10 Rules For Working at the Midnight Diner | Part 2
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The front door opens and people and creatures and entities of all shapes, sizes and species come pouring in. None of the species I'm hoping for. A group of leprechauns takes the corner booth where the young ogre had been. Three babadooks sit in a middle booth. A lone haint takes a two-top. A human dressed in an overcoat and looking like some private detective or something sits at the corner booth with a gorgeous woman with snakes for hair.

Since no one turns to stone, I guess the woman isn't a true Gorgon. She probably had her hair stylist enchant her hair. "Rule six is no substitutions," Horton says as he starts doing stretches. "Remember that." "I thought that was rule number two." "It's both. It's an important rule. You give those leprechauns anything with blueberries in it, and they will rip this diner apart like frat boys on pixie dust. That would be bad." "You think?"

He sighs, then takes a deep breath, holds it, and sighs again. "Gird your loins, kid. We going to battle now." All at once, the door opens and even more people and creatures come in. Within a minute, the diner is packed to capacity, every booth and table occupied, with a line stretching out the door. Still, none of them are my target.

I'm taking orders, asking questions, reminding the customers that it's cash only, and carefully explaining that there are no substitutions. And asking about food allergies. I have to keep remembering to ask that. "How filtered is your blood?" the beautiful woman sitting with the private dick asks. I mean, I assume he's a private dick, he just has that vibe. "I'm not sure. I'll ask," I say, knowing I have zero time to ask.

"Is there something you are avoiding that you need to make sure is filtered out?" "Regret," she says. "I can't stand the taste of regret."

I'm not sure we can filter that out. "Don't listen to Vampira here," the Private Dick says. "It's Angelica and fuck you, Peyton," she snaps. "I'm joking," the Private Dick, "I guess his name is Peyton," says. "I bring clients here all the time. The blood is top notch." "Then I'll have a pint of the blood of the day," she says to me. "Excellent choice. And you, sir?"

"Coffee, whatever cake you have. "I really don't care what it is. "Just grab the first slice, you see. "I think it's Black Forest." "That works." He eyes me carefully. "Anything else?" He slowly shakes his head. I place their order and six others, then get back out on the floor and keep drinks filled, plates moving, napkins handed out, dropped forks replaced, and a million other things that happen all at once. Food is ready, food is delivered.

Gordon screams at me over my mistakes. I fix the mistakes. More drinks filled and food delivered. "Hey, kid," Peyton the Private Dick says when I drop the check off at his table. "Do I know you?" "I don't know," I say, clearing their plates. "Yeah, I swear I know you," he says, snapping his fingers as he thinks. "Something about the eyes." "Leave the kid alone, Peyton," Angelica says. "He's trying to work."

Peyton eyes me then shakes his head. "Dammit, it's not coming to me. You pay at the register," I say when he picks up his check. "Yeah kid, I know." More drinks refilled, more food delivered, more orders taken. A booth of kobolds almost starts a fight with the leprechauns as they leave, but Horton gets in between them and smooths out the ruffled shamrocks. The three witches have finished eating, but wave me off every time I try to give them their check.

"We're thinking about dessert," the third woman says, giving me a wink. "You look sweet. What flavor are you?" "Frustration," the second woman says, taking in a deep sniff. "And something else? What is it with you, kid? Learned any new rules during the rush?" the first woman asks. "Uh, no. Been too busy," I say and grimace. "Are you sure you don't want the check?" They don't respond except to bat their eyes and smile at me.

"Okay, well, let me know if you decide on dessert." "Oh, we'll let you know," the third woman says. Then she burps before patting her stomach. "I think that sandwich did have count in it." She farts. "Yup, there was count." I go pale and they all laugh. "She's playing with you," the first woman says to me as I almost start to hyperventilate. "She double checked before she even took her first bite." The third woman farts again.

"Must be the smoothie," she says, and all three cackle so loud it cuts through the noise of the lunch rush. Although now the rush is starting to slow down. Fewer and fewer citizens of this infernal city come through the door. "What time do you close?" Peyton asks me as I refill his coffee. "I, uh..." I blink a few times. "I don't know. Can you ask for me?" "Yeah, sure."

I find Horton after he delivers two unicorn burgers to a pair of bog dwellers, their moldy rags hanging off them like Spanish moss from an old oak. "Rule number seven," Horton says, not pausing to answer my question, forcing me to hurry behind in his wake as he flits from table to table. "Diner hours are set." "Okay, great. But what time do we close?" "At midnight." "At midnight? I thought we opened at midnight."

"We do. We close at midnight and open at midnight." He stops and glares at me. "It's why this place is called the Midnight Diner. But if we are always open, why is it a rule?" "Because it is." "But diner hours are set. Seems like a waste of a rule. You can just post that on the door." "It is." Horton points at the front door. "Open from midnight to midnight. Says it right there." "Yeah, but…" "Do you want to argue or do you want to work?"

"Sorry." I say and grab two omelets from the order window and deliver them to a pair of college students dressed all in black leather. "Hot sauce?" one asks. The other snaps his fingers and hot sauce appears next to their plates. "Thanks." I hurry over to Peyton, the private dick. "Um, the hours are..." I start to say and he laughs. "Hahaha, I was just messing with you, kid." "I told him not to." Angelica adds. "You do remind me of someone I know, though."

I shrug and walk off. Slowly, table by table, the diner starts to clear out until all that are left are the three witches, who still say they are deciding on dessert. The private dick and his blood drinking date, a booth filled with haints who I'm pretty sure are talking about skipping out on their bill, and a pair of banshees having a quiet meal of oats and cream.

Oh, and a single vampire who keeps glaring at the private dick's date. Can I get you anything else? I ask the vampire. He looks up at me and snarls, revealing one of his sharp canines. I gulp. How was the blood of the day? Adequate, he says, his eyes leaving me and returning to Angelica. Good, good, I say and set his check on the table. You can pay at the register. I will pay here at the table, he says, and wriggles his fingers at me.

"Repeat it back to me." "I'm sorry?" "What I just said." "About paying at the table?" "Yes. Repeat it back to me." "Um, you will pay here at the table." "Very good." "But, and I apologize for this, you have to pay at the register." He tears his eyes away from Angelica and glares at me. "What did you just say?" "That you have to pay at the register." His eyes flash red and he wriggles his fingers at me again. "No, I will pay here at the table."

"I am sure you would like to do that, but we require you to pay at the register." He blinks a few times and then looks at his fingers. "How are you not mesmerized?" "Oh, I'm working. They don't allow mesmerization while employees are on shift." "Is that so?" "Yes, it's an official rule. I'm still learning those, but it was in the employee handbook that my manager made me read before I started today." "Also, there's no way to mesmerize me the way I am."

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The vampire glares at me even harder. Do you know who I am?

I shake my head. "I am Count Ralph Collingsworth." I shake my head again. "I don't know who that is." "I am Count Ralph Collingsworth." "Yes, you said that." "You not knowing who I am is no excuse."

"Excuse for what?" "For this horrid treatment you are subjecting me to." "Is there a problem here?" Horton asks as he comes up behind me and roughly shoves me to the side. "Ah, Count Collingsworth! It's good to see you." "Horton," the Count says and nods. "I see you have a new trainee." "Yes, I do." "Is he being trained today?" "He is, yes." "So that is why he does not know that I pay at the table." Horton sighs.

Count Collingsworth, we have gone over this time and time again. All customers pay at the register. The Count wriggles his fingers, but Horton just waves him off. Now, none of that, Count. Do I need to call Melinda again? The Count stops wriggling his fingers and tucks his hands into his lap. Please don't, he says in a small voice. Horton sighs. Then you have to behave. All customers pay at the register. Okay. Thank you, Count.

"Yeah, sure. No problem, Horton." Horton leaves, and I follow right on his tail. "What was all that about?" "Count Collingsworth is special needs," Horton says. "He got left out in the sun one morning, and has been off ever since. This used to be his favorite haunt of his, so he comes here almost every day and every day he tries to pay at the table." "Well, if he's special needs, shouldn't we accommodate him?" "Not at the Midnight Diner, no."

Rule number eight is all customers are equal. Species, social status, or special needs do not apply when a customer walks through the front door. Customers follow the rules and they pay at the register. They cannot do that and then, well, they shall be punished. Orton grunts and punches his leg. Damn it! That's rule number ten. Those who break the rules shall be punished. We skipped rule nine. I know!

I take a step back as Horton's face turns bright red. "He's gonna blow," Atticus says, hurrying out from the kitchen with a bowl of ice water. He dumps it over Horton's head and literal steam wafts up to the ceiling. "That'll fix it." "Thank you, Atticus," Horton says as he wipes water from his eyes. "I am sorry it got to that point."

"It's okay," I say. "I wasn't apologizing to you," Horton snaps. "You're the reason I skipped a rule in the first place." "Sorry." "Shut up with your sorries. Hot dogs are up," Atticus says and returns to the kitchen. "I'll take them," I say, and grab the plates as fast as I can in order to get away from Horton's anger. After I set the plates down in front of the bog dwellers, I turn and almost scream. Peyton is standing right behind me.

"I do know you," he says. "Not in this form, no. But I know you. What are you? A human being? I don't think so." I glance down at his hands and see him moving his fingers as he works a hex. "Please don't." My stomach growls. He smirks and stills his fingers. "Hungry?" I don't respond. "Okay, kid. I'll let it pass this time," he says, then holds out his hand, palm up. "My check?"

"Right, right, yeah," I say and shuffle through the clump I have stuffed in my apron pocket. "Here you go. You can pay at the register, I know," he says. "I do know you, I swear I do. Now it's my turn to say leave the kid alone," Angelica says, coming up behind Peyton and taking him by the shoulders. "Come along, dear. We have work to do tonight."

"That we do," Peyton says, then walks off to the register where Horton is waiting with a smile plastered to his face. "Everything good this evening?" I hear Horton say, then see Count Collingsworth stand up, his chair flying back, smashing to pieces against the wall. "Will you not even look at me, Angelica?" the Count shouts. "Oh dear," Horton mutters. "I'll call Melinda."

"Nah, it's cool," Aiden says, and pulls something from his overcoat. "I can take care of this for you." "No," Angelica says sharply. "This is my mess, and I will take care of it." She walks over to Count Collingsworth. "Ralph, we went on three dates in college, that's all. I am not your girlfriend. You are married to Melinda."

"Oh shit, you actually know this guy?" Peyton asks. "If my heart could beat, it would still beat for you, Angelica," the Count says. "That's sweet, Ralph, but you are married, and you are with... him?" The Count glares at Peyton. "This... private dick? I prefer private investigator over private detective, but whatever," Peyton says. Then he holds up the large gold cross he's holding in his hand.

How dare you! Damn it, Payton! I had this handled! You are only making things worse.

"Belinda is on the way," Horton says to me. "Oh, okay, good," I reply, not knowing what that means. "Have a seat, buddy," Peyton says to the Count, his arm outstretched, the gold cross flittering in the diner's lights. "Stop it," Angelica snaps and points at Peyton. "Put that away, or I swear tonight will be the last night I ever help you out on a case again." Peyton keeps his arm steady, then he drops it quickly and tucks the cross back into his coat.

"My apologies, Angelica," Aiden says and tips his hat at her. "You know me and vampires." "I do," she says, then returns her attention to the count. "It was good to see you, Ralph." A woman bursts through the diner's front door. Her skin is made of stone and her eyes are a bright green, like they are made of emeralds. "Helenda, the wife," Horton whispers to me. "That was fast."

"She's a celestial, not of this dimension, but love is love. My Ralphie," the stone woman says as she hurries over to Count Collingsworth. Then she freezes and sniffs the air. Her body turns slowly, and her emerald eyes flash at Peyton. "You dare rendish a crucifix at my husband?" she spits at the private dick. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Peyton says, holding up his hands. "I'm not looking for a fight with a celestial. The guy was bothering my friend, is all.

Melinda's gaze shifts to Angelica and the anger dissipates. "Oh, Angie, I didn't see you there," she says, and lowers her head in apology. "Is this a coincidence or did he follow you here? Does it matter?" Angelica asks. "No, I suppose not. Well, I am sorry Ralph has accosted you." My stomach growls. All eyes land on me. "Sorry," I say.

"Feed your workers, Horton," Melinda says as she gently takes the count by the elbow and steers him toward the door. "And thank you for calling. This could have been much worse." "You two have a nice evening," Horton says, then turns on me. "Eat before you come to work." "I did," I say. "Oh, I did. But there is never enough. I'm hoping this new job will change that." "It's just been, um, five hours since my shift started." "Then you eat after you work."

"Right. Sorry, um, the Count didn't pay his check." "Add it to Peyton's bill," Angelica says and heads for the front door. "It's the least he can do." Peyton doesn't argue as I ring him up. "I'll figure out how I know you," Peyton says to me. "You come from the Grove?" I don't answer. He's too close to the truth. He chuckles and slides a five across the counter. "For your trouble." Then he's gone out the door with Angelica.

Customers come and go and the clock ticks away, counting down until my shift ends. "What's rule number nine?" I ask Horton as I wipe down a booth, cleaning up the mess a pair of mantis people left behind after shredding their meals to tiny bits before eating it all by shoving everything into their mouths as fast as possible.

"Rule number nine is no outside food or drink," he says from the register as he counts the till and pulls out the large bills so they can go in the safe. He shrugs. "Health code, makes sense." The clock keeps ticking and I watch the minute hand move along. Then the front door opens and I cannot believe my luck. Not only is it happening, but it's happening on my first night.

Oh, I knew it would only be a matter of time. It's why I took this job. Yes, the extra cash is good, but I don't need it. It's not worth the trouble I had to go through to get this job. No, it's finally being rid of this hunger for a few weeks that makes it all worth the hassle. The pack of gnomes gab and chat as they walk through the diner to the very back booth. I watched them the entire way.

"Nombs," Horton says, his voice filled with disgust. "Worst tippers in the city." "They come in here often?" I ask, keeping my voice even. "Every once in a while. I thought gnomes stuck to their gardens." "They do, they do. But everyone comes to the Midnight Diner eventually." "Even gnomes." "Even gnomes." "Well, are you going to take them their menus or not, kid?"

I grab up a stack of menus and hurry over to the gnomes, hoping, praying they are the ones. God, what would be the odds? After all this time, all this waiting, to have the exact gnomes show up on my first day feels like fate.

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But first I have to get their drink order. "Hello," I say and distribute the menus. "What beverages would you gentlemen like?" "And lady," one of the gnomes says in a deep voice. "Sorry," I say and nod. It's really hard to tell them apart. All gnomes sport those white beards, even the women. They order chamomile tea and a basket of donuts to start. Before I walk away, one of the gnomes frowns.

"Do you smell that?" he asks, then looks at me. "What is that smell?" "We had some bog dwellers in here earlier," I say. I hear cackling and look over my shoulder. The three witches are still here, still deciding on dessert. I lean down and whisper, "One of the witches has bad gas." "No, no, no, not witch farts," the gnome says, his beard waggling back and forth as he shakes his head. "I know me some witch farts. This isn't it."

"An ogre was here earlier tonight," I say and tap the table. "Right in this booth. That's probably what it is," the gnome says after a second or two. "Let me get your teas and place that donut order while you decide on what else you want," I say and hurry back to the counter. That was too close. He shouldn't have even suspected. No, no, I spent way too much on the hex for him to even have gotten a hint. I'll have to talk to the wizard tomorrow about that screw-up.

But the good news is that when I leaned down, I could smell that it's them, the gnomes I'm looking for. Luckily, the gnomes have forgotten all about me and are busy chatting about pest control and watering schedules and how many babies they each can steal and hide inside the hollows of old oak trees. They don't suspect at all.

"Here you go," I say when I return and take each cup of tea off the tray I carry, setting them in front of the gnomes. "Donuts will be right up. Have we decided on anything else?" "I don't think it's the ogre," the one gnome says. "Let it go, Oswald," the lady gnome says. "You do this every time we leave the garden. You are so paranoid." "We're gonna stop inviting you," another gnome says. "No, no," the gnome, Oswald, says.

"I smell it, I do. We should leave." "Oh, but what about your donuts?" I ask nonchalantly. They can't leave, not yet. "Yeah, Oswald, the donuts," the lady gnome says. "Relax, nothing can happen to us in the Midnight Diner." "Because what's the first rule of the Midnight Diner?" a gnome asks, elbowing Oswald in the side. He rolls his eyes. "The diner is for eating."

"The diner is for eating," they all echo, lifting their heads and shouting the words up at the ceiling. "Very true, huzzah," Horton says from the counter. "Customers are always safe here at the Midnight Diner, for the diner is for eating only, and those who break the rules will be punished." "Punished, punished, punished!" The gnomes chant over and over until Oswald starts to smile and join them.

They all laugh when they are done chanting. I just stand there and smile, looking like a perfectly safe, normal human waiter. "Donuts!" Atticus shouts from the order window. My stomach growls. The gnome's laughter stops instantly, and all of their little, bearded faces turn in my direction.

"I know that sound," one of them says. "Me too," another agrees. "Oh dear," I say and glance at the clock. "Well, my shift isn't all the way over, but I guess it's close enough." The gnomes look like they want to bolt. I shake a finger at them. "You'll never make it," I say, then casually walk to the front door. "I think we're ready to order dessert," one of the witches says as I pass by their table. I don't know which witch says it. I don't really care. Not anymore.

to think it all happens on my first shift. Hey kid, did you hear me? I heard you. I say as I untie my apron and take it off, letting it fall to the floor. I heard you. I reach the door and go to turn the lock, but there isn't one. I suppose there's no need when the diner opens at midnight and closes at midnight. Oh well, nothing a little brute strength can't take care of.

I grab the door's handles and yank hard, warping the metal frame, locking the door in place by sheer physics. "What are you doing?" Horton snaps, storming over to me. "Kill it!" One of the gnomes shouts. "It'll eat us all!" I feel the change happening. Oh yes, it's happening. "What are you doing?" Horton barks again when he reaches me. "Do you hear me? I just asked you a question."

My joints start to pop, and I can feel my muscles thicken and then elongate as the wizard's hex wears off. "Kill the damn thing!" a gnome shouts. "Oh crap!" one of the witches says. "We really should have ordered dessert sooner." They all three slip from the booth and face me. "Don't even bother, witches," I say, my voice warping, growing deeper and deeper with each syllable. "You cannot harm me. Stay out of this, and you may leave intact."

They stare at me. Then as one, they shrug and sit back down. "We'll order dessert when you're done," one says. Horton is still in front of me, but the anger on his face has turned to panic. "What is this? What are you?" Horton asks, retreating from my changing form.

"He's a damn Sasquatch!" a gnome yells. "Our mortal enemy!" I stretch and grow until I am at my full eight foot height with arms like tree trunks and legs like stone columns. "I haven't had gnome in so long!" I say as I push past Horton, brushing him aside like he's a blade of grass.

Hey, who ordered the... Atticus calls from the order window, stopping in mid-sentence. Oh shit, a Squatch. Nope. He disappears from the window, and the sound of pots and pans crashing is followed by a backdoor slamming. The gnomes hear the backdoor and try to make a break for it.

bounce. "You will be punished!" Porton screeches as he flees to the relative safety behind the counter. I catch one gnome by his pointy hat, my claws piercing the red felt and digging into his brain. With a flick of my wrist, I toss him in the air, open my jaws wide, and devour him in one gulp. "So good," I sigh, already targeting the next bite.

They try, they really do. The little buggers scramble under chairs, try to break through the windows and scurry to get to the kitchen. But very few things are faster than a hungry Sasquatch. Gnomes can be, if they are in their garden environment, but not inside like this. In the end, I catch each and every gnome, sending them all to the pit that is my belly.

When I have finished, I wipe the corners of my mouth with a napkin and smile at Horton. "Why aren't you dead?" he asks, looking about the diner as if something should be happening. "What do you mean?" I ask. "A pack of gnomes is no match for me."

"No, no, the rules!" Orton snaps. "Rule number ten is those who break the rules shall be punished. You have not been punished! The diner should have eviscerated you, stripped your fur and skin off, and plastered your bloody body to the ceiling!" "Why would all of that happen?" "Because you broke the rules!" "Which rule?" "The first one!" "You mean the diner is for eating?" I ask, and look over at the witches.

Their bored smirks tell me they get what I'm saying. I turn back to Horton. "But that's what I did, Horton. I ate." His mouth flaps like a merman out of water, and I chuckle, my throaty rumble making the light fixtures clank together. I cross to the door and shove it open. Then I pick up the apron and toss it to Horton. He catches it and looks down at his hands like he's never seen an apron before.

"Sorry, Horton, but I'm going to have to quit," I say with one massive, hairy foot already out the door. "I came here to do what I needed to do: get rid of a damn gang of gnomes who keep eating my roses. You understand, right?" I glance at the witches. "Ladies." They nod at me as I walk out, the third one's voice drifting out the door behind me. "Oh, let's get ice cream sundaes for dessert. How does that sound?"

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