Diner Tales
“So… how did you and your, um, friend, meet?” Eddie’s fingers drum on his coffee cup as he watches you worry the paper napkin into bits. You glance around the diner — it’s just loud enough that nobody outside of the booth you’re sharing will hear.
safe, safe, do not worry.
Why do I not believe you?
because you are a worrywart, ducky.
… That is true.
“It happened on New Year’s Eve, funny enough,” you say quietly. “There was a van that crashed in the field behind my house and I went to check it out. Not my brightest moment, I’ll admit.”
but still a good one. now we have us.
You ignore Mystic’s hissing in your head as you continue. “The driver was still alive, he was wearing a Life Foundation uniform, and he told me to run. I asked him if there was anyone else in the car, was anyone else hurt, and then—”
“we found us.”
Mystic wraps around your fingers in a caress that has you pressing your lips together in irritation. “For fuck’s sake, we’ve talked about this. Let me do the speaking in public.”
“but you are bungling it.”
“Excuse you, I am not.” You raise your eyebrows at the tendril-head that’s risen over your shoulder and Mystic bares her teeth at you in a facsimile of a smile. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to Eddie, jerking your head at Mystic. “See what I have to deal with? She’s a menace.”
Eddie looks like he is trying not to laugh. “Sorry, sorry, go on.”
“Uh-huh. Anyways, as I was saying, I asked if anyone else was hurt and then this thing started crawling up my leg. I screamed, the driver screamed, and then she was inside me and I blacked out. When I woke up, the driver was gone—”
“we ate him. his fear was delicious.”
“... Yes, thank you for that imagery.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “The driver was gone and I was freaking out, so I went back home. Holed up, tried to pretend that it never happened.
“I went through, like, a month’s worth of potatoes in the next three days and then this asshole showed up over my shoulder on the fourth day and then the rest is history, as the kids say.” Sighing fondly, you stroke a finger over where Mystic is still wrapped around your hands. “I’ve gotten really good at making hash browns.”