. The bastard never showed up for our date.”
“I don’t know this woman,” Joe said. “I don’t date anybody. I’m a priest.”
“He’s a damn liar,” the woman shouted. “I’m his girlfriend. And he sure as hell ain’t no priest.”
“You don’t look like no priest,” the owner said on cue. “Are you absolutely sure you are one? Or are you just imagining things?”
Joe removed a bottle of holy water, crucifix, and book of psalms from his jacket and put them on the counter. “Who else but a priest would have stuff like this in his pocket?” he asked.
Everyone in the diner sneered, then removed the same things from their pockets and handbags and laid them on tables. All stared menacingly at Joe, waiting for his next move.
Reaching inside his jacket, Joe removed a purple stole that Roman Catholic priests wore when conducting religious rituals.
Everyone else in the diner took out a purple stole that looked exactly like Joe’s.
“OK,” Joe said. “I see you wanna play games. That’s fine with me.”
“Do you really have the guts to put that stole on?” asked a customer. “Did your bosses in Rome ever tell you what happens to those who don’t truly believe? You look very nervous to me. Are you sure you’re up to the task? Listen...if you put that thing back in your pocket and leave right now, we’ll all make believe you never came here. That is, if you never go to another diner again. You’re awfully young to be hanging around diners. Too young to be wasting your time here. Tell you what I’m gonna do. I’ll toss in a bonus. Besides sparing your life, if you leave right now, the most exquisite woman in the universe will be out front within sixty seconds. She’ll give you the time of your life, a hundred times over. You’ll bless the day you slipped off her undies. So, what do you say?”
Placing the stole around his neck Joe said aloud in Latin, “Out of the depths have I cried to Thee, oh Lord.”
Instantly, everyone except Joe was frozen in place.
Starting with the owner, Joe went to every entity and splashed it with holy water. Each time a drop struck one, it disappeared with a loud pop. He saved the smelly woman who’d elbowed him for last. Checking her scalp as if searching for lice, he found two hard nubs that would soon become six-inch horns.
“Demon in training,” he muttered in Latin. “And this one’s close to getting her diploma.”
When he threw holy water in her face, she too disappeared with a pop.
Outside the diner, he swigged blessed water to decontaminate the toast and coffee he’d ingested in the unholy place. Forgetting to do so would have resulted in a fatal stomach disorder.
Removing a portable flame thrower from his car, Joe muttered prayers of exorcism and torched the diner.
“One down,” he muttered, as he drove away.
The following night, he drove to Newark to check out the city’s six diners.
Ten minutes before midnight, he took a counter seat in a diner. Ordering plain toast and coffee, he waited for the next horrible-smelling demon to take a stool and elbow him in the ribs.
Nobody showed up.
Joe wondered how long it would take to find the remaining sixty-one unnamed diners, declared by the Vatican as the most demonically possessed eateries in the United States.
- - -
BIO: Michael A. Kechula's flash fiction has been published by 126 magazines and 35 anthologies in 6 countries. He's authored two collections of flash fiction tales: "A Full Deck of Zombies - 61 Speculative Fiction Tales" and "The Area 51 Option and 70 More Speculative Fiction Tales."
By Michael A. Kechula
Joe was munching toast in a diner when the clock struck midnight. This was the third diner he’d visited since arriving in Jersey City. If this were the right one, a woman with horrible body odor would show up and take the stool next to his.
As he sipped coffee, a reeking woman flopped onto the seat next to him. Her stench was so putrid, he almost vomited.
The woman elbowed him so hard in the ribs, his cup went flying. Exactly as predicted in the manual he received when attending a secret workshop.
“What’s your problem lady?” Joe said, using words memorized from the manual.
“My problem?” she hollered. “What’s yours, you freakin’ jerk!”
Her words had been predicted verbatim by the manual. So were those of the owner when he said, “Hey! I don’t want no hassles here. If you can’t settle down, get the hell outta my diner.”
“Tell him, not me,” the washed out, baggy-eyed woman said. “He was supposed to meet me at Louie’s Lounge last night. The bastard never showed up for our date.”
“I don’t know this woman,” Joe said. “I don’t date anybody. I’m a priest.”
“He’s a damn liar,” the woman shouted. “I’m his girlfriend. And he sure as hell ain’t no priest.”
“You don’t look like no priest,” the owner said on cue. “Are you absolutely sure you are one? Or are you just imagining things?”
Joe removed a bottle of holy water, crucifix, and book of psalms from his jacket and put them on the counter. “Who else but a priest would have stuff like this in his pocket?” he asked.
Everyone in the diner sneered, then removed the same things from their pockets and handbags and laid them on tables. All stared menacingly at Joe, waiting for his next move.
Reaching inside his jacket, Joe removed a purple stole that Roman Catholic priests wore when conducting religious rituals.
Everyone else in the diner took out a purple stole that looked exactly like Joe’s.
“OK,” Joe said. “I see you wanna play games. That’s fine with me.”
“Do you really have the guts to put that stole on?” asked a customer. “Did your bosses in Rome ever tell you what happens to those who don’t truly believe? You look very nervous to me. Are you sure you’re up to the task? Listen...if you put that thing back in your pocket and leave right now, we’ll all make believe you never came here. That is, if you never go to another diner again. You’re awfully young to be hanging around diners. Too young to be wasting your time here. Tell you what I’m gonna do. I’ll toss in a bonus. Besides sparing your life, if you leave right now, the most exquisite woman in the universe will be out front within sixty seconds. She’ll give you the time of your life, a hundred times over. You’ll bless the day you slipped off her undies. So, what do you say?”
Placing the stole around his neck Joe said aloud in Latin, “Out of the depths have I cried to Thee, oh Lord.”
Instantly, everyone except Joe was frozen in place.
Starting with the owner, Joe went to every entity and splashed it with holy water. Each time a drop struck one, it disappeared with a loud pop. He saved the smelly woman who’d elbowed him for last. Checking her scalp as if searching for lice, he found two hard nubs that would soon become six-inch horns.
“Demon in training,” he muttered in Latin. “And this one’s close to getting her diploma.”
When he threw holy water in her face, she too disappeared with a pop.
Outside the diner, he swigged blessed water to decontaminate the toast and coffee he’d ingested in the unholy place. Forgetting to do so would have resulted in a fatal stomach disorder.
Removing a portable flame thrower from his car, Joe muttered prayers of exorcism and torched the diner.
“One down,” he muttered, as he drove away.
The following night, he drove to Newark to check out the city’s six diners.
Ten minutes before midnight, he took a counter seat in a diner. Ordering plain toast and coffee, he waited for the next horrible-smelling demon to take a stool and elbow him in the ribs.
Nobody showed up.
Joe wondered how long it would take to find the remaining sixty-one unnamed diners, declared by the Vatican as the most demonically possessed eateries in the United States.
- - -
BIO: Michael A. Kechula's flash fiction has been published by 126 magazines and 35 anthologies in 6 countries. He's authored two collections of flash fiction tales: "A Full Deck of Zombies - 61 Speculative Fiction Tales" and "The Area 51 Option and 70 More Speculative Fiction Tales."
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