creepypasta real | A DINER OPEN 25 HOURS A DAY part 2
"Two; you fell asleep at the wheel.
This is merely a vivid dream that will continue until you inevitably crash your car and die on impact.
Alternatively, you may have already crashed your car and lived, albeit barely.
You are currently in a coma, and your sleeping mind has formed a narrative based on the hunger you felt before the accident.
The diner is a metaphor for the coma itself, and you won't escape until you awaken, which may very well be never.".
Hank bore a look of concern. "A little morbid, I admit, but it is possible. I reluctantly looked at the last option. "Three; something supernatural is afoot.
Mysterious forces beyond your comprehension are at play, trapping you in an otherwise normal eatery.
These forces will not allow you to leave under any circumstances.
The best thing you can do is accept this, and allow yourself to succumb to whatever classic, paranormal tropes are thrown your way.
Death will be your only escape.".
"That's all I could come up with," Hank said, "I'm not sure myself, but I'm leaning towards number three.
"What the hell, Hank?! What the fuck is this? And shouldn't you of all people know?".
"You would think so, wouldn't ya? But I guess I wouldn't tell you if I did, now would I?".
He offered me another one of his smiles as a consolation.
I wanted to punch it clean off his face.
Instead, I partook in a nervous breakdown of sorts.
I slammed my body up against the wall where the door used to be, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and I even grabbed each and every one of the bar stools and tossed them in different directions, as hard as my arms would allow.
All the while, Hank remained calm and still, his lips stretched from ear to ear.
Just as I was about to take a swing at him, the kitchen door behind him popped open.
"Oh! Your order must be ready.
Please, come with me.".
Hank dissapeared into the darkness beyond the kitchen's door frame.
I stayed behind, hesitant to follow him.
After a few moments, I heard him yell out to me.
"Come on, kid! Aren't you hungry?".
It's true, I was hungry.
But I was moreso cautious, especially given my peculiar situation.
Because of this, I sat down in one of the booths and waited.
I didn't know what I was waiting for exactly, but it was all I could bring myself to do at that very moment.
It wasn't long before I heard Hank's voice again.
"You can't wait out there forever, kid.
As if in response to his statement, the lights in the diner began to flicker.
Then, one by one, they went out, spreading darkness from booth to booth.
Eventually, I was left with just one bulb above me, waivering in and out of life.
It provided me with just enough light to make my way to the kitchen and Hank knew it.
I had two options.
Go to the dark kitchen, or let the bulb go out and sit in the dark diner.
Neither option was ideal, but deep down I knew only one had the potential to lead me to answers, no matter which one of the far-fetched scenarios on the menu was true.
As such, I gave in to the narrative that was unfolding around me.
It was clear to me at this point that fighting it was futile.
As I passed the threshold into the kitchen, the door shut itself behind me.
A bright light poured out from the ceiling, washing over the entire room, revealing vibrant white walls and flooring.
In the center of the room was a chair, slanted in a diagonal position – not unlike one you'd find in a dentist's office.
Next to the chair was Hank, who had seemingly traded in his diner uniform for a flashy, white lab coat.
"Finally! Come. Sit down.
Take a load off.".
If only out of fear for what might happen next if I disobeyed, I did as Hank told me.
It's not like I had much of a choice at that point.
I slowly walked over to the chair and laid down.
As I did this, leather straps wrapped themselves around my legs, arms and forehead.
I no longer had the luxury of movement or peripheral vision.
Hank walked around to the front of the chair and pulled out his stopwatch.
"You're doing just fine, kid.
Only forty minutes left.".
Without warning, six or seven shadowy figures came rushing over from either side of me.
They brought with them rolling carts filled with what looked like medical equipment and power-tools.
I tried to make out even a single face in the crowd, but I could not.
They lacked discernible features of any kind and moved about in perfect harmony with one another – like animated silhouettes, doing the bidding of some unseen higher power.
Over the course of the next few minutes, the figures poked and prodded me, drew blood, took hair samples, and inserted their utensils in places I rather not discuss.
As much as I squirmed and screamed, none of them reacted – not even Hank.
Feeling helpless, I eventually stopped struggling and simply braced myself for each needle that penetrated my skin.
It made things a little more tolerbale.
After a while, the figures stopped.
Instead of going away like I'd hoped they would, they traded their needles and test tubes for surgical scissors and began cutting my clothes off of me.
This continued until I was completely naked.
I tried talking with Hank, but he was too busy playing around with samples that had been collected.
Even if he did respond, no amount of encouragement could have prepared me for what happened next.
Using nothing but scalpels and brute strength, the figures began cutting away at my skin.
It was an absolutely horrific orchestra of deadly incisions, and one that continued until they peeled off every last bit of my epidermis.
For one reason or another, I remained both alive and awake during the entire ordeal – though, at the time, I wished I could have died.
The pain was excruciating and came in waves.
Just when I thought I was going numb, another unbearable, sharp, throbbing sensation would overtake my entire body.
I'd never felt anything like it before.
By the end of it, my ears were ringing from the volume of my own screams.
"There's that color!", Hank exclaimed, gazing at the bloody mess that I'd become.
"Why are you doing this?!", I yelled.
"I'm not doing anything, kid.
I'm just here to observe. Relax.
Only twenty-seven minutes left.".
I would have argued with him further, but the figures grabbed the power-tools and started tearing through my muscle tissue.
The buzzing sound of saws filled the room, drowning out my cries of agony.
Through blood-soaked eyes, I could see Hank mouthing the words "Tick tock, tick tock", over and over again.
I watched him mock me until the buzzing stopped and the next stage of torture commenced.
I never wanted to see my organs.
I never wanted to see my bone.
I could have gone my whole life without knowing what they looked like.
Now, I can't get the image of them out of my head.
I'm afraid I never will.
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