Waiting
A story about...well, waiting.
This is my reply to this week’s image prompt from John Watson.
Delilah took a moment to prop against the bar and stare at the phone. It had rang dozens of times over the past hour, every caller repeating some variation of the questions she answered every day: what time do you close (we’re open 24 hours a day), what’s today’s special (Wednesdays special is two hot dogs with fries and a drink), and do you serve alcohol (Honey, do you think we can afford a liquor license?). None of them were the phone call she wanted to get.
The bell on the door rang. A man and a woman, their clothes slick from the light rain, came in. The moment without customers over, Delilah turned her attention to them. “Sit wherever you’d like,” she said. She picked up her pad and walked over to the table they chose. “Welcome to Hal’s. What can I get you two to drink?”
The man looked up at her. “I’ll have a water and a coffee.”
The woman smiled. “A diet cola, please.”
“Do you two need a moment to look at the menu?”
“Just a minute or two,” the man said.
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.” Delilah smiled her broad and shining smile, the one she only showed to customers, the one that no one ever suspected wasn’t genuine. She filled a plastic cup with ice and diet cola, another with ice and water, and poured coffee out of the pot into a squat mug. The coffee had been sitting there for hours. Most customers didn’t complain. They just loaded it up with cream and sugar sufficient to cover up the burned taste. Balancing the two plastic cups in one hand and the coffee mug in the other, she went back to the table and delivered the beverages.
“Are you two ready to order?”
The woman pointed to an item on the menu. Delilah never understood why customers did that. They always pointed to the item they were about to tell her that they were going to order. It seemed like wasted effort to her. “I’ll have the grilled cheese with tomato.”
“You want fries or tots with that?”
“Fries, please.”
Delilah turned to the man. “And you, dear?”
The man furrowed his brow. “I think I want the steak and eggs. Medium rare, the eggs scrambled soft with cheese.”
“Toast or a biscuit?”
“Can you do a grilled biscuit?”
“Sure thing. I’ll tell the cook to slap it on the griddle for a bit.”
“Sounds good.” The man took the menu from the woman and replaced them both on the stand on the table.
Delilah walked around the bar to the counter separating the dining room from the kitchen. “Order coming in!” she shouted.
The cook came from behind the refrigerator, sticking his flask back in his pocket. “What do we got?” he asked.
“Grilled cheese with tomato, fries on the side. Steak and eggs, medium rare, scrambled soft with cheese. Biscuit, and can you split it and put it on the griddle for a sec?”
The cook rolled his eyes and leaned in close to Delilah. “I cook steaks well done. That’s all,” he said, his voice just under a whisper.
“I gotta make it look good for the customer.”
“Fine.” He picked up his spatula and backed away from the grill. “Coming right up!” he shouted, doing his equal part to make the customer think that he cared how they wanted their food.
Delilah made her way back to the table, passing by the phone as she did so. It rang; she halted and answered it. “Hal’s Diner. How can I help you?”
“What time do you close?”
“Never, sweetheart. We’re open all day and all night, every day of the week.”
“Are you busy right now?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Okay, thanks.” The person on the other end of the line hung up. Delilah went on to the table where her only customers sat. “Doing good on drinks?” She noticed that the man’s coffee was far paler than it had been when she left them. Good. If he didn’t complain about the burned coffee, maybe he wouldn’t complain about the overcooked steak—if he got the chance to see that it was overcooked at all.
The woman lifted her cup. “Can I get some more diet?”
“Sure thing, baby. I’ll be right back with that.” Delilah took the cup to the fountain beverages and filled it once more, returning it to woman when she was done. The woman thanked her, and the man sipped his coffee, wincing. He added one more pack of cream and another pack of sugar to it and stirred.
Delilah knew that she always had to look busy in front of customers, so she took up a rag from behind the counter and wiped the bar down. The phone rang. Her heart fluttered and she answered it. “Hal’s Diner.”
“Do you have any specials today?”
“Two hots dogs with fries and a drink for five ninety-nine.”
“Do you charge for toppings on your hot dogs?”
Delilah rolled her eyes. This must be a college kid trying to find a cheap place to take a date. “Mustard, ketchup, onions, relish, and chili are free. You want bacon, sauerkraut, spicy mustard, or grilled onions, that will cost you extra.”
“Okay, thanks.” He hung up.
Delilah went back to making a show of wiping down the counter.
The woman got up from the table and walked over to the waitress. “Where are your restrooms?” she asked.
Delilah pointed to the sign that said “Restrooms.” “Down that way and to the left.”
“Thank you.” The woman walked down to the end of the bar and turned to the restrooms. Delilah finished wiping down the counter and picked up the pot of coffee. She returned to the man.
“Can I fill you up?”
The man shook his head and waved his hand. “Oh no. I’m still working on the first one.”
“Flag me down when you need me to top you off.” She replaced the coffee pot and took up a tray of forks and spoons from underneath the counter. She pulled a stack of napkins out from a paper bag and started rolling silverware.
The woman came out of the bathroom and took her seat again. A moment later, the bell from the kitchen rang. The cook shouted out from over the grill. “Order up!”
Delilah took the two plates and delivered them to the table. The woman beamed, delighted to see her order coming. The man took another sip of coffee, wincing less severely than he had earlier.
Delilah places the woman’s plate in front of her. “Grilled cheese with tomato, fries on the side.” She gave the man his meal. “Steak and eggs. Let me know if you two need anything else, okay?”
The phone rang. Delilah walked toward it with purpose and picked it up. “Hal’s Diner. How can I help you?”
“It’s time.” The voice on the other end of the line was low and thick, sounding like somebody chewing nails and glass with metal teeth.
Delilah hung the phone up. She went back to the kitchen. The cook turned to her. “That guy didn’t complain about his steak, did he?”
Delilah did not answer him. She opened a cupboard and took out her purse. She reached into it and pulled out a revolver. She stuck it in the pocket of her apron and went back to the table with the man and woman.
The man looked up at her, frowning. “I’m sorry, miss, but my steak is over—”
Delilah pulled out the revolver, cocked the hammer back, and shot him dead center in his face. He fell back into the booth, blood and brains squirting out of the back of his head.
The woman screamed. Delilah turned the gun on her and shot her, once in the heart and once in the head. She fell out of the booth and sprawled on the floor, lifeless.
Delilah turned around. The cook was coming through the kitchen door. “What the Hell, Dee?” he shouted. “What are you doing?”
Delilah raised her pistol at him and shot him. The bullet struck his shoulder, and he fell against the bar. He looked at her, bewildered and breathing heavily. “Dee, I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, you don’t have to do this.”
Delilah closed the distance between them and put the pistol against the side of his head. She pulled the trigger. His head snapped to the side, and he splatted onto the floor.
Delilah stepped over his body and went back to her purse. She pulled out a book bound in a leathery substance. She opened it to a page that was inked in blood and liquified ash. She knelt on the floor and started reading from the book. The words she spoke were of no language known to man. They were harsh and guttural, short and heavy. As she read, she looked toward the ceiling. Tears streamed from her eyes and a genuine, joyful smile spread across her face. She was no longer reading. She was repeating the same phrase. It was a phrase she had long ago memorized, and as she kept repeating it she spoke faster and louder.
Outside, clouds gathered over the diner. Thunder rumbled and lighting flashed. The thunder continued until it started to sound like a roar, then a shriek, then wicked and sharp laughter. The clouds parted and a sickly green light shone from within them. Thick, coiled tentacles issued forth from the space in the clouds, reaching to the street below.
There were people on the sidewalk and people driving cars on the street. They looked up at the brutal majesty of an eldritch horror far older than the universe itself reaching out to reclaim the planet it once called home. They began to scream.
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It maybe went on a beat too long, but Im glad I stuck with it. Don't all service industry people dream of this day?
This one got me because it patiently convinces you you're reading an ordinary diner story. The repetitive phone calls, the stale coffee, the small details of routine—they all make the final turn feel earned instead of random. I especially liked that the waiting wasn't just Delilah waiting for a call; it was the reader waiting for something they couldn't yet name. By the time the phone finally rings with "It's time," the story has already built enough tension that everything after it unfolds with unsettling inevitability. Great use of misdirection.