Bad Taste

I’m So Glad I Didn’t Taste Good

I’m a daytime stocker at a popular chain department store. I’ve been working here for about three years, and in those three years, I’ve met some rather…unique customers. Some of the experiences I’ve had with them have made me wonder why I’ve stayed at this job so long, but then that paycheck hits my bank account, and I carry on.

The customer experience I’m going to talk about during this story was the freakiest one I’ve ever had, and it actually happened whenever I was filling in a spot on the night shift stocking team. Since then, I’ve refused to work the night shift schedule, and I’ve been terrified he will show up during the day shift hours as well.

For starters, here’s some basic background info for what working the night shift is like. You are scheduled to get there about an hour and a half before the store closes, and you don’t get off until an hour after the store opens. That’s two and a half hours of possible customer interaction. Most of them steer clear of workers, though, and I don’t blame them. They just want to get whatever they need and get out. Not everyone is like this, but the few interactions I’ve had with night-shift customers have always been pleasant. The environment is very laid back. Even the bosses are a lot more chill, and they will even let you wear earphones while working, something I love because it makes the hours go by quicker. They tend to leave you alone for the most part as long as you finish your work.

I was about halfway into a pallet of product and an episode of one of my favorite horror podcasts when a man walked into my aisle. The only reason I noticed him at first was due to his irregular walking pattern. He snapped one leg out at a time, always at a straight angle, before slapping it down on the ground and doing the same with the other. Normally, I don’t talk to the customers unless I can tell they are coming towards me for help or if they speak first, simply because of reasons I explained in the paragraph above: most just want to get in and out of the store with no bothers. I didn’t acknowledge him besides a quick glance. Yeah, his walk was weird, but I’m not going to judge someone due to possible disabilities, which is what I thought it was at first. His presence still didn’t send alarm bells off in my head…yet.

It wasn’t until he got about five feet away from me that I realized I was his final destination, so I looked up at him.

“How are yo — “

The sentence froze in my brain as it struggled to comprehend this man’s appearance. I felt like my brain was malfunctioning. His eyes appeared sunken, almost like they were gaping holes in his face. The fact that his beady eyes were so dark they looked black made the black-hole-esque vibe worse. His skin looked far too loose to be from just aging, and a frown contorted the bottom half of his doughy face. He reminded me of a bloodhound, only angry. He responded to me, but I didn’t hear what he said. I was too focused on wondering if his mouth had actually moved because it didn’t look like it had.

“W-what?”

“Where are the legs?” he repeated.

His voice caught me more off guard than his appearance. It sounded like two people speaking at once, but clearly, only one stood before me. It was a confusing mixture of deep and scratchy yet high-pitched. I couldn’t tell if the high pitch was more similar to a woman’s or a puberty-ridden teenager’s voice cracks. It hurt my brain that these sounds were the exact opposite of each other, yet both had come from this man.

“What sort of legs?”

He made a strange noise that reminded me of a bird squawking. I interpreted it as a sound of disgust. “For cooking,” he explained further. Once again, I was unsure if his lips had actually moved. I did notice his words were a bit slurred this time as if he had been drinking. I smelled no alcohol on him, though.

His speaking so transfixed me that the weirdness of his question hadn’t even registered. It wasn’t until I said, “We have chicken and turkey legs,” that I realized how weird it was to have to explain that.

“I need longpig.”

This time I absolutely noticed that his speech was gurgled and that his mouth hadn’t moved.

“You’re looking for a ham hock?”

“No, longpig.”

“Uh…” my voice caught in my throat, and I had to clear it before I could respond. “I’m not sure what that is, sir, but I know we don’t sell it.”

He swiftly bent over and leveled with my crouched stance. I could hear his bones crack unnaturally as his grim expression bore a hole into my face. My face grew hot, and my skin prickled. His breath smelled absolutely rancid, but I did my best to hide my discomfort.

“Why…not?” His voice deepened on the “why” and rose up on the “not,” and I felt chills run up my spine.

“I-I’m not sure.” I felt like I was about to piss myself from fear.

He looked me up and down as his head bent slightly to the right, releasing a loud pop. It was obvious that I was the prey, and he was the predator. It was at this moment that I realized he had not blinked once during this whole encounter. I held my breath, afraid that even that would provoke him to harm me. In an absolutely amazing feat of fluid motion, his right arm sliced upwards through the air. I mean sliced quite literally, as when his hand came into my view, I saw the once ill-fitting skin had now transformed into a blade. I felt a stinging in my thigh, and I looked down and realized with immense horror that he had sliced off a section of my flesh. Seeing it made the pain more intense, and I cried out in pain.

I looked back up at him to see his hand transforming back to its previous wrinkle-clad self as he stood up straight, bones cracking loudly the entire time. Tears welled up in my eyes as he simply said, “If this tastes good, I’ll be back for more,” in his freakish voice. He then exited, and I haven’t seen him since.

And I know all the questions you guys will ask, so I’ll beat you to it. No, I never found out who he was. I don’t even know if he was a he. He definitely seemed more like an it, but I’ve never experienced anything like this, so I don’t really know what he or it was. My managers called the police after they found me blacked out on the floor. And, yes, the building has cameras, but they somehow managed to power down or something during the entire time this…thing was in the building. I did my best to describe the being’s features to the sketch artist, but no spottings have ever been reported (as far as I know).

And, finally, yes, I am just as shocked as you that he hasn’t returned. I guess he meant what he said about the taste, and I must have just not tasted good. That is perfectly fine by me, though. Hell, maybe I should look up ways to taste even worse, just to stay completely off his radar.

So, if a man ever approaches you, and his skin seems just a little too loose, you better pray that he doesn’t like the way you taste.