A Strange Kind Of Nourishment

Waffles for breakfast were always a portender of something sinister.

Sheila had a thing for diners. All it took was one garish, art deco facade and she would cross three lanes of highway traffic to make the exit. It was exactly these circumstances that landed Sheila at Ricki's Roadside Cafe the morning she was to sign her divorce papers.

If the shapely Sheila had grasped how this particular diner experience was to violently upturn her life, she would have bolted in the opposite direction. Instead, she exited her Tiguan, clicked her fob (an extra click for good luck) and grabbed her not-yet-final divorce papers.

She walked into the streamlined chrome restaurant, looking for her former lover and current employer. Not seeing this person, she sat in the nearest booth and started perusing the menu. That's when it struck her that she was the only person in the silent diner.

Stranger still, the seat next to hers was still warm. She shifted her eyes slowly from the diner menu, and regarded the wet spoon to her left, still dripping from coffee. Where had they all gone? And why did she have a feeling they'd soon be coming back?

The vestiges of the first course haunted her for the remainder of the meal. She left the diner feeling confused but satisfied. As she passed the storefronts nearby, the reflections in the windows seemed to shift and wink.