Chuck Schading

This piece was written for NYC Midnight’s 250-word Micro Fiction contest in February 2024 and earned a seventh-place award in the first round. The prompts were: Ghost Story (Genre) / Stockpiling (Action) / Fit (Word).

Dave Harmon stepped on the gas instead of the brake, and next thing you know he was dead, right there in the Happy Burger drive-thru lane. His stockpile of bonus reward points would go forever unused.

For weeks, business at the drive-thru was light, but by summer it had picked up again. It was around Labor Day when people started talking about weird shit that would happen when they would order.

Voices on the intercom mostly. Sometimes it was just moans, other times bits and pieces of words or phrases that didn’t fit. 

So instead of “Welcome to Happy Burger, go ahead with your order,” it was “Welcome to … [static] uuuuhhhhh… [static] Happy Bur … [static]  Oh God. Nooo!  [static] Go ahea … [static]  Celeste! Where are you? [static] … your order.” 

The technicians blamed it on kids screwing around with a Bluetooth connection, but the rest of us knew better.

It was Dave, and once I got over the shock, it appeared that he had too. Instead of moans and foreboding expressions of impending death, he’d just plain old fuck with my order.

I’d ask for a double with fries and a shake, but then I’d pull around and be handed a fish filet and apple slices. 

It scared the hell out of me the first time, to be honest, but eventually I came to enjoy the surprise.

I’m just glad he didn’t die at the ATM.