The Night Shift

As Anne was polishing the stainless steel counter, she glanced upward at the clock just above the door. She watched the seconds tick by as a strand of her black hair slipped from behind her ear and landed on her face. She swiped it back and let out a long sigh. It had just then struck 2:15 a.m. Her shift started almost 4 hours ago. She had wiped down every red table top, cleaned every inch of the navy blue vinyl seating in the diner, and had straightened all but one picture frame on the walls . Even the brick red tile of the dining room had a sheen on them she hadn’t seen in some time. Gingerly she walked across the tile floor and straightened the last of Ken’s memorabilia from is Navy days. Normally, this would make her happy, but she still had another 4 hours left and the last customer left just before midnight. Ken was in the back doing some of the dishes whistling some Irish drinking tune. This was not an uncommon occurrence since it had been his usual means of helping the time pass quicker as long as Anne could remember. With no customers to serve and having been fully satisfied now that she could see her pale reflection in the counter, she decided to go and check on him. She had worked for him for the past 3 years and come to love some of the old folk songs.

Softly humming to herself, in harmony with Ken, she pushed through the two-way door that separated the kitchen and the front service area and slowly walked down the line halfway inspecting the equipment as she swayed along. The grill and friers sat to the left, finally resting after along day. The various coolers on her right keeping the produce and condiments fresh. She looked around the the kitchen with steel gray eyes that matched the shimmering stainless surfaces of the equipment that surrounded her. He’s been busy, she thought to herself. As she approached the washing area she began a light stretch reaching her arms high above her head.

“How are doing back here Ken?” Her question was muddled by a deep yawn brought about by her stretching. A tall figure emerged from the plume of steam billowing from the sink. Ken’s twisted nose pierced the cloud followed by the rest of his tall medium build.

“I’m making out ok just finished up the last dishes.” He removed a soaked apron revealing a wet sleeveless T-shirt and grease stained jeans. He reached for small towel and began to dry his scalded hands.

“How do you do that?” Anne asked as she reached for a coffee can on one of the lower shelves under the prep table. Ken tossed the small towel onto the counter adjoining the large dish pit, and started ringing out the front of his shirt, wet from the water seeping through his apron that had seen better days.

“ Oh what the water? It’s nothing. I used to work in a boiler room when I was in the service. These hands have been licked by more steam than I’d like to remember.” Ken grinned and shook his head to avoid remembering too much of his old navy days. He spoke with a deep Bostonian accent that had a deeper Irish twang to it. Anne saw his discomfort and thought she’d break his focus a little

“Would you like some coffee?” She said sweetly. Her voice came out a little higher than usual. Ken was like second father to her. He even gave her this job at a higher wage to helper pay for college. She hated to see the war come into his head just as much as she hated to see it in her father’s. Ken had told me that they had lost a one of their navy buddies when his ship took a shell. They had always been a trio before then. After that, it had been Ken and her father. At least, until the cancer took him. It had been ten years since Ken and her old man had returned home, but the second world war never seemed far enough away.

“ I’d love some Anne, thank you.” It seemed to have worked and Anne felt quite pleased with herself. She shook out the last scoop of coffee to give the pot that extra kick they both liked so well. Coffee was a taste she had acquired over her time working this very same shift over the past year since Danielle and Noah quit. Something about some freak customer harassing the joint. Which was odd because neither Ken nor Anne had ever had such an altercation in the restaurant. Anne took the pot off of the warmer and began pouring the already hot water into the coffee maker. They always kept warm water at the ready knowing full well that either them or a customer might need a quick boost at this time of night. As she placed the pot back on warmer she heard a familiar ding. Ken and Anne gave each other a look they had perfected to signal that is was time to get to work. It was the bell on the front door. One of the night owls, she thought.

“Duty calls Ken,” she said as she walked briskly to the front of the diner. Ken laughed and dawned his spare apron. Anne opened the door and began to speak before she had even looked up,

“ Welcome to Ken’s how ..can,” she stopped, looked around and pursed her lips. There was nobody there. “Hello?” With no answer, she checked the clock again and saw it was 2:55 a.m. Another sigh worked its way out of her as she peered out of the windows of the diner into the darkness of the earliest hours of morning. Seeing only the highway barely illuminated by flickering street lights she shook her head when another familiar ding sounded softly from the kitchen. Satisfied by her investigation Anne walked back to pour herself and Ken a cup.

“Anything?” Ken asked.

“Nothing, we must be hearing things,” She shrugged.

“Maybe it’s Danielle’s mysterious admirer,” he said with eyes wide in voice of eerie jest. Anne giggled and poured them both some coffee. Handing the first, black as night, to Ken then adding 2 creamer packets and 1 packet of sugar to the second for herself. She took her first cautious sip of the fresh brew being careful not to burn herself. The delightful scent of fresh diner coffee filled the air as the two slowly sipped away.

Then the front bell rang out again. Both Anne and Ken looked at one another as if to confirm that they had both heard it.

“Second time is the charm” she said with a grin. She walked carefully toward the front with mug in hand steam trailing behind her from her coffee. Pushing through the door ,once again, she entered the dining room. This time she waited to verify the existence of a customer before speaking. To her surprise , a man stood there shorter than Ken but stocky in build, just waiting.

“Welcome to Ken’s Diner. How can I help you?” She smiled brightly but soon a look of concern washed over her face. Much to her confusion, the man was not looking at her. He wasn’t even facing the counter. No, he was facing the front door completely still. Odder still was the way he was dressed. It was the uniform of an enlisted sailor.

“Sir?” She said trying to gains attention.

“Anyone there?” Yelled Ken from the back as the mysterious sailor slowly began to turn. The hand that held her mug began to tremble slightly, though it was soon steadied by her free hand.

“ Sir?” Anne repeated, with a faint tremor in her voice.

As he turned Anne’s confusion slowly turned to fear as his features came into sight. Skin paler that hers, grey lifeless eyes that sat sunken in, and full lips that showed no pink, only a chilling blue twisted into an unsettling grin. Keeping her gray eyes locked with his afraid to break any line of sight Anne yelled,

“Keeen!”

“What is it?” He replied still occupied with his coffee. Before she could say another word terror gripped her as the spectral intruder’s facial muscles began to gurn and contort turning his sickly grin into a horrific muscular tension that visibly consumed the sailor’s body. A painful moan erupted from somewhere from deep within the twisted mass before her, as it suddenly lunged forward.

“KEN!” Anne screamed hurling the mug, hot liquid, and all at the turning sailor as ducked for safety behind the counter. There was the crash of a mug and then silence.

“Annie!” Yelled Ken bursting through the two-way door baseball bat in hand. All he saw was the empty dining room, the mess of ceramic shards and coffee, and Anne cowering on the floor with tears in her eyes. He quickly knelt down and helped her up trying to console her.

“He was here! That man! Did you see him? He was… and he came at me!” She yelled while crying hysterically. Anne barely able to stand on her own could not bring herself to let go of Ken.

“Sweetie it’s ok. Shhh There’s no man it’s just us, it’s just me. Shhhh,” Ken’s head was quickly swiveling about, making certain that no intruder was still on the premises as he held Anne close. Being quite certain that the coast was clear and with Anne regaining some of her faculties, he guided her out into the dining room and sat her down in one of the booths. He then locked the front door and looked around through each window just to be safe. Nobody else was there. He looked up at the clock and saw it was just after 3:00 a.m. The Witching Hours, he thought to himself. Ken took a seat across from Anne and held her hand.

“Tell me what happened.” He said. She took a deep breath and wiped some tears away with a napkin further smearing the mascara that had began to run.

“There was a man… a sailor… a sailor he looked just like…” She stopped and shuttered. Her gaze became fixed across the room. Ken turned to see what she was staring at. It was one one of his pictures from his navy days…and it was crooked.