I first met Malcolm about a year ago. It was just after 10 P.M. when the scuffed bell above the door clanged. My diner, Grandma’s Kitchen, had just closed. I could remember flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED, but it was unusual for me to forget to lock the door. It was out on the edge of town without much going on, so I was never too concerned someone was going to walk in and rob the place.

I had been in the kitchen washing dishes when I heard the bell. A scraping noise echoed through the empty diner. Someone pulled one of the stools away from the old Formica counter.

I sighed deeply.

It wasn’t the latecomer's fault that I forgot to lock the door, but they could have read the damn sign. I always hated having to tell someone to leave. It was a small town and a little bad word of mouth could drive down business.

I dried my hands off and tossed the dishcloth over the edge of the sink. The dishes would have to wait. If I didn’t get the late customer out the door, it may have attracted others. Not that I didn’t end up in the place till midnight anyway, but I always liked to trick myself into thinking I’d go home at a reasonable hour.

I pushed the swinging kitchen door open to see a square man in a long overcoat sitting at the counter. His shoulders were as broad as a refrigerator and there wasn’t much of a neck to speak of. A tight bun of brown and gray hair puffed out from the back of his head and a neatly trimmed beard fell below the counter. His thick brows were furrowed and he stared straight ahead.

“Evenin’ pal,” I called from the door. “Musta forgot to lock up at closin’. We shut down at ten. Come on back tomorrow and I’ll cook ya some eggs on the house for the inconvenience.”

The wall a man turned his head toward me and nodded. “Didn’t think you could see me,” he said.

“Yeah, I can see ya,” I replied curtly. “Trouble is we ain’t open right now. Glad to serve ya tomorrow.”

His eyes drifted away from me and down to the laminated menu on the counter. He lifted a brutish arm and dropped it heavily on the counter, extending his thick finger toward the menu. The colossal digit hammered down onto the surface.

“Three t-bone steaks cooked medium-rare,” he said. “Two baked potatoes. And one bottle of whatever beer you’ve got. I’m not picky.”

I felt my ears burning with anger. No one had ever accused me of being the friendliest guy around, but I had done my best to ask politely him to leave. I can still remember how gobsmacked I was when he had the audacity to make an order.

“Mister,” I spat. “I don’t think you’re catching what I’m throwing. We. Are. Closed. Get out. I’ll call the damn sheriff.”

The huge man didn’t stand up, but he did slide his hand into his overcoat. My hurt lept into my throat thinking he was retrieving a weapon, but my fear subsided quickly when he pulled his hand back out. There was no gun.

He held a huge roll of cash.

“Five hundred dollars for the food,” he said in a husky baritone. Thumbs the size of bratwurst pushed a few bills onto the counter, but he didn’t look up. “You let me sit in here and eat for an hour. If the steak is cooked right and the beer is cold, I’ll leave you a hundred-dollar tip. Give the money to the owner; keep it for yourself. I don’t care. But I’m hungry. So how about it?”

My eyes were as big as dinner plates as I looked at the pile of money on the counter. With the pandemic starting to slack off and businesses opening back up full-time, I had expected better days. Truth be told, folks still weren’t getting out like they used to. I was struggling. Shutting down the diner had crossed my mind a few times. I hadn’t been in a position to turn down that kind of money.

“That was three t-bones, two potatoes, and a beer?” I asked in a more cheerful tone. “Comin’ right up, chief!”

“A reasonable man,” he said.

I whipped up his order as fast as I could and took it out to the counter. As I put the plates down in front of the huge man, I got my first good look at him. He was even larger up close than he had seemed when I saw him from the kitchen door. A wall of muscle and hair. His eyes were barely visible under the heavy tufts of eyebrows.

The man looked almost like a mastiff.

Without a word, he slid the money toward me and tucked it into his meal. Not wanting to stand in silence as he ate, I went to the back to stuff the money in my wallet. I realized I had forgotten his beer so I hurried to the cooler and snagged a long neck.

By the time I walked through the door, he had finished all of the food. It couldn’t have been more than four minutes since I had left and the man had eaten three t-bones steaks and two baked potatoes. There wasn’t a scrap of food left on the plate.

Bewildered, I popped the cap off of the beer and sat it in front of him.

Wordlessly, he picked it up and swallowed the whole thing without taking his lips from the bottle.

“Must not have tasted too good, eh?” I teased the man.

“What do you mean?” he asked. His forehead creased and I could hear the confusion in his voice.

“It’s a joke, buddy,” I said. “Never seen a man eat that fast in my life!”

The corners of his thick mustache raised as a grin spread across his face. He laughed deeply. Fumbling into his overcoat again, the man pulled two more hundred dollar bills out and dropped them on the counter.

“I am always hungry,” he said. “Never seems to go away. A good meal.”

“Thanks for the… uh… patronage, sir,” I said. “Ain’t been too many nights this good since the world went to shit, you know?”

He gripped the bar with two massive hands and pushed himself up. I marveled at how tall he was. Must have been at least seven feet tall. He rubbed his stomach happily.

“What days are you open?” he asked.

“Tuesday to Saturday, my friend,” I replied. I extended my hand toward him. “My name’s Justin, by the way.”

He took my hand in his with a surprisingly gentle grip. “Mine is… Malcolm.”

The man turned and lumbered toward the door. As he stepped out, he had to duck his head to miss the frame. “If you are so inclined, I’ll be back this time each night. Same order. Same pay. Get some fresh steaks for tomorrow. I could tell those have been frozen.”

“You got it!” I shouted as the door closed.

I watched as the man crossed the street. I expected him to turn left or right and continue down the sidewalk, but he ducked his head under a tree branch and vanished into the woodline.

_________________________

After that night, Malcolm stopped by every evening at 10 PM. I always flipped the sign to CLOSED but left the door unlocked for him. I would be washing dishes when the familiar clang of the bell let me know he had arrived. After a handful of visits, he even started bolting the door to save me the trouble.

As soon as I heard the door, I would dry my hands off and throw the fresh steaks on the grill. With the sudden influx of cash, I didn’t have to rely on buying the less expensive frozen cuts. If I’m honest, though, I only bought enough fresh cuts to feed him. Cash flow was better, but times were still tight.

They were still the best days I’d had in ages. I had managed to keep on Angela, my one and only waitress, through the pandemic. The rest of the staff had been laid off. It was difficult to make enough money at the time to keep the doors open, so the staff wasn’t an option.

Malcolm’s sudden arrival changed that. A month after he started coming in, I was able to bring back my other two servers. Three months in and I was able to rehire my line cook, Duane. The diner was coming back to life and it was all thanks to that bear of a man.

I even told him about it one night.

“Thanks to you, I’m able to hire my old staff back on,” I told him as he gobbled down his meal. “Gonna feel nice not tryin’ to keep this place afloat by myself.”

“I am glad of it,” he said between massive bites and rumbling belches. “Please make sure they are gone before my arrival.”

“Will do, big man,” I replied. “Any reason?”

Malcolm stopped eating and peered forward, lost in thought.

“I am a bit of a loner, Justin,” he replied. “While I do enjoy our discussions while I eat, the additional company may be too much for me. If you need additional financial motivation to make that happen, I will be glad to oblige.”

He began to reach into his coat for that never-ending wad of money.

“No, no, no!” I protested. “You’re already paying me an unreasonable amount to dine in privacy. Wouldn’t ask a damn thing more from ya.’

So I did just that.

About fifteen minutes before close I sent the crew home. I paid them their full shift’s wage, but the small window of time made sure that Malcolm had the joint to himself without worry. It was a win/win.

Everything had seemed so much better six months after the mysterious behemoth arrived, but the newfound peace of mind didn’t last long.

On a night around six months ago as Malcolm vanished into the tree line, I decided to step out of the front door to have a cigarette. It was a cool night and the breeze was a welcome change from the stifling heat of the kitchen. I didn’t smoke very often anymore, but when the urge hit me, I would sneak the stale pack I kept hidden from the top of the walk-in freezer. Just seemed like a good night.

While I watched the dancing curls of smoke drift away under the streetlight, something began moving around in the brush in the woods across the street. I squinted my eyes to try to get a better view of what it could be, but nothing appeared. My mind told me it was probably just Malcolm moving around, but he vanished behind the trees ten minutes before.

He had never come back on the same night after he left the diner.

The butt of my cigarette had just hit the ground when I saw the two piercing yellow eyes in the darkness beyond. I’ve seen hundreds of beady little eyes in the darkness throughout my life, but those were the most unsettling. They didn’t narrow or blink. Just two perfectly round yellow orbs floating in the darkness.

“Go on!” I yelled. “Nothin’ to see here! Head on back where ya came from!”

The yellow orbs remained, locked onto me. A lump piled in my throat. My eyes darted to the group and I saw a few decent-sized rocks in the grass beside the road. I leaned over and scooped a few into my hand.

“Get out of here!” I yelled again to no effect. “I said go on!”

I chucked one of the rocks and to my surprise, it landed with a pleasant thud a few feet in front of the set of glowing eyes. It still didn’t blink. Just gazed down at the rock I had thrown. My gut told me to get my ass back inside, but something held me in place.

I felt like I couldn’t move. Somewhere in the back of my brain, a little voice started talking to me.

If you run, it’ll follow. If you hide, it’ll find you.

My stomach was in knots and I felt like I might get sick. Never could I remember a time I wanted to run so much. No matter how hard I pulled at my legs, my feet refused to leave the ground.

The yellow eyes had lost interest in the rock and returned their piercing gaze toward me. I hesitated for a moment but decided to throw another rock. My arm curled behind my back like a major league pitcher and blasted forward, throwing the rock with all of my might.

The stone zoomed through the air and landed squarely between the hateful yellow eyes. To my shock, they vanished for just a moment as the thing blinked. Just as I was beginning to mentally celebrate landing such an accurate shot, the eyes blinked back open.

A low growl filled the cool night air.

For a moment I thought it might be a wolf or coyote, but the tone was far too low. I’d heard wolves and coyotes my entire life. It sounded like a diesel truck idling roughly from the woods. The depth of the tone made my bones feel like they were shaking.

More rustling came from the woods. Dozens of sets of the same hateful yellow eyes emerged. The growling grew into a chorus. Snarls and the snaps of muscular jaws joined to create a symphony of nightmares.

In unison, the horde of yellow eyes began to move forward. I tried in vain to spark my body into motion, but I remained anchored to the sidewalk. In a few more steps the things would have been in the street lights.

Just then, one of the things began to whimper in agony. I could hear something heavy rumbling through the trees and the sound of something large hitting the ground and rolling. No longer hypnotized by my presence, the countless sets of eyes turned into the woods. I could hear them moving toward the howls of pain.

I fell backward and nearly tumbled through the glass of the door. My feet were freed but I wasn’t prepared. In a panic, I turned and opened the door before spilling forward on the cold tile. With a great deal of effort, I crawled toward the door and slammed the deadbolt in place before scurrying into the kitchen.

Standing behind the swinging door, I look through the porthole to the large panel window that sat at the front of the diner. There was no sign of movement. No sign of whatever horrendous things had been outside in the woods.

As I stood there peering out, I noticed my legs were cold. I’d pissed my pants and never felt it. All control of my body had vanished when I was staring into those hateful eyes.

After an hour of hiding, I decided it was time to head home. There had been no signs of activity outside. I was terrified and uncomfortable. The truck was near the backdoor and I knew I could make it before anything saw me.

I made a mad dash to the truth and threw myself in haphazardly. My keys must have fallen to the mat a half dozen times before I managed to get them in the ignition. When my headlights burst into life, they landed on four squat, hairy figures and I nearly screamed.

It was just a bunch of dogs. Fucking dogs. Eating scraps that had fallen out of the dumpster.

Was that all it had been? A few starving mutts in the woods had stopped to watch me smoke a cigarette and my mind had turned it into a madman’s carnival.

I burst into laughter.

There I sat. A grown man who hid in his diner for God knows how long in piss-filled pants because a few hungry dogs had stopped to watch him.

The whimpering and the howls? Two of them must have gotten in a fight. My mind had probably made up the rest of the noises. I’d never felt so damn stupid.

I pulled the truck around the side of the diner and onto the street toward my house. What a night. I tossed a final glance back toward the streetlight in front of the diner. Something was there.

It looked like Malcolm walking back into the woods.

[FINAL]