Chapter 5: Beneath the Diner, Beyond the Grave

But without evidence, I couldn’t jump to conclusions. My journalistic instincts warred with my fear.

I didn’t sleep all night, searching online for local missing person cases. I accidentally found that many people had disappeared after visiting the scenic area. My skin prickled with fear.

Maybe everyone just focused on the scenic area and never connected it to the nearby diner? The thought made my stomach drop.

My hair stood on end, and I went to knock on the groom’s door. No answer.

No answer. I asked at the front desk, and they said the groom left in the middle of the night. My heart pounded with dread.

I called him, but his phone was off. Not good.

Not good. I called the police handling the bride’s disappearance and told them everything I knew. My words tumbled out in a rush.

They listened and said they’d investigate as soon as possible. Their voices were steady, but I heard the urgency underneath.

I paced back and forth, calling the groom every so often. Unexpectedly, his phone turned on, and he replied with a message: “Thank you for your help. My beloved wife has been found. Don’t worry.”

I narrowed my eyes. The groom used to call me “man,” so why the sudden formality? Besides, calling is more convenient than texting.

Something was off. My instincts screamed at me again.

I floored the gas and drove straight to the diner. The sky was still dark, headlights bouncing over potholes.

The diner’s hours matched the scenic area. Many tourists stopped by for a meal on their way to the park. The parking lot was already filling up.

As usual, I parked in the backyard and saw the missing golden retriever again. It wagged its tail this time, limping over to me.

This time, it didn’t whine at me but wagged its tail and came over. Its eyes looked brighter, like it remembered me.

The Slim Jim hadn’t been wasted. I knelt down, ruffling its ears, and checked the collar again.

I picked up the collar, and the phone number engraved on it matched the one I’d called last night. I was overjoyed and immediately took photos of the dog and collar to send to the owner.

The owner’s flight hadn’t landed yet. I left him a message, patted the dog’s head, and told it to wait here for its owner. The dog licked my hand, then sat by the door, waiting.

It seemed the golden retriever understood, licking my hand and lying down obediently. For a moment, I felt hopeful.

Inside the diner, the old man waved at me and asked how I’d enjoyed yesterday’s meal. His eyes crinkled with a smile, but I saw something cold underneath.

I smiled. “It was delicious, so I came again today.” I tried to keep my tone light.

The old man tapped the glass window, gestured, and told the woman to make me a big shrimp potsticker. He watched me carefully, as if weighing my every move.

While waiting, I asked if he’d seen the groom. The old man’s smile faltered.

The old man looked startled, then nodded. “The couple came together, ate potstickers, and already left.” His words were smooth, but I didn’t buy it.

Looking at his beaming face, I was sure he was lying. I made a mental note to stay alert.

“Why are you here again?” The hip guy curled his lip and set down the tray. His eyes narrowed, sizing me up.

“Because it’s delicious.” I smiled. My voice sounded too loud in the quiet room.

“Is it? Did you even eat it?” The hip guy sneered and went back to the kitchen. His headphones thumped with bass.

I coughed to cover my embarrassment. My fans would have roasted me for getting called out like that.

The old man patted me. “My son’s got a bad temper. Don’t mind him.” His touch lingered a moment too long.

After some small talk, the old man went to greet other customers. I watched him work the room, friendly as ever.

The problem was with the diner. After all these bizarre events, I decided to go all in. I picked up a potsticker and stuffed it in my mouth, bracing myself.

Honestly, the potstickers tasted amazing, leaving a lingering fragrance in my mouth. It was everything a foodie dreams of—except for the creeping dread.

No wonder people who’ve eaten them keep craving more. The flavor was addictive, almost unnaturally so.

But when the savory juice slid down my throat, there was a weird, foul aftertaste. My stomach twisted.

I was absolutely sure something was off with the potstickers. I trusted my gut more than any lab report.

I pretended to cough, covered my mouth, and spat the potsticker into a napkin. My hands shook as I wiped my mouth.

At that moment, my phone buzzed. The screen lit up with an anonymous message.

“Tasty? Once you eat, you never return.” An anonymous fan who’d tipped $12,888 sent a message. My blood ran cold.

I shuddered and looked around. My heart pounded in my ears.

Customers were eating, chatting, scrolling their phones. No one seemed to be paying attention to me. The normalcy made it all more surreal.

The old man was outside directing parking. The woman and hip guy were busy in the kitchen—nothing unusual. But I felt watched.

It dawned on me too late that I’d fallen into someone’s trap, most likely connected to the diner. My hands trembled as I packed up my things.

As a responsible food blogger, I had a duty to uncover the truth. This wasn’t just about me anymore.

To avoid suspicion, I quickly packed up the potstickers and left. I kept my head down, heart racing.

“You’re leaving already?” The old man saw me coming out and asked suspiciously. His eyes narrowed.

I chuckled. “I want to see the greenhouse and take a walk to digest. Is that okay?” I tried to sound casual.

The old man looked embarrassed. “The vegetable field was watered last night—nowhere to step. Maybe another day.” His excuse was paper-thin.

Heh, a lame excuse. My suspicion only grew.

I suspected something was up with the greenhouse and circled back to the backyard. The wind had picked up, rattling the greenhouse plastic.

I didn’t see the golden retriever, but looking around, I found a vent. It was hidden behind a stack of crates.

The duct wall was cool and soot-free, so there shouldn’t be a furnace below. Judging by the size, a person could crawl through. My heart thudded with reckless excitement.

It was a bold idea. If I got caught, it’d be trespassing—a crime. But curiosity and fear of what might happen to others pushed me on.

But my curiosity and sense of responsibility were too strong. I couldn’t let another person disappear.

Every guy dreams of being a hero. Maybe the groom was in trouble, waiting for me to rescue him. The thought of being the one to break the case was intoxicating.

Besides, I still hadn’t figured out the secret of the shrimp potstickers’ unique aroma. My foodie pride was on the line.

Without hesitation, I stepped into the vent and slowly slid down. The metal was freezing against my skin.

After descending about fifteen feet, the passage widened, my feet lost their grip, and I fell straight down. The air whooshed past my ears.

“Splash.” I landed in water. The shock sent a jolt through my body.

The water was deep. I dived and surfaced, feeling things wriggling around me, pricking my skin painfully. I gasped, swallowing a mouthful of brackish water.

I yelled, and the sensor light came on. Turned out it was shrimp—big ones. Their shells scraped against my skin.

Climbing out of the pool, I was soaked and needed to change clothes fast or risk hypothermia. My breath steamed in the cold air.

There were two paths ahead. From one side, I could faintly hear music. Shivering, I ran toward it, desperate for warmth.

On the wall of the room hung a photo of the hip guy. The computer was on, loud music blasting from the subwoofer, but no one was there. The beat thumped in my chest.

I opened the wardrobe and changed into a full set of clothes, but the shoes were too small. I squeezed my feet in anyway, wincing.

My phone was soaked and wouldn’t turn on. I cursed under my breath, feeling more alone than ever.

Just as I was about to leave, I heard arguing outside and quickly hid in the wardrobe. My heart pounded so loud I thought they’d hear it.

The hip guy and the odd girl came in. Their voices were sharp, tense.

“Where’s the handsome dude?” the girl called. Her voice was sing-song, childish.

“He left. Stop thinking about him.” The hip guy sounded irritated.

“You said if I lured him, he’d be mine.” She reached out to scratch the hip guy, her nails flashing.

He coaxed her, “I’ll find you another. He’s hard to handle—might mess things up.” His tone was oily, practiced.

“Waaah… I want him.” The girl sat on the floor, crying and flailing like a five-year-old. Her sobs echoed off the walls.

“Enough, stop it. Mom asked me to pick some veggies. You watch these good things first.” The hip guy turned off the music and left, slamming the door.

The girl focused on the computer. I breathed a sigh of relief and slipped out of the wardrobe, looking for a chance to escape. My hands shook as I crept past her.

As I walked behind her, I saw something that shattered my worldview. She was licking the screen, and the man on the display was me! My stomach dropped.

I stifled my breathing and closed my eyes. I needed to get out—now.

But the next moment was even more shocking. Her hand reached into her clothes… I turned away, horrified.

Did it really have to be this… twisted? My mind reeled.

“How are you here?” a surprised voice came from the door. The hip guy dropped the veggies and swung a fist at me.

Having traveled the country for years, I wasn’t a pushover. I dodged and took him down with a grappling move. Adrenaline surged through me.

He refused to give in, and we wrestled. His breath was hot and sour in my face.

“Ahhh… Mom, Dad!” the girl screamed. That would bring the others. My heart raced.

I seized the moment and punched the hip guy in the temple. He went limp and collapsed. I scrambled to my feet, breath coming in gasps.

I signaled the girl to be quiet, but she shoved me aside and ran out. Her footsteps echoed down the hall.

Chasing her was pointless, so I ran in the opposite direction. My feet slipped on the wet floor.

The ground was cold and slippery. I ignored the stones and sharp objects cutting my feet—escaping was all that mattered. My lungs burned.

Finally, I reached the shrimp tank connected to the vent. The water glimmered in the dim light.

It was easy to slide down, but nearly impossible to climb back up. I cursed my luck.

Gritting my teeth, I kept running forward. The air grew colder with every step.

The further I went, the colder it got. My feet were numb. My breath came in ragged gasps.

At last, I saw a lit room, but there was a strong stench at the door. My stomach heaved.

I gagged. The smell was thick, metallic—like a slaughterhouse.

There was an operating table in the room, with dried blood stains on it, and a messy pile of tools—chainsaws, axes, boning knives. My head spun.

I hesitated, then carefully walked in. Every instinct screamed at me to run.

The stench was even stronger. I covered my nose, searching for an exit, window, or phone. My hands shook as I rifled through drawers.

Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside. I ducked under the operating table, heart hammering.

A wise man doesn’t fight when he’s outnumbered. I quickly hid under the operating table. Dust and hair clung to my face.

Two people came in and walked around. Their boots thudded on the tile.

“Where is he, where did he go?” the old man shouted. His voice was sharp, panicked.

“Check the freezer,” the woman snapped. “The girl likes him, don’t kill him.” Her tone was cold, businesslike.

Were they talking about me? Damn. I held my breath, barely daring to move.

“He’s not stupid. He won’t freeze to death,” the old man muttered. “He ran ahead. Let’s go.” Their footsteps faded.

After they left and I couldn’t hear anything, I crawled out, my legs shaking badly. My knees buckled.

Under the operating table was a trash bin full of hair. Some long, some short, some black, some colored.

That’s not normal. Not even close. It would take at least fifty people to fill a bin with that much hair. The realization made me gag.

This wasn’t a barbershop, so why so much human hair? My stomach twisted in horror.

The more I thought about it, the more terrified I became. My skin crawled.

My legs went weak, but a strange compulsion made me open the freezer door. My hand trembled on the handle.

What I saw nearly scared the soul out of me. A row of people hung from iron hooks.

People—yes, people! Naked, bodies tinged with bluish-gray, heads missing. My mind screamed at me to run.

Worst of all, all their heads had been cut off. Fear shot through me. My vision blurred.

Hanging at the edge was the groom. He’d been crying last night, but now he was frozen stiff. His eyes were wide, frozen tears on his cheeks.

Judging by the timing, the killer hadn’t had time to process the body. The groom’s head was still attached, his eyes wide open, sockets filled with frozen bloody tears.

Maybe, even in death, he never found his beloved bride. My heart ached for him.

With trembling hands, I closed the freezer door. My breath came in short, panicked bursts.

I’d suspected something was wrong with the diner, but never imagined it was a slaughterhouse. My knees gave out, and I slumped to the floor.

The seemingly kind old man and gentle woman were actually murderers, killing so many innocent tourists. The hip guy’s cold eyes, the girl’s odd behavior—maybe the whole family was off.

I ran out in a panic, shaking uncontrollably. Now, it wasn’t about courage—it was about survival.

There were killers ahead, so I turned and ran the other way, hoping the exit was that way. My feet pounded the slippery floor.

I sprinted, heart pounding, my footsteps triggering sensor lights as I ran. Survival first. My only thought was to get out alive.

I ran past the shrimp tank, kept going, and, as luck would have it, ran into the strange girl. She grinned, eyes wild.

She saw me, muttered something, then bear-hugged me and bit me. Her teeth sank into my shoulder.

I didn’t want to hurt her, but to avoid being caught, I had to punch her. She crumpled to the floor.

After she fainted, I kept running. The ground sloped upward, getting closer to the surface. My lungs burned.

At last, I saw a lit room, but there was a strong stench at the door. I gagged.

There was an operating table in the room, with dried blood stains on it, and a messy pile of tools—chainsaws, axes, boning knives. My head spun.

I hesitated, then carefully walked in. Every instinct screamed at me to run.

The stench was even stronger. I covered my nose, searching for an exit, window, or phone. My hands shook as I rifled through drawers.

Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside. I ducked under the operating table, heart hammering.

A wise man doesn’t fight when he’s outnumbered. I quickly hid under the operating table. Dust and hair clung to my face.

Two people came in and walked around. Their boots thudded on the tile.

“Where is he, where did he go?” the old man shouted. His voice was sharp, panicked.

“Check the freezer,” the woman snapped. “The girl likes him, don’t kill him.” Her tone was cold, businesslike.

Were they talking about me? Damn. I held my breath, barely daring to move.

“He’s not stupid. He won’t freeze to death,” the old man muttered. “He ran ahead. Let’s go.” Their footsteps faded.

After they left and I couldn’t hear anything, I crawled out, my legs shaking badly. My knees buckled.

Under the operating table was a trash bin full of hair. Some long, some short, some black, some colored.

That’s not normal. Not even close. It would take at least fifty people to fill a bin with that much hair. The realization made me gag.

This wasn’t a barbershop, so why so much human hair? My stomach twisted in horror.

The more I thought about it, the more terrified I became. My skin crawled.

My legs went weak, but a strange compulsion made me open the freezer door. My hand trembled on the handle.

What I saw nearly scared the soul out of me. A row of people hung from iron hooks.

People—yes, people! Naked, bodies tinged with bluish-gray, heads missing. My mind screamed at me to run.

Worst of all, all their heads had been cut off. Fear shot through me. My vision blurred.

Hanging at the edge was the groom. He’d been crying last night, but now he was frozen stiff. His eyes were wide, frozen tears on his cheeks.

Judging by the timing, the killer hadn’t had time to process the body. The groom’s head was still attached, his eyes wide open, sockets filled with frozen bloody tears.

Maybe, even in death, he never found his beloved bride. My heart ached for him.

With trembling hands, I closed the freezer door. My breath came in short, panicked bursts.

I’d suspected something was wrong with the diner, but never imagined it was a slaughterhouse. My knees gave out, and I slumped to the floor.

The seemingly kind old man and gentle woman were actually murderers, killing so many innocent tourists. The hip guy’s cold eyes, the girl’s odd behavior—maybe the whole family was off.

I ran out in a panic, shaking uncontrollably. Now, it wasn’t about courage—it was about survival.

There were killers ahead, so I turned and ran the other way, hoping the exit was that way. My feet pounded the slippery floor.

I sprinted, heart pounding, my footsteps triggering sensor lights as I ran. Survival first. My only thought was to get out alive.

I ran past the shrimp tank, kept going, and, as luck would have it, ran into the strange girl. She grinned, eyes wild.

She saw me, muttered something, then bear-hugged me and bit me. Her teeth sank into my shoulder.

I didn’t want to hurt her, but to avoid being caught, I had to punch her. She crumpled to the floor.

After she fainted, I kept running. The ground sloped upward, getting closer to the surface. My lungs burned.

At last, I saw a lit room ahead. There was a strong stench at the door, and I gagged again. I stumbled toward it, desperate for any way out.

There was an operating table in the room, with dried blood stains on it, and a messy pile of tools—chainsaws, axes, boning knives. My head spun. I hesitated, then carefully walked in, every instinct screaming at me to run.

The stench was even stronger. I covered my nose, searching for an exit, window, or phone. My hands shook as I rifled through drawers. Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside. I ducked under the operating table, heart hammering. A wise man doesn’t fight when he’s outnumbered. I quickly hid under the operating table. Dust and hair clung to my face. Two people came in and walked around. Their boots thudded on the tile.

“Where is he, where did he go?” the old man shouted.

His voice was sharp, panicked. “Check the freezer,” the woman snapped.

“The girl likes him, don’t kill him.” Her tone was cold, businesslike. Were they talking about me? Damn.

I held my breath, barely daring to move.

“He’s not stupid. He won’t freeze to death,” the old man muttered.

“He ran ahead. Let’s go.” Their footsteps faded. After they left and I couldn’t hear anything,

I crawled out, my legs shaking badly. My knees buckled. Under the operating table was a trash bin full of hair. Some long, some short, some black, some colored.

That’s not normal. Not even close. It would take at least fifty people to fill a bin with that much hair. The realization made me gag.

This wasn’t a barbershop, so why so much human hair? My stomach twisted in horror. The more I thought about it, the more terrified I became. My skin crawled.

My legs went weak, but a strange compulsion made me open the freezer door. My hand trembled on the handle. What I saw nearly scared the soul out of me.

A row of people hung from iron hooks. People—yes, people! Naked, bodies tinged with bluish-gray, heads missing.

My mind screamed at me to run. Worst of all, all their heads had been cut off. Fear shot through me.

My vision blurred. Hanging at the edge was the groom. He’d been crying last night, but now he was frozen stiff. His eyes were wide, frozen tears on his cheeks.

Judging by the timing, the killer hadn’t had time to process the body. The groom’s head was still attached, his eyes wide open, sockets filled with frozen bloody tears.

Maybe, even in death, he never found his beloved bride. My heart ached for him. With trembling hands, I closed the freezer door. My breath came in short, panicked bursts.

I’d suspected something was wrong with the diner, but never imagined it was a slaughterhouse. My knees gave out, and I slumped to the floor. The seemingly kind old man and gentle woman were actually murderers, killing so many innocent tourists. The hip guy’s cold eyes, the girl’s odd behavior—maybe the whole family was off. I ran out in a panic, shaking uncontrollably.

Now, it wasn’t about courage—it was about survival. There were killers ahead, so I turned and ran the other way, hoping the exit was that way.

My feet pounded the slippery floor. I sprinted, heart pounding, my footsteps triggering sensor lights as I ran. Survival first.

My only thought was to get out alive. I ran past the shrimp tank, kept going, and, as luck would have it, ran into the strange girl.

She grinned, eyes wild. She saw me, muttered something, then bear-hugged me and bit me. Her teeth sank into my shoulder.

I didn’t want to hurt her, but to avoid being caught, I had to punch her. She crumpled to the floor. After she fainted, I kept running.

The ground sloped upward, getting closer to the surface. My lungs burned. At last, I saw a lit room ahead. There was a strong stench at the door, and I gagged again. I stumbled toward it, desperate for any way out.

- The End -