The Lure
\nThe neon “Open” sign buzzed with a frantic, dying energy, casting a flickering green light across the wet parking lot. It was past midnight, and I was exhausted. A twelve-hour shift at the hospital had left me craving nothing more than a mindless meal and my bed. The local Subway, nestled in a dilapidated strip mall on the edge of town, was the only place still serving.<\/p>\n
The store was empty, save for the cashier\u2014a nervous-looking college kid named Marcus, wiping down the counters\u2014and three young children huddled by the glass display.<\/p>\n
They couldn’t have been older than eight or nine. They wore oversized, mud-stained winter coats that looked entirely too heavy for the mild spring weather. Heads bowed, they were painstakingly counting out a pathetic pile of dimes, nickels, and tarnished pennies onto the cold metal of the counter.<\/p>\n
“We just want the six-inch ham,” the tallest of the three mumbled, his voice muffled by the thick collar of his coat.<\/p>\n
The smallest child, a little girl with tangled blonde hair, pointed a trembling finger at the display case. “Can we get a macadamia nut cookie?” she whispered.<\/p>\n
The older boy shook his head slowly. “No. We don’t have enough.”<\/p>\n
The sheer heartbreak on the little girl’s face was a punch to the gut. It was a look of profound, crushing disappointment that no child should ever have to wear over something as simple as a cookie. My exhaustion melted into a fierce wave of empathy. I stepped up behind them, pulling my wallet from my scrubs.<\/p>\n
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I said softly, forcing a warm, reassuring smile. “Get whatever you want. Add a few extra cookies, too.” I looked up at Marcus. “Put it all on my bill.”<\/p>\n
I expected the kids to cheer, or at least turn and thank me. They didn’t move. They remained perfectly, unnaturally still, their heads still bowed toward the floor.<\/p>\n
I looked at Marcus, waiting for him to ring it up. But instead of pressing the buttons on the register, Marcus froze. The color drained from his face so fast he looked translucent. His eyes were locked on the children, wide with an abject, primal terror. Slowly, his hand crept across the counter, gripping my forearm with bruising force.<\/p>\n
He leaned in close, his breath hitching, and whispered, “Stop. Don’t pay for them. They’re…”<\/p>\n
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the dark hallway that led to the store’s unlit back stockroom.<\/p>\n
“…They’re lures.”<\/p>\n
I blinked, thoroughly confused. “What? Marcus, they’re just hungry\u2014”<\/p>\n
“Look at their feet,” he hissed, his voice trembling so violently I could barely make out the words. “Look at the floor.”<\/p>\n
Frowning, I lowered my gaze. The children were standing shoulder-to-shoulder. But as my eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting, the details began to fall apart.<\/p>\n
They weren’t wearing shoes. In fact, beneath the hems of their oversized, filthy coats, there were no legs at all.<\/p>\n
Instead, thick, pale, fleshy tubes extended from the bottom of their coats, merging together in a tangled, pulsating mass on the linoleum tiles. The thick, umbilical-like cords slithered backward, trailing past the soda machine, across the hallway, and disappearing beneath the heavy metal door of the pitch-black stockroom.<\/p>\n
A cold sweat broke out across my entire body. My brain violently rejected what I was seeing.<\/p>\n
“If you pay for the food,” Marcus breathed, his hand still crushing my arm, “you step closer to hand it to them. That’s how it gets you in range. It’s an ambush.”<\/p>\n
As if hearing him, the three “children” slowly raised their heads in perfect, mechanical unison.<\/p>\n
There were no faces beneath the hoods. Just smooth, featureless expanses of pale, glistening flesh, crudely painted with dark, sunken spots meant to mimic eyes and mouths from a distance. The “heartbroken” little girl\u2019s head suddenly split open horizontally, revealing rows of jagged, translucent teeth.<\/p>\n
A low, guttural chittering sound echoed not from the children, but from the gaping darkness of the stockroom. The fleshy cords on the floor tensed.<\/p>\n
“Run,” Marcus gasped.<\/p>\n
We didn’t hesitate. Marcus vaulted the counter just as the metal door of the stockroom burst off its hinges with a deafening CRASH. A massive, shifting shadow poured out into the hallway, dragging its terrible weight forward.<\/p>\n
I bolted for the glass doors, Marcus hot on my heels. As I pushed out into the freezing night air, I risked one agonizing glance over my shoulder. The three children were rapidly retracting, dragged backward across the floor like tape measures zipping back into their casing, swallowed by the hulking mass of limbs and teeth that was pulling itself into the main dining area.<\/p>\n
We made it to my car, locked the doors, and sped out of the parking lot, blowing through two red lights before I finally pulled over, my hands shaking so violently I couldn’t grip the steering wheel.<\/p>\n
The police went to the Subway an hour later. They found the place completely empty. No Marcus, no kids, no monster. Just a shattered stockroom door, a heavy trail of foul-smelling, viscous slime leading to a busted air vent, and a single, untouched pile of dimes and nickels sitting on the counter.<\/p>\n
I will never look at a random act of kindness the same way again. Whenever I see someone begging in the dead of night, I don’t look at their faces. I look at the shadows behind them, checking to see exactly where they’re attached.<\/p>\n
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