Chef the Griller
One month ago, on a rain-slicked street My mother and I got a bite to eat But on the way back, I slipped and fell And I suppose the car coming didn’t see me well Because the next thing I knew, as I lifted my head I was staring at the sheets of a hospital bed! I could not move my legs, nor my right arm My left was okay (it escaped from harm) My mother came in, with a frown, and then Said “honey, I’m afraid you’ll never walk again.” A feeling came over me, not sadness or hate But instead overwhelming apathy took place “Oh well,” I thought, “I guess I’m done. My life is over before it’s even begun!” But the next day my mom approached me with a smile And said that, with luck, I’d only stay here a while And then, if feeling returned to my legs I could come back with her and start my life again Well, that filed me with hope; an optimism quite bright And perhaps my stay here would even be alright! The month passed by, rather pleasantly I’ll save you the details on how I went pee. Most of my actions needed the assistance of a nurse But really I was just glad to not be in a hearse A reporter came to my room to tell my story I think he was expecting something a little more gory The triplegia of a fourteen year-old kid Was something that, sadly, couldn’t be hid. My nurse was kindly, pretty and gentle She helped me get through that month without going mental She even gave me a book to read About shipwrecked sailors whose captain couldn’t lead I learned on that day that human tasted like pork The captain got eaten (but he was kind of a jerk.) The nurse was very good at helping me cope with my condition But when she was gone I sometimes felt a suspicion Something like I was being watched But I shooed that thought from my mind and instead stared at the clock One thing that bothered me was the sheet on my legs They hooked tubes up to me so that I never left the bed But I could not reach down for the sheet to be pulled So I could not see my legs, my once-useful tools At the end of this month, I’m supposed to go home But more often than not I’m simply left alone The female nurse does not come any more Instead, a crueler face comes through the door His face is all pudgy, he wears an apron That’s always filthy, and wrinkled like bacon He gives me my food, three times a day And he cooks all my food in all the same ways He grills it, whether it should be or not Grilled meat, grilled veggies, and here’s food for thought: He served me cereal once, and I swear to God He even grilled the cornflakes! How odd! Sometimes, while eating one of his grilled meals, He would stand in a corner and try to conceal The smile that spread across his whole fat face Before noticing my horror and running out of the place I told my mom to ask about this weird guy She said the hospital staff had this reply: “He’s both a nurse and a cook (one of the best) But while applying for the job, under ‘name’ he put ‘Chef’ So everyone simply calls him by that name He may look threatening, but he’s really quite tame!” I tried to let that ease my fear But I started having awful nightmares His face appeared, looking like pudgy rubber And all the while he stared at my mother His eyes were planted firmly at her hips And all the while, he was licking his lips Thinking of Chef filled me with horror And when he came to serve me His meat became rawer It was still appetizing, but just barely And with every day he seemed more and more hairy My mom normally visits every day at noon She insists on seeing me in my hospital room She’s never late; she’s always on time She treats being late like a capital crime But today, for some reason, she’s a few minutes late If I ever did something like that she’d be irate! Chef comes in and serves me some meat I take a look at his disgusting bare-feet And eat the food, as there’s nothing else to try And when I realize the taste, I nearly die The food I was eating was clearly not pork Yet the taste was known as soon as it was through my fork I was eating something else; I knew it to be true I through the plate aside, and then my guts I spewed I vomited and vomited, and as I did I cried Was I eating my mother? Had she really died? “You killed my mom, and made me eat her, too!” I yelled with all the force I could bring myself to Chef looked at me, with an emotionless face My one good arm shot up with the intent to erase His expression, his presence, his existence on this earth But my fist just bounced off his impressive girth At that moment, my mother rushed into the room And said “what’s all the screaming? You sound like a loon!” I looked at my mother, there in the flesh And never felt more relieved as I got back my breath My mom was okay, I was overreacting! Staying in this bed all day had my sanity retracting! Everything was alright now that she was here! There was nothing to fret and nothing to fear! I gave my mom news in the usual way Chef left, but then returned midday When he did, I tried to apologize I said “I know what I did was awfully unwise; I really am sorry for freaking out But not moving from this bed’s made me a paranoid lout!” Chef grinned at me, with black gums and missing teeth Which then retracted like a sword in a sheath He walked over to the my legs that were covered by the sheet And scowled “I was hoping you’d enjoy my little treat” He pulled off the sheet, and my legs were gone! It was as if they’d been cut off by a saw! A bloody pool was where they once lay I yelled out in horror and tried to get away But he leaned over and grabbed my chest He leaned in so close I could smell his foul breath He said “All that meat on your legs was going to rot And I would never cook a woman in such poor health Besides, watching you eat your own mother is not Half as exciting as watching you eat yourself!” Credit To – Greg G. Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.