It was the night we had money and brains! We partied, drank, smoked, danced, and even had a Designated Driver to keep us safe. It was perfect. Finally, at the end of it all, we went to a new pancake house for, well… pancakes and coffee. This place had just opened yesterday, and we were excited to try it out too soon. Jimmy was passed out, so we just left him in the car. It was summer, so all good. Sam and Trish staggered expertly to the doors while I smiled behind them, wondering if my walk was any straighter. Michael, on the other hand, just seemed annoyed at us and said he was going to stay outside and smoke. Mike liked to smoke, and he smoked a lot.

It was the weirdest thing, walking into that pancake house. I stepped through the sliding door and felt a chill run up my spine, but the smell of bacon and pancakes chased it away.

“Good morning, my name is Rebecca and I’ll be your helper today.” I looked at this young beauty and was about to smile, but I swear I saw her eyes blink sideways. “Please, follow me.”

Like the drunken zombies we were, we followed obediently. She sat us by the window and as I gazed outside it looked darker than it should have for summertime at 4:30 a.m. — but whatever.

“Can I start you guys with coffee?” she asked as I stared deeply into her eyes, waiting for the blink that never came.

“Yes, all of us,” Trish answered. “And do you have waffles and bacon? With fruit?”

“Indeed we do!” Our — what did she call herself? Helper? Our helper responded, “Some would even say it’s our specialty!” She chuckled at her own joke and left for our coffees.

We settled into our seats and smiled. I wanted to ask, I needed to ask, but Sam and Trish were too far gone to notice her eyes and how they blinked. I wished Mike was here. He’d know.

Sam and I started talking about shit when I heard the sliding door open and instinctively turned to look. It was a cowboy walking in — looked a bit rough, like he had been rodeoing all night. Dust was still falling off his chaps. His face looked like it had sweated and been wiped and sweated again. His bow-legged walk looked sore — one too many miles on the horse.

I turned back to see Trish slipping sugar packs into her pocket. I considered giving her shit, but she was just drunk Trish being drunk Trish, so I let it go. I looked to the counter of the pancake house to see if I could grab some more when our helper returned.

“Here you go,” she said, placing coffee cups in front of us and setting down an urn filled with the black liquid of loving day energy.

And.

And plates of food. In front of me she placed bacon, scrambled eggs, cubed hash browns, white toast, and packs of peanut butter and jam. Trish got her waffles and bacon, shredded hash browns and dry brown toast — all the things I knew she loved. Sam got a fruit cup, pancakes, and strawberries — totally his favourite breakfast plate.

“How did you know what we wanted?” Sam asked. “We didn’t even order.”

“Oh hunny,” our helper responded, “we know what works for you here!” Then she walked away.

We looked at each other, but Trish just shrugged and began eating. Sam followed suit. I looked at my food, then around the restaurant again. On first glance, one patron looked like just a biker in a leather suit, but looking again his suit looked more metallic. Too shiny. And why was he still wearing his helmet?

A couple of truckers were eating burgers… fried onions… but on closer inspection the onions looked like actual worms. I saw another helper staring at me, and as I stared back her eyes blinked the same way our helper’s had.

Shit. Was I drunk? Too stoned from the night? What the hell was happening?

“What’s wrong?” Trish asked, making me jump. “You haven’t touched your food.”

I looked at her, hearing her crunch the pancakes. Each bite cracked like bones in a grinder. Sam smiled at me, his lips dripping with pancake syrup — syrup that was just too red.

I was freaking out. I needed air. I needed to get outside. “I need to go have a smoke with Mike,” I stammered, leaving my seat.

My last glance at my meal made it look like yellow larvae and strips of caterpillars. I screamed and ran to the door.

The sliding door whooshed open and I skidded to a halt. Outside wasn’t there. It was black — so black it sucked the light away from me, and I could feel myself being pulled into it.

The last thing I remembered before I went black was a helper hissing at me, her forked tongue flicking between her teeth: “I told you not to let them in.”