During the day Fred attended a culinary school; at night he managed a pizza shop. He didn’t have time for a steady girlfriend; he liked a glass of beer; and on occasion, when he felt depressed, he smoked weed. On a rainy afternoon he took the long route to work, through the Market District, and stopped at Fritz Ludveg’s Herb Shop.

When Fred entered the shop, a bell over the door jingled. Fritz Ludveg, a short, roly-poly man, with a round ruddy face looked up from the  illustrated book on herbs opened before him on the cherry wood counter. He smiled and said. “Hello my friend. What do you need today?”

A lemon-mint scent of thyme permeated the shop. Fred went directly to the counter. “I feel adventuresome. I’d like to try one of your mystery herbs.” In the past, herbs purchased from Fritz Ludveg had cured Fred of walking pneumonia and cleared him of toe nail fungus.

Fritz Ludveg narrowed his eyes into a worried frown. “I must warn you that a mystery herb can be unpredictable and even dangerous.”

“You‘ve already warned me of that. But you told me also that a mystery herb can work miracles for certain people.”

A cautious smile turned Fritz Ludveg’s thick lips. He nodded. “Yes, that is true. A woman’s pock marked  skin became radiant and her brittle hair turned luxurious. A man claimed his penis grew two inches.”

Fred grinned. “I could use that.”

“All from a miracle herb,” Fritz Ludveg said. “But, lo and behold, a woman lost her teeth and a man’s nose became horribly deformed.”

“Aren’t the odds in favor of something good happening?”

“Indeed. Almost 100 to 1.”

“I’ll take the chance. I’ve been despondent lately and I need a lift.”

Fritz Ludveg sold Fred a small glass jar holding a green leafy herb that had an odd bitter odor. “Break the leaf into tiny pieces and - if you dare - sprinkle the torn pieces of herb on a salad.”

“Or a pizza,” Fred said.

That night the pizza shop was busy and the hours went fast. At eleven o’clock Fred sent his two coworkers home. His last customers were two uniformed police officer’s who stopped every night for a small pizza. Fred was glad to have them. They would park in front of the pizza shop until he put the money away and by doing that acted as an unofficial security force. When Fred had the money in the safe he signaled with a wave to the police officers and they drove off. Suddenly the dark wet street became empty. An eerie, murmuring rain continued to fall.

Now, Fred had time to make the pizza that he would take home with him. He had a six pack of beer in his refrigerator and a small amount of marijuana to smoke. He rolled the dough for his pizza and spun the dough in the air like a wheel, as he had done with pizza dough hundreds of times before. Next, he placed the flattened dough on a tray and covered the dough with tomato sauce, slivers of mozzarella cheese, six disc shaped slices of pepperoni, and torn bits of the green leaf of the mystery herb. The leaf was coarse and spiny and the edges nipped his fingers. He shoved the tray into the oven and all he had to do was wait.

He stood by the window and peered out at the street. Watery puddles glinted like sheets of tin in the misty light dripping from a street lamp.  Black shadows spread out from dark buildings and left gaps in the wet and blurry pattern. The pizza shop stood on a corner. Across the way was a costume store that rented or sold monster garb.  A large, lifelike mannequin of a zombie wearing ragged clothes posed in the costume store window.

In the quiet pizza shop, Fred kept wondering what surprise the green leafy mystery herb he had spread on the pizza would have for him.  Something marvelous he hoped. Soon he would know. A few minutes after midnight the pizza was ready. He set a cardboard pizza box on the counter, opened it, and then he opened the oven. Hot oven air rushed out at him.  He donned long oven gloves and pulled out the tray. What he saw startled him, caused him to blink his eyes, gasp as if in agony, and jump back a step.

Sprawled on the tray was a small, grotesque, blood red creature made of dough. The blood red dough creature sprang upright to no more than twelve inches tall. It possessed round, flat meaty eyes, a round, flat meaty nose, and a flat, slanted, meaty mouth. When the slanted mouth opened tiny, thin, razor sharp green teeth glistened. The red dough creature sprang from the tray to the floor and Fred stumbled backwards until the counter stopped him. The red creature crowded into Fred, captured an ankle with its puffy arms,  and began gnawing at the flesh until those thin sharp teeth reached bone. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking Fred’s sock and soaking Fred’s shoe.

Fred’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes bulged. His rampaging heart drummed in a wild staccato in his ears. Fred kicked out with his leg to shake the creature loose and that seemed to infuriate It. The creature vaulted upwards. 

Using his arms like clubs, Fred flailed at the creature as it gnashed at his face. Fred reeled from pain as razor teeth mangled flesh, severed blood vessels, sliced eyeballs.

Fred became rigid, unable to move, immobilized by fear. Pain numbed the nerves in his face and then shock took hold. Oozing blood, Fred lost consciousness, collapsed on the floor,  and died.

The creature leaped onto the metal tray and flattened out to a round shape so that it looked like nothing more than a delicious looking pepperoni pizza sprinkled with tiny bits of green herb leaf.

_________________________________

©2012 David Harry Moss

“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

An uncomfortable silence, the kind of silence Donald Morse always hated.

“I don’t understand your problem, sir. Explain once again and I will assist you to the best  of my ability.”

Donald stammered into the hotel phone.

“I can’t…get out…of the room…”

A headache twisted in his skull, combined with fatigue from the long flight.

Now this.

“And there’s no problem with the lock?”

“No. I can open the door. If I’m standing in the room with the door open I can see the  hallway. But if I go through the door: I’m not in the hallway. I’m back in the room again.”

“Oh.”

He was hallucinating, definitely hallucinating.  Did a flight attendant spike his drink with something? 

He slid open the window again. A bitter sound vibrated from his throat.  The same.

If he looked through the window he could see the skyline of the city, a city nearing dusk with tall buildings, traffic lights, street lights, cars and pedestrians. But if he opened the window, he’d see the room.

The exact same room.

If he jumped out of the window, he wouldn’t plummet eight stories to his death: he’d be in the room again.

Trapped.

It was like that M.C. Escher painting with all the surreal interlocking staircases, only here it was multiple hotel rooms. Or something.

“Please help me.”

The pressure was getting to him.  Claustrophobia.  The worst kind.

“Don’t worry, sir. You’ll be fine. I will speak to my supervisor and we’ll resolve the problem.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’d like to order something, we’ll send anything you want free of charge.”

He fumbled for the menu, the laminated book on the nightstand.  He chose the first thing he saw.

“Pasta primavera.  And black coffee, an entire pot of black coffee.”

“Great.”

They hung up. 

What kind of hotel chain was this anyway?  He was a salesman; he traveled several times a year. He had never heard of Pleasanteria Hotels. He had to go to the conference, like many  conferences before. Accommodations were set up by the company and on the company’s bill so  he hadn’t given it a second thought.

What the hell kind of name was Pleasanteria anyway?

 The phone chirped.

“My supervisor has reassured me that the situation is under control. There’s been a  glitch. We’re working on it.”

 ”Glitch?”

 ”A minor glitch.”

“A glitch in what?”

“Well, we’re not sure exactly. Bear with us.”

He grumbled to himself.

“I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”

“Sure. Whatever. Look here. This is simple physics. Glitches don’t happen in the real world.  I can feel the carpet under my socks.  I can hear and feel the air conditioner running. I’ve gone in and out of doors all my life.”

“I’m aware that you are upset.”

 ”Are you guys fucking with me?”

 ”There’s no reason to use that tone.”

“I’ve got an important conference to go to in the morning. All the bigwigs from the company will be there. I’ve got lawyers, expensive lawyers that will slap a lawsuit on this place…”

The line was dead.

A knock on the door, “Room service.”

The food had arrived.

Not that he cared. Eating was the last thing on his mind.

How could someone be on the other side of the door? 

“Come in.”

The door opened. A young man in a white bellhop uniform spritely entered.  In front of  him was a small silver cart on wheels.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Our hotel is working on the problem and it will be fixed momentarily. Have a good  night.”

 He turned to go.

 “Come back here, buddy.”

 The bellhop turned, smiling that perfect smile.

“Why is it that you can come and go and I can’t?”

 “I do not know, sir.”

 “What’s your name, fella?”

 No answer, just that perfect glazed expression of sweet nothingness.

Donald slapped him.

The bellhop reeled a bit. When he turned back to face Donald his expression was of bewilderment, like he’d never been slapped.

A real bellhop would have been furious, would have beat him down gangsta-style.

“That was unnecessary,” the young man said, matter-of-factly.  “You should air your grievances in a more reasonable manner.”

“What kind of hotel is this? What are you?  Are you human?”

No answer.

“I know how to find out.”

Donald reached down to the server cart, coming back up with a knife. It was a bread knife but it was sharp.

He plunged it right into the bellhop’s gut and twisted. The bellhop screamed.

It was more like a screech, an animal screech.

 Then he started hissing. The sound came from his body as misty vapor surged from it. Then it began sizzling, popping and bubbling as the bellhop’s flesh melted towards the floor. Within seconds no human form remained, just a huge white blob, smoking and dripping.

“What have you done?”

 This voice came from the phone on the nightstand.   The phone itself was speaking. It was loud and strident.

“Violence is prohibited at Pleasanteria, Mr. Morse. You’ve destroyed our bellhop after we have been nothing but kind to you!”

“Oh, really?”

“I’m afraid we must ask you to leave.”

At last.

“Great! So the door is fixed?”

“You won’t be leaving through the door.”

Menace was thick in its voice. The disgusting white blob beside the food cart began rising.  It blocked the door. Before Donald could respond, it returned to its full size but with no human characteristics. A mouth emerged from its faceless head. It screeched and gurgled.

Donald jumped backwards onto the bed.

The bed folded up around him, machine-like and purposefully. Donald was dissolved instantly.

                                          ****

Peace and silence returned. The white thing turned away and slouched over the cart, wheeling it out the door. 

The sheets smoothed themselves over the bed once again. The pillows returned to their former positions.

Nothing of Donald remained on the bed at all, not a trace.

 Just a mint.                   

 ___________________________

©2012 M.G  Allen

M.G. Allen has been published in Mysterical-E, Powderburn Flash and Playgrounds Magazine. He is currently shopping around two novels.  I at the moment I am teaching ESL in Asia.  He will return in April to the USA.