Promptings from Valhalla - 30. Food Impostors

"Holy crap, Frank! What the fuck are you wearing?”

Frank grinned and stuck out his glowing chest, ignoring the stares, snickers, and outright guffaws of his co-workers. “It’s October first, and you know what that means.” He held up an orange, rectangular, plastic container with a black lid.

The other man’s eyes widened, and he wiped the corner of his mouth on his shirt sleeve. “You may look like an idiot, but damn if you don’t know how to bake.”

“I’ll put them out during break. There should be enough for everyone.” Frank walked down the assembly line to his station. He turned and almost smacked into his supervisor.

The man was a tank and stood with his arms crossed, leveling his best I’m in charge; don’t fuck with me stare directly at Frank. “I thought we’d settled this last year,” he stated.

“I’m not violating any dress or safety codes,” Frank replied. The bright yellow lights surrounding the grinning Jack O’lantern emblazoned on the fluorescent orange sweater chose that moment to blink on and off. “I brought some treats for everyone to have during break. Or tricks.” Frank winked and walked past the scowling man. “I’m not going to let you spoil my favorite holiday. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re a distraction.”

“I’m not changing my ways, so you might as well get used to it.” Frank set the container of treats under the counter and settled onto his stool to begin his shift.

His supervisor raised an eyebrow and walked away, clenching his hands into fists. He didn’t like not being listened to, but the garish man was right—he wasn’t technically violating any rules. But there were other ways to deal with insubordination. The corner of his mouth curled upward at the thought.

Frank practically skipped his way to the break room during his designated time off, the glittery, pumpkin-shaped doodle-boppers attached to the headband he donned weaved and dipped with each bouncy step he took. He couldn’t wait to set out his treats and see his co-worker’s reactions. He’d spent the summer looking up ‘food impostor’ recipes, and was particularly proud of his cake pop creations.

He set the bin of treats next to the coffee pot on the counter and placed a sign adorned with pictures of creepy bugs and spiders and the words “Help yourself, If you dare” emblazoned in bright red ink, with a dripping, scary font. He stepped out of the way of the throng of colleagues who had gathered behind him. Frank’s obsession with Halloween was legendary at the factory.

“What’s the deal with this shit?” one of the newer employees asked Brian, an old-timer.

“Frank’s a bit nutty when it comes to Halloween, but nobody cares because he brings in really good shit to eat. You might want to buy some bigger pants, at least for October. You’ll gain like ten pounds this month from all the crap he brings in.”

The younger man snorted. “Don’t mean you have to eat it.”

“You try saying no to this stuff. It’s that good.”

“Damn, Frank! You outdid yourself this year! Fuck if these don’t look like real roaches!” A balding man with a prominent belly held up one of the disgusting treats.

“Thanks! They’re cake pops covered in fondant. I used food coloring to get the details just right.”

The man popped the roach into his mouth and crunched down. He immediately gagged and ran for the wastebasket, where he promptly threw up.

“Shit, Frank! This isn’t funny! What the freaking fuck?” A middle-aged, gray-haired, slender man shoved the container into Frank’s hands.

He paled at the pile of dead insects that replaced his cake pop creations. “Oh my God! I didn’t do this!” He threw it into the trash bin and recoiled in horror.

His co-workers’ reactions varied from sympathetic looks to disgusted glares. His supervisor smirked as he strode past. Frank swallowed and wondered if the man’s animosity toward him stretched into actual sabotage. Who else had access to his work station? Whoever made the switch had to have done it when Frank used the bathroom. He huffed out his breath. Fuck.

The last person to file past him was the factory’s newest employee. No one knew much about the man, since he generally kept to himself. Isaiah dressed the same every day—white, button-down dress shirt covered by a black sweater vest, along with neatly pressed black slacks. His hair was also black, styled short and slicked back, never a hair out of place. He was equally as meticulous in his work, easily meeting productivity requirements, and frequently exceeding them. Rumor had it he was intensely religious, so everyone left him alone so he couldn’t try to convert or ‘save’ them.

Frank made brief contact with the odd man as he passed, puzzled by the unreadable look in his eyes. Disapproval with a mixture of… malice? Glee? Frank removed his doodle-boppers and headed back to his station.

*****

The next day, Frank arrived at work wearing a sweatshirt that featured a black cat dressed as a witch. He wore a matching black hat on his own head with an orange glo-stick wrapped around the brim. The ensemble was complete with a stuffed black cat attached to his shoulder. He hoped to avoid a repeat of the previous day’s disaster, so kept the box of new gross-looking treats with him at all times, until break.

He had made ‘worms in dirt’—gummy worms stuck into chocolate pudding with a dusting of Oreo cookie crumbs. While not his finest creation, it was tasty, and he made one cup for each of his co-workers. He set the concoctions out at the beginning of break, then high-tailed it to the bathroom. Breakfast had not done nice things to his digestive system.

He returned to the break room and took a step back after he entered the room. The scowls, head shakes, and nasty looks aimed at him were palpable. Johnny, one of his nicest co-workers, approached and smashed one of the wormy cups into Frank’s chest. “You’re a dick? You know that?” he said, then walked out of the room.

Frank’s eyes widened in shock when he saw the wriggling earthworms trying to dig deeper into the chocolate ‘dirt’.

“I almost ate one of those, you fucker,” Brian hissed as he walked past, knocking Frank backwards with his shoulder.

“I didn’t do this! I swear! Someone is playing a really sick joke!” Frank replied.

A chorus of “Yeah, right” and “You’ve gone too far” echoed throughout Frank’s head as he inspected the rest of his treats. Every single cup now held real, wiggly worms instead of their gummy counterparts. Frank was appalled. Who hated him enough to do this?

*****

Frank decided he wasn’t going to let the saboteur win, so for the rest of the week, he continued dressing in over-the-top outfits and bringing in his food impostors. And every day, someone sabotaged his treats. Mummy cookies wrapped in edible paper somehow became wrapped in toilet paper. Vampire cupcakes were filled with blood pudding instead of raspberry jelly.

Whoever is doing this is a real sicko, Frank thought. After the vampire incident, he wondered if his enemy would go so far as to try and poison everyone. He shuddered at the thought. The final straw came on Friday. Frank had decided to hand out his ‘finger food’—Rice Krispy treats shaped like human fingers, covered in gray fondant he textured like skin, with an almond slice ‘nail’. He figured no one could have messed with them. The box had been in his line of vision all morning.

Most people refused to take one, with varying degrees of politeness. Frustrated, Frank grabbed a ‘finger’ and brought it to his mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with them!” he exclaimed, and bit into the treat. He immediately spit it out and flung the rest of it across the room.

His supervisor bent over to inspect it. “Holy freaking crap! It’s a real finger!” He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, and straightened up. “In my office, now!” He pointed out the door.

Frank stammered incoherently, then ripped the Frankenstein hat off his head and threw it on the ground. “You know what? You win! I’m done!” he shouted. “I just wanted to share my favorite holiday with everyone! What’s so wrong about that?”

“C’mon, you sick fuck. I’m calling the police.” His supervisor guided him out the door.

His co-workers all had the same look of revulsion and fear on their faces—save one. Isaiah’s expression morphed between ice cold dispassion, pride, and schadenfreude. As Frank passed Isaiah, a chill passed through his body, causing him to stare back at the weirdo. Isaiah smirked and held up his left hand—sans ring finger—then turned and walked in the opposite direction. Frank’s stomach churned as he broke out into a cold sweat.

Frank sat in the chair opposite his supervisor’s desk, his head in his hands. How was he going to explain this to the police? He was pretty sure he’d already lost his job. How had things gone so wrong? He had originally suspected his supervisor was behind the disgusting sabotages, but now he wasn’t so sure. Was it Isaiah? Why would the strange man target him? Was his religion so anti-Halloween he wouldn’t allow anyone to enjoy it?

Slow creaking interrupted his thoughts as the door to the office opened. Frank inhaled, and steeled himself to face the policeman he expected to walk in. He raised an eyebrow when Isaiah slipped through the entryway and snicked the door shut behind him.

“Don’t mess with that which you don’t understand. Your perversion of my religion was inexcusable,” he hissed. Frank shuddered, and swore he saw Isaiah’s eyes glow red.

His religion? Wasn’t he a devout Christian? “I…I don’t understand.”

“The God of the Grove demands a sacrifice every year. I think I’ve found a perfect candidate.”

Frank swallowed. What the fuck was he talking about?

Isaiah stepped aside to allow a tall policeman with black, slicked back hair into the room. He nodded to the officer, then gestured toward Frank. The officer nodded, then smiled. He gave Frank the impression of a predator playing with its prey. “C’mon. I’m taking you to the station so you can answer some questions.”

Frank rose, unsure of what to do. His heart hammered in his chest. He was sure he was in imminent danger, but didn’t know how to escape. As the officer led Frank to his patrol car, the Halloween-obsessed man had a feeling he’d never make it to the station.

He was right.