The restaurant hummed with activity, a cacophony of clinking cutlery and murmured conversations. The night was busy, the kind that made a waitress like me feel like I was drowning in a sea of orders and demands. But amidst the chaos, there was one table that stood out like a shadow in the darkness, a group that seemed to multiply like a trick of the light.
What started as a manageable three-top soon metastasized into a seven-top, their numbers swelling as if summoned by some unseen force. My section was already bursting at the seams, every table occupied, every plate and drink a precarious balancing act in the dance of service.
When I finally managed to tear myself away from the whirlwind of tasks to attend to this ever-expanding group, it was as if time had slipped through my fingers like water. They placed their orders, faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight, but it was the exchange of currency that sent shivers down my spine.
A five-dollar bill, passed to me with a casual nonchalance, as if it were just another triviality in the grand scheme of things. I brushed it off, attributing it to the stress of the night, but as the evening wore on, the pattern became unsettlingly clear.
With each interaction, with each drink served or dish delivered, it was always the same. Five bucks. Five measly dollars, exchanged as easily as pleasantries, but with an undertone that whispered of something darker, something sinister lurking beneath the surface.
I confided in the hostess, shared my unease at the relentless repetition of fives. But instead of reassurance, her eyes widened in understanding, and she revealed her own encounter with the cursed currency.
“He wants to make others smile,” his friend had said, but the smile that tugged at my lips was tainted with a chill that crept down my spine. There was something not quite right about this benevolence, something that clawed at the edges of my consciousness like a nightmare refusing to be forgotten.
As the night wore on, the atmosphere grew heavy with a palpable dread. More whispers circulated amongst the staff, each tale more chilling than the last. Five bucks, handed out like candy on Halloween, but with a price that none could fathom.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the ordeal was over. The group departed into the night, leaving behind a wake of unease and unanswered questions. But as I glanced around the emptying restaurant, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something lingered, something that defied explanation.
For in the darkness of that night, amidst the clatter of dishes and the laughter of patrons, I had glimpsed a truth that chilled me to the bone. That sometimes, the most terrifying monsters are the ones that wear the guise of generosity, lurking in the shadows, waiting to ensnare the unwary in their web of deceit. And as I counted my meager tips at the end of the night, I couldn’t help but wonder what price had truly been paid for those five-dollar smiles.
An odd series of long and boring comments that seem to have little to do with the theme of the cartoon. Short and witty are what is needed, some of us do not have all day to read the comics comments.
SquidGamerGal about 2 months ago
Better check his backpack, just to be sure!
phil about 2 months ago
The restaurant hummed with activity, a cacophony of clinking cutlery and murmured conversations. The night was busy, the kind that made a waitress like me feel like I was drowning in a sea of orders and demands. But amidst the chaos, there was one table that stood out like a shadow in the darkness, a group that seemed to multiply like a trick of the light.
What started as a manageable three-top soon metastasized into a seven-top, their numbers swelling as if summoned by some unseen force. My section was already bursting at the seams, every table occupied, every plate and drink a precarious balancing act in the dance of service.
When I finally managed to tear myself away from the whirlwind of tasks to attend to this ever-expanding group, it was as if time had slipped through my fingers like water. They placed their orders, faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight, but it was the exchange of currency that sent shivers down my spine.
A five-dollar bill, passed to me with a casual nonchalance, as if it were just another triviality in the grand scheme of things. I brushed it off, attributing it to the stress of the night, but as the evening wore on, the pattern became unsettlingly clear.
With each interaction, with each drink served or dish delivered, it was always the same. Five bucks. Five measly dollars, exchanged as easily as pleasantries, but with an undertone that whispered of something darker, something sinister lurking beneath the surface.
I confided in the hostess, shared my unease at the relentless repetition of fives. But instead of reassurance, her eyes widened in understanding, and she revealed her own encounter with the cursed currency.
“He wants to make others smile,” his friend had said, but the smile that tugged at my lips was tainted with a chill that crept down my spine. There was something not quite right about this benevolence, something that clawed at the edges of my consciousness like a nightmare refusing to be forgotten.
phil about 2 months ago
As the night wore on, the atmosphere grew heavy with a palpable dread. More whispers circulated amongst the staff, each tale more chilling than the last. Five bucks, handed out like candy on Halloween, but with a price that none could fathom.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the ordeal was over. The group departed into the night, leaving behind a wake of unease and unanswered questions. But as I glanced around the emptying restaurant, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something lingered, something that defied explanation.
For in the darkness of that night, amidst the clatter of dishes and the laughter of patrons, I had glimpsed a truth that chilled me to the bone. That sometimes, the most terrifying monsters are the ones that wear the guise of generosity, lurking in the shadows, waiting to ensnare the unwary in their web of deceit. And as I counted my meager tips at the end of the night, I couldn’t help but wonder what price had truly been paid for those five-dollar smiles.
Alberta Oil Premium Member about 2 months ago
An odd series of long and boring comments that seem to have little to do with the theme of the cartoon. Short and witty are what is needed, some of us do not have all day to read the comics comments.
cuzinron47 about 2 months ago
That’ll give you time to do some home work.