It Does in Fact Bite: Entry 3.
The radio chatter hummed along inside the Subaru being driven, cool rain pelting against the windshield as Baylen drove toward the outskirts of the city. His nametag felt glaringly obvious as the seatbelt pressed the uncomfortable plastic into his chest, one would’ve thought that after 5 years of working at the restaurant, he would just keep the badge in the managerial office. That would be an obvious solution though, and little irritations like this reminded Baylen that he was human and not some soulless being from all the time he’d spent in liminal spaces.
The night sky was darkening overhead, almost already at its deepest depths. It was autumn after all which meant the night air was brisk and night fell quickly over the hushed city. Baylen’s mind wandered elsewhere as he drove, allowing for muscle memory to take control as he drove through the winding suburban streets, eventually houses and gas stations became more and more sparse - before eventually it was just a wheat field and trees that surrounded the road on the edge of the city line. The distance between his store and the nearest gas station was a well-known annoyance, especially after the time he forgot to get gas before work when he was a novice employee and ended up stranded in the parking lot of their work at the end of the shift. Luckily for Baylen, it was nine in the morning, so they didn’t have to walk through the dark fields or forested areas to a gas station in complete darkness. Four hours and one comically large jerry-can later, Baylen was able to finally go home.
His mind flashed through the time spent at the restaurant he currently managed; the crews that had come and gone, the amount of customers Baylen had actually brawled, and the multiple times people had attempted to rob the store at gunpoint. Good times. Baylen’s mind finally came to a focus as they tuned into the radio station playing, National Public Radio was a staple inside his vehicle, he loved hearing the local historians and scientists who spoke impassioned about their respective careers. Tonight's broadcast was different however, tonight's broadcast spoke of crimes and unheard-of horrors ravaging through their small city. The city was composed of around 17,000 people according to the last census - not that Baylen really believed that considering he only ever saw the same people whenever he went out. The young manager was not oblivious to the events occurring around him, of course, he’d taken note of the murders and kidnappings that became more and more prominent at the same time as… odd customers becoming regulars. The host of the news station urged caution and staying close to trusted others in this worrisome time in between bouts of news articles.
Family of 6 found murdered in their beds, all of their faces disfigured.
Young woman finds photos of herself through her windows plastered to her front door.
Convenience store overnight workers found killed in a frenzy.
The list of atrocities continued further, but Baylen turned away from them as his car finally pulled into the lot of the 24-hour diner he’d grown so accustomed to. The parking lot lights flickered at different frequencies, some flickered rapidly whilst others went in slow methodical blinks. Baylen spent many hours seeking out a pattern in the poorly maintained lights. They sighed as they looked inside the large glass windows and only briefly thought, ‘Damn this place really is like a fishbowl.’ As he watched the group of employees inside laugh and gossip at a booth as they rolled silverware. It was only three of them; the host, the head cook, and a server. Baylen was covering for the other parts of the floor since both Dante and Enzo had caught some freak flu. Those two never got sick, so Baylen didn’t think twice about coming in for them.
Baylen sighed as he unbuckled himself, grabbed the backpack that sat slumped in the passenger seat, and headed inside the building. Baylen never really cared about parking away from the front door, he’s learned over time that being able to see your car is important in this kind of establishment. It was only a slight bonus that he didn’t have to be out in the chilled air for long. The small bell above the door chimed as he walked through the front entrance, and he prepared himself with a small smile and a wave as the three present gave their own variations of greetings.
Adrian Jones, the host of the establishment, was ever polite with their wave to their manager. They barely lifted their fingers as they folded the napkins around the utensils, and it was then that Baylen noticed Adrian was the only one rolling the silverware. It wasn’t surprising. Adrian’s deep black hair hung in waves that covered a portion of their face, obscuring it from the world. Whatever had been said most recently left a small mischievous smirk across their lips - Baylen did not need, nor want to know what led to that expression.
Alex Johnson, the head cook, only gave a brief nod of acknowledgment as they kept their head down, quietly filling out what seemed to be the food order forms. Their other fingers tapped musical patterns into the cheap tabletop. Their long hair blocked all view of their face and obscured most of the paper they worked on. Baylen didn’t look long, he knew that prolonged ‘eye contact’ was something that unnerved them.
Then finally, Wren Blight, one of two servers on the overnight staff sat lounging in the booth, crumpled in a way that most certainly wouldn’t be comfortable to Baylen - with one arm hanging across the back, the other holding up their phone as they doom scrolled through social media apps, with their legs kicked up on the table, ankles crossed. Their deep purple hair was cropped into a stylized mullet, framing the scars that went across their eyes. They gave a charismatic grin and waved to the manager as he entered, saying a quick, “Sup, boss?”
Baylen didn’t pay the crew much mind as he walked over to the clock-in station next to his office, tossing his backpack haphazardly toward the desks inside. Instead of turning around back towards his coworkers and the dining room, they pivoted on their feet to follow the hall down to the dish pit and walk-in cooler. Enzo had texted the manager a heads up that something had gotten into the freezers, and that it sounded large. Baylen knew that nothing could have gotten in without wanting to be there, but he didn’t think whatever got in there knew that the door locked from the outside upon shutting.
It was only when he came to a stop in front of the tall freezer doors that he realized his heartbeat was pounding heavily in his chest, so intensely to the point that he could feel it in his fingertips. Though none of the anxiety he felt was shown across her face. She could not allow that fear to disturb anyone. Thus, they would deal with this overwhelming dread and whatever lurked inside the freezer alone. Baylen could hear it still - Enzo was right when they said the creature sounded almost akin to nails upon a chalkboard as it dug the tips of its appendages into the metal barrier. That metal was intended to keep in the cold and protect the food from within; Baylen supposed protecting the ‘food’ outside of the walk-in was its more pertinent duty now. The rotting fluorescent light cascaded shades of flickering yellows and blues across the room, one flickering panel stood out like a spotlight over the cold metallic door.
Baylen’s hand reached behind himself, wrapping his hand around the grip of the gun that had remained neatly tucked into the back of their dress pants. A glock 42 would not necessarily have been their first choice in going at a cryptid, but it was the only gun the manager owned. Her slender fingers gently traced down to the magazine, triple-checking that it was secure, before finally bracing himself for the inevitable. He drew his pistol, turned off the safety, and held it firmly in one hand at first - in an ideal situation he’d have someone else open the door, but his staff did not get paid nearly enough for this.
They composed themselves with one final deep breath, before reaching out with his free hand and tugging open the cooler door abruptly. Nothing. Nothing could have prepared Baylen for the carnage inside; the deep gauges taken out of the metal walls, the industrial shelves deep rooted from their bolts that once attached them to the floor, the food in shreds littering the floor… The pale white creature that scuttled across the floor before launching itself up the back wall, holding itself the conjunction of the wall and ceiling. Its face was sunken in, devoid of most features - other than its eyes, or what could only be compared to eyeballs. The pitch black holes where the sockets sat on a regular face were accentuated by white irises, dilated, crazed. Ready. Like a knife slicing through butter, its long jagged fingers launched into the ceiling - digging all the way down to the knuckles as it reared back. The fiendish creature began to hunch on its legs, like a track runner about to do a long jump.
Baylen could barely prepare himself as it reared back, stumbling back on his heels - one, two, maybe three steps, he wasn’t sure at this point. He raised the gun, shaking in his hands, but he did not hesitate in pulling the trigger.
The creature screamed, screeching an ear-piercing roar as it launched forwards, feet and hands pummeling the floor as it ran towards them. Baylen didn’t stop. He had five more bullets, and he counted on each of them.
The sound of the gunshots echoed off the metal pots and pans that littered the pit, Baylen’s arms were already aching as he stumbled back, the edge of his spine slamming into the corner of the wall that protruded out at the end of the hallway.
The creature stumbled, black ooze splattering with every shot that landed. Baylen has never been more grateful for the fact that he grew up on the streets with a pistol in hand.
Another shot and the thing crawling the floor only five feet away turned towards the back exit, charging in any direction but towards the thing that hurt it. Baylen didn’t care, as he continued to fire the last two shots.
The creature’s body reverberated as those landed, guttural growls gurgling out of its mouth. Feet over hands stumbling across the floor, before gaining speed and barreling out the back door. The sounds of its cries and footfall grew quieter and quieter, as the back door swung on its hinges. Baylen’s hand that held the gun lowered to his side, the magazine now empty the floor and walls covered in black ink-like splatters, bullet casings surrounded his once pristine oxford shoes.
As silence encased the room for just a moment before the others ran to the back, Baylen turned to the empty dish sink and vomited.
