Fear the Barfitron Read Online Free Page B

was the largest room I’d seen in the mansion so far—it could easily fit fifty or more people. Groups of old folks clustered around ten small round tables that each had a number posted on a simple card. Some shuffled between tables. There were a few chandeliers strung up here and there to make the place look classy, but like therest of the house, it was pretty tattered and torn. You could feel cold air blowing through the room.
    I took a look around for table three. I saw the ladies that had been cackling in front of the fire at one of the tables in the front. I looked way in the back and saw table three near an organist, who was still tapping away at that spooky old music. He had a cape on, and was hunched over the keyboard. I wondered if he ever ate, or if they just made him play all day long.
    I slowly made my way to table three, passing by tables two and four. I looked at table four and saw all three old folks staring off into space, just waiting for their food. Nobody was doing much talking.
    I got to table three, and found three wrinkly and pale old men sitting there, talking to each other in some sort of foreign language. They eyed me as I sat the cold soup down. One of them licked his lips, but he wasn’t looking at the soup bowl. He was looking right at me. I stared back, as if hypnotized, and he flashed a toothy grin. His incisors were rather pointy.
    “Enjoy,” I said meekly, and then turned around to head back to the kitchen. As I left, I heard a massive SLUUUUUUURP and looked back to see all three bowls empty and all three old gentlemen asleep with drops of red falling from the sides of their mouths. One of the old men snored very loudly.
I guess they eat fast here,
I thought.
    Back in the kitchen, the chef handed me the platter of mashed potatoes or grits or whatever, and told me to deliver it to table five. I held my breath—the smell made me want to puke. That table was right near the door, so close that I hadn’t noticed it before. There, at the table, sat three people with eyes that stared into nothingness and skin that oozed with open sores.
Shouldn’t these people be in a hospital?
I wondered.
They need medicine, not this gray whatever-it-is.
    They swayed in their chairs and gurgled and moaned as I approached. Something smelled terrible—like rotten meat. Worse than the food. I looked around to see where it was coming from. When I brought my head back up, I noticed that one of them was eyeing me. Before I could react, it was too late. He swiped at the tray as I brought it down, hungry and clearly ready to eat. The other two came alive—a bit—once they saw their brunch-mate grab for the gray whatever-it-was. I laid the bowls on the table and got out of there quick. One of the Nurses that had been walking around the great room approached them as I left and yelled, “FORKS, PLEASE!” but I could hear from the squishy slurping sounds and grunts of pleasure that they were probably eating with their hands, as fast as they could. I wasn’t going to turn around and look.
    This was not what I signed up for—Gordon was right. I was serving food to cranky, smelly old meanpeople. Where were the sweet nanas or funny grandpas?
Is this what I am going to have to deal with on a daily basis?
I thought. These folks were really monstrous—and the staff was, too!
    I walked back into the kitchen and was immediately handed the tray of soupy raw steak by the chef.
    “TABLE TEN!” he yelled, as he pushed me back out into the dining room.
    I headed over to table ten. Two of the hairiest old men I had ever seen in my life were sitting at the table. I laid the steak soup down on the table and turned to leave. Before I could go, one of the hairy old men looked up at me.
    His eyes looked so familiar…but why?
    I watched as both of the old men eyed the meat slop hungrily and dug in for their first slobbery bite. It was actually quite disgusting to watch, but I couldn’t stop.
    It was only when Shane texted me that