The Bell That Screamed
When the bell above the door rang, it didn’t jingle—it screamed.
Two dozen bikers flooded in like a storm of leather, road dust, and rumbling heat.
My boss took one look, muttered something about “inventory,” and slipped out the back.
So it was just me. And them.
For a while, everything seemed almost normal. They laughed, tore through burgers, and argued over milkshakes like rowdy high schoolers. One man, with a beard reaching his chest, even complimented my coffee.
Slowly, I began to relax.
But then the leader leaned in, voice gravelly and low, and I heard two words that made my plates tremble—
“Henderson Creek.”
The abandoned quarry outside town. The place people disappeared.
