Eggs and Sausage

This story is in response to a cue on the Flash Fiction Friday website. I’m not sure it works how I intended it to so I cut about half of it as it was rambling like a Tom Waits song. Which ties me in nicely to the fact that Tom Waits was mentioned in the post.
Length: 1000 words MAX

Genre: Any
Cue: Write a story using the weather, a town, something to eat, and a song.
Deadline: Wednesday December 21st 9pm EST
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Eggs and Sausage
Tommy shuffles into the greasy spoon the moment the sign turns to open. Last night was cold. Too cold for somebody his age to be spending on the street, but he prefers it to those high and mighty preachers that deign to let you stay in their shelter as long as you listen to their ‘message’.

“Eggs and sausage please.”

“Sorry sir, what was that?”

 

“Eggs and sausage please.”

“Erm, sorry I can’t understand you. Are you OK?”

Tommy nods, not quite remembering what to say or do. Kayleigh turns into the kitchen and looks for help from her boss Bea.

“What’s up Kay, you struggling to add up again?”

“I can’t understand this gentleman, he has a funny accent.”

Tommy starts to feel a little uncomfortable. All he wants to do is get his food and sit in the corner until he can slip out and into the quite of the world.

“Sorry about the help. What can I get you?”

“Eggs and sausage please.”

Bea laughs.

“Coming right up sir. Take a seat and your coffee will be right over. I’ll get your food started.”

The coffee is hot, and Tommy gulps it straight down. The slight burning sensation as it goes down is just what he needed. The free refills also adds a bit of pace to his drinking. This is his only solid meal of the weekend after all. The sausage and eggs are lovely, the free toast the Bea adds to the order are appreciated even more than the fact that she ignores his obvious position in life. Sunday morning is not Tommy’s favourite time of day but he needs to eat occasionally and there are a lot less people around now.

“Bea, why did you laugh when he asked for Sausage and Eggs?”

“Girl, you don’t listen to much music do you, ain’t you heard of Tom Waits?”

“Tom who?”

“Tom Waits. Fantastic jazz pianist and song writer. Also a degenerative drunk. More importantly though he had a song called Eggs and Sausage.”

“Jazz, you mean like lift music?”

Bea just shook her head and walked back into the kitchen area to start on the next orders. All day she couldn’t help humming along to old Tom Waits songs. So much so that on her way home she couldn’t believe that the local jazz club had a Tom Waits tribute band playing that night. The thought of another meal for one followed by catching up on a few soap operas was nowhere near as tempting as going to see some real music and have somebody else cook for her.

As Bea walked into the bar the first thing that hit her was the smoke. It certainly didn’t smell like her usual nicotine fix, or even the funny fags she smoked when she was younger. There was something sickly sweet just beyond her senses. She had to find out more and was soon entranced by the assault on her senses. The combination of the heady smoke and the sensuous voice of the singer soon washed away all her cares and worries.

“If you’d like to follow me ma’am.”

“Yes of course.”

Seated near the front Bea ordered a drink and a nice warming cottage pie to fill her up. The food was obviously nice because there were only scraps left, but Bea had no recollection of eating anything. It must have been the wine was the only thing she could think of. It was about this time that the lights went truly out. The only light was from the strange geometric patterns, at least she thought they were geometric. Bea found it increasingly hard to focus on what the shapes actually were. The room was moving and yet staying the same. It was as if parts of the room were slowly unfolding from somewhere outside of anything she’d even known.

The music played. The endless comfort of that droning voice soothing the aching mind and preparing the way. Something was happening and Bea not only didn’t know what, but didn’t care. This was the best experience of her life and at that point she’d have done just about anything to hear one more song.

That was when the music changed.

The howling started. Not the usual howl that announced the start of Rain Dogs. This wasn’t the noise of a man pretending to be a dog. This was something else. The singing became more like chanting and Bea could just make out the shapes of others at the edge of her vision. Lots of others. Standing there chanting. Waiting for something or somebody.

The tempo was rising as the horn section were rapidly approaching the crescendo.

A tentacle appears from behind the head of the singer and the tempo builds and builds. Another joins it and they stroke his face as he hammers ever faster on the piano.

The music ends.

Suddenly and dramatically from a cacophony into silence. Bea blinks and the tentacles are gone, turning round there is nobody but the barman around. Was there something odd happening just now? Bea can’t quite recall what she was thinking only a moment ago. She’s sure that she’ll be coming back tomorrow though. Somehow she knows it will be a performance to die for.

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7 thoughts on “Eggs and Sausage

  1. The storyline transformation caught me off guard. Was she drugged? Are the ETs to blame? I’m intrigued, and would definitely come back for a “part deux.”

    • I was going for a Lovecraftian feel. The whole thing is supposed to be a set-up for a summoning ritual. Bea has been chosen to open a gateway that will allow a beast from beyond into her world. Drugged? Yes, but not in a conventional sense. The creatures that ‘open up the way’ secrete a pheromone that pacifies. I wanted to leave most of that to the imagination.

  2. I had a similar response as Tony. Suddenly I felt HP standing over you as you wrote. I would say it was the tentacles, but no that was not it. I think it was the last paragraph that iced it for me.

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