Hot Dog Lady - Chapter 3

Fear washed over me like ice.

Old bruises came to mind.

I stumbled back, knocking over a stool.

Densson snapped alert, striding toward the counter.

Seeing me, his eyes lit up.

Next thing I knew, the baseball bat in his hand slammed down on me.

I could see, could hear, couldn’t speak or move.

Other players gathered, joking.

Hey boss, found a pretty one.

When you’re done, share with the boys.

Vincent sneered.

That’s my wife.

Ran off with some other guy.

Never thought I’d catch her here.

He spotted a hot dog on the counter and sneered.

Set up shop playing house.

He grabbed a weapon, smashed the counter, and hurled my freshly made hot dog to the floor.

Stomped on it viciously.

You belong to the chef’s family.

Alive or dead? Think you can run the hot dog stand? The hot dog was covered in dirt.

A customer had already ordered it.

They’d be here after work.

I pleaded with my eyes for Vincent to stop.

It only made him angrier, begging for world help.

“Wait till I get you back to the real world,” he seemed to think.

Players couldn’t attack other players without severe penalties.

“But the real world, no rules.” “Perfect.

I’m starved.

Going to try your famous hot dog,” Vincent muttered.

He grabbed a deluxe hot dog and took a huge bite.

He choked, spat out a finger, screamed, hurled the dog away, and slapped me hard.

What the hell did you put in there? I rolled my eyes.

It wasn’t for humans.

The stitcher from the haunted manor had ordered it along with orders from a dozen other bosses in the horror game.

They’d be here in less than an hour.

Knock knock knock.

Someone was at the door.

The players snapped alert, weapons aimed, but nothing was outside.

Lee, one of the players, relaxed, just spooking ourselves.

This place is a ghost town.

No players, no NPCs, no monsters.

They didn’t see the hand sneaking in.

Literally a hand.

I recognized it instantly.

The stitcher’s right hand.

He must be on overtime at the manor.

Sent Lefty to pick up the order.

But Lefty was shy.

Traveling only via drains or sewers to avoid startling me.

He always knocked first.

Lefty expertly weaved past the players, reaching the counter area.

He paused, confused at the wreckage of my stall, then spotted the stone cold hot dog on the floor, fingers curling into fists.

Lefty was pissed.

Vincent had hit me in the back.

I watched through a small window.

Lefty crawled onto a player’s back, tapped his right shoulder.

The player looked, saw nothing.

What guy next to him didn’t touch you? Vincent went on high alert, ordering the others to use detection gear.

The scanners read zero.

Not a zip.

You still spooked from that scarlet bride back in the dungeon.

One player joked.

They laughed, one saying he needed to pee, heading for the corner.

3 seconds later, a scream pierced from the makeshift bathroom.

Lefty struck again.

Multiple SS-class bosses were incoming, closing fast.

Another scanner screamed, “S-class 2.” Moving at impossible speed, and we weren’t even in a dungeon.

Why? So many big bosses didn’t just stand there.

Run.

One player bolted for the door.

Instantly, the starter materialized in the doorway.

Lefty zipped back onto his perch.

The starter adjusted his tie politely knocked three times.

Madam here for my hot dogs, he said.

He saw the hot dog scattered across the floor.

The empty spot where I should have been.

The stitcher erupted.