SIck Game | Teen Ink

SIck Game

November 12, 2008
By Anonymous

In the middle of nowhere, on my way to California, my 2007 Porsche Carrera GT3 broke down. It was around 99 degrees hot outside and unbearable humidity. I think my transmission was leaking fluid. I wasn’t really in the mood to walk then again, walk away from my exotic Porsche, but I knew I wasn’t going to bump into one. That’s when I started my quest in a search to find a gas station. I walked literally three to four miles on a long dirty road. I finally saw a gigantic sign that said “Gas, only $1.95”, I haven’t seen gas prices that low since… well ever.

I searched around for anyone in sight, but so far no sign of any living creatures around. As I turned to walk away, a man in filthy jumpsuit stood in front of me holding a wrench in one hand and pulling his pants up with the other. He grinned at me while I told him my awful story of my car breaking down. His teeth were yellow and he was missing a couple as well. His name tag read Jol. He said, “Well miss, I could take ya to your car then, uh bring you back and you can just scoot your little self to Moe’s, uh right ova there”. So I did as he said.
Walking to Moe’s Café, I started to think how I really need to tell my husband to teach me how to fix my car. When I opened the door to the café, I looked around for a while. I saw twenty eyes all staring at me like I was some kind of alien. Something about this place gave me the creeps; I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “Oh well”, I thought to myself. I looked over the menu, ugh. Nothing but greasy foods on the menu, I was looking more for a salad. A soup will have to do. As I waited patiently for the waiter to come and attend me, I overheard some noises in the kitchen. You can hear a male voice yelling at someone. Finally the waitress comes out with tears rolling down her cheeks. I try not to stare. She has pretty green eyes that are covered by some long, droopy, overly done blonde hair. Make up is just drenched on her face. Her uniform is not washed; she has a stench stuck to her. Her beauty mark overlaps her entire face. Oh, and that bright pink lipstick, Eww. She timidly asks, “What would you like to drink”? I reply, “A coke would be awesome”. She leaves me staring at all the photos on the wall. I noticed her name tag says “Shelly”, who names their kids Shelly now a days?

The first thing I notice about the place is how filthy everything is. I just need some Lysol to clean this place up. The whole floor is soiled. There is foul smells lingering in the air. I could see behind the register there is a dog trying to lick the tracings of foods on the floor. The song Burning Love is jamming out of the jukebox. The only people besides me and the waiters here are two couples, a family, and some biker guys. The family sitting behind me is all talking about the adventures they will discover while being on their family trip. It makes me sick. As I’m looking through the menu one last time, the waitress finally comes back out with my soda.

This time she has scared written across her forehead. As she lifts her hands to write down what my order is, I see that her fingers are shaking uncontrollably. I ask her if everything is okay and she simply ignores me. “I’ll like a chicken noodle soup with some oyster crackers, Please”, I say nicely. She scurries to the kitchen without saying a word. I see that she has left me my menu, so I get up to return it to her in the kitchen. Not knowing whether it’s okay to go back there or not, I open the door. I see the cook, Moe; he is wearing a green shirt and some tailored pants that look like they don’t fit him anymore. He has greasy black hair that is pulled back into a pony tail. He also has a scar one below his right eye. He is choking Shelly saying that if she says anything to anyone he will kill her. She just sits there and cries. I accidentally knock over some cans and run back to my booth quickly before they noticed it was me.
Shelly comes out with my order. She slides a piece of paper underneath my plate and storms to the bathroom. Written in bold, black letters it says HELP ME! I’M BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY MOE! My first thought is to call the police. My phone wasn’t getting service in this old dump, so I ran to the register where there was another phone. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I used it real quick. I call 911, telling them what I saw Moe doing to Shelly and what Shelly has told me. The first thing the sheriff exclaimed was, “Yes boys! We finally could catch him today!” They informed me that they will be there in less than ten minutes and to just stay calm.
I ran to the bathroom to reassure Shelly everything would be okay. She was so freaked out after I told her that I had called the police. She said Moe would find her and kill her if the police take him away. I told her not to worry that the police would make sure that doesn’t happen. We finally heard the police arrive. Shelly and I ran out the bathroom door and told him where Moe was. They told everyone to leave the café and return home. I stayed with Shelly inside to watch. The policemen crept into the kitchen, trying not to make a sound so that Moe doesn’t make a run for it. They have Moe cornered and they caught him.
Shelly was so happy and overwhelmed with joy. Moe was yelling and cursing at her that he will find her as soon as he gets out of jail. The policemen told Shelly and me that he wasn’t going to get out of jail because he has been convicted of other felonies and he will be spending the rest of his life doing time. As the sheriff thankfully, repaired my car too, we saw Jol coming up towards us. He asked the sheriff what was going to happen to Moe and the café. When the sheriff told him that it was going to be out of business, Joel seemed very angry. I took Shelly with me back to my hometown in Indiana, and I let her stay with me for a couple of days. Later in the week we got a phone call from the sheriff explaining to us that Joel was Moe’s brother and has also been convicted too many felonies and that he is out on the loose in Indiana. All I could think was, “How am I going to get out of this sick game”?


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