Val’s Pizza – A Short Story

Note: This story is graphic and contains detailed, gory scenes.

Work was shit. It was a giant euphemism for everything in her life. A customer ordered his or her pizza wrong and she got blamed for it. It got thrown at her. No, it wasn’t the blonde-haired bitch who couldn’t tell a nickel from a dime. It was her, who had been doing this job for four damn years, that messed the order up. Of course—that was how it always was.

She stared down at the steering wheel of her battered car, at the silver Honda logo in the center, ice creeping through her chest. No matter what she did, everything always became her fault. She tried her hardest, she really did, but with each passing day, her will to give a fuck was fading. The one raging fire to do well and be passionate had cooled to a few smoldering embers. She gritted her teeth. Just enough to not get fired. Just enough to keep her job until her art career took off.

Her chest ached at the red glare of Basil’s Pizza sign across the hood of her black car. She had been working forty-hour weeks as a part-time employee for years for this company, bending over backwards, and what did they do for her?

Nothing.

She still couldn’t pay her rent. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel. Oh, she could feel it climbing from her chest into her throat. A serpent, vile and slick with rage, was slithering amongst her insides.

She had no time to make art. It was all pizza. Would you like marinara sauce with that? What toppings would you like? God—the questions made her sick. Waitressing was not worth it. She was tired of feeling like she had no choice, no autonomy. She was drained. She was exhausted. She was tired down to the marrow of her bones; she was sick of their bullshit. She was—

A figure darted past. It skirted along the edge of the flickering, fluorescent parking lot light, nothing more than a shadow. She sucked in a breath. What the fuck was that?

“I’m not getting paid enough to deal with this,” she muttered. She put the keys in the ignition and turned. Her car sputtered. She tried again, but her car sounded like a ninety-year-old man struggling to keep his breath through the phlegm in his throat.

The other closers had already peeled out of the parking lot, leaving to go do something better with their lives. She was thinking about the hunched figure that ran past, how it was outlined by the parking lot light. It would make a great painting if she ever got home. Perhaps yellow eyes deep in the darkness of its face would make it haunting and impactful. Maybe it would kill her before she left and she wouldn’t have to see the inside of Basil’s Pizza ever again.

Ha! Who was she kidding? She knew she was going to hell and she knew hell was Basil’s Pizza but with animatronic chefs and Karen’s undergoing apoptosis. The huff of air that came out of her nose was a small cloud, warm against the coldness of her car. The beds of her fingernails were blue.

She was too tired. She needed to go home and sleep. She was seeing things, right? The figure was just a part of her that wanted something interesting to happen so she could paint something worth looking at.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her heart flew into her mouth. She looked in her rearview and her side mirrors but saw nothing beyond her own bloodshot, brown eyes. The car sputtered as she turned the keys in the ignition, killed the engine, and then tried again. Her fingertips were numb. The other set of keys she had on the ring, the store keys and her apartment key, jangled as she trembled. The sound of metal clinking felt too loud in the silence of the parking lot.

Tap.

Her lip trembled. She bit it to keep it still, but her entire core was shaking. The amount of fucking weirdos that live in this area—if she was going to get robbed or murdered or raped, they could have done it earlier in the day, in the middle of her shift.

Tap.

“God, fuck. Please,” she said. The engine turned over. Once. Twice. Dead. “Fuck!”

She gave up on the keys, left them dangling in the ignition, as she dug around in her glovebox. Registration, napkins, Chick-fil-a sauce… Where was it? Where was it?

There.

Pepper spray.

Her shoulders slumped. Pepper spray against what? Men were batshit insane. So were women. People—people in general were batshit insane.

A hand slammed against the driver’s side window. She screamed; every bit of air got sucked out of her lungs as she stared at the grime in each crevice of the palm. Her index finger slid to the top of the pepper spray, holding it towards the window, waiting for the crack—

Laughter.

Fucking laughter. A blond-haired, blue-eyed bastard was cackling, his hand on his stomach as he keeled over. Her ex, James. Fucking James. She opened her door.

“I can’t stand you,” she said. Venom laced each word. “Why would you do that? It’s two in the morning. Go the fuck to bed.”

He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “But Val, you looked so scared. I just had to.”

She gestured to the parking lot. “Do you see this? It’s empty. Did you walk here just to fuck with me? Are you that desperate for my attention?”

He grinned. “You’re so cute when you’re—”

Blood sprayed. Her face felt warm. James was still smiling when his decapitated head hit the concrete with a thud that echoed in her empty skull.

Vall didn’t have the air in her body to scream. The figure, still hunched, was wearing a tattered black cloak. Its legs were long and spindly and pale and its eyes—no, they weren’t citrine yellow. They were red. They were the color of spilled wine, of pooled blood.

“You,” its voice sounded like rustling papers, like scattered autumnal leaves. She couldn’t see its mouth. She couldn’t see its teeth. Its eyes were embedded in darkness. “You are the reason my business is getting so much… Unwanted attention.”

Her mouth moved but her tongue was lead. Her stomach rolled.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“N-no,” she said. It was breathy. She fumbled for her pepper spray but it was in her car. A part of her chest caved in. Shit.

The corners of its eyes crinkled. Its pupils were darker than the sky above them. A row of sharp, jagged teeth gleamed in the moonlight as it bared them. They were yellowed, the base brown. Was that… Was it…

“I know you,” it said. “from the inside out, so don’t lie.”

It put its hand on James’s head, its finger going into his eye socket. The squelching sound it made caused Val’s stomach to churn. Part of her ached to see the flayed flesh of his throat jagged against the white line of the parking spot. Another part of her, the cruel part of her, was satisfied to see the long, crooked decaying finger going into his once adoring eyes.

“Do you care about my business?”

It started to play with James’s blond hair. Val watched, part of her numb, though tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“No,” she said. It chuckled, the sound a mere rasp. Bits of dirt flaked off its face as it moved, still hunched, still holding James’s head.

“You’ve grown lazy, Valerie,” it said. “We made a deal.”

“Just let me try again,” she said. It chuckled again. James’s cheek had road rash on it when it lifted it. Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I have so much respect for what you do for your community and—”

“Cut the bullshit,” it said. She tried to take a step back but she hit her car. It was cool against her warm skin. It creeped toward her. Its twisted, gray finger was outstretched. “Give me your leg.”

Val shook her head, whimpering. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I won’t be able to walk.”

It cocked its head to the side. “Did I ask if you would be able to walk? Or did I ask you to give me your leg? Does your art mean anything to you? That buyer…He may just have to back out.”

Val stifled a sob with her hand as she crouched on the ground, sitting with her back resting against her car, and outstretched her right leg.

“Pants,” it said. Val’s hand shook as she undid her belt and wiggled her way out of her jeans. Rocks pressed sharply into her ass. Her thighs were nothing more than a mess of scarred, contorted flesh and atrophied muscle.

“P-please,” she said. She shivered against the cold air. It dropped James’s head. It still had his blood on its finger—it was embedded under its fingernail—as it grabbed her ankle.

“Yes,” it said. “I think I’ll take from just behind the tibia. You won’t miss that much, will you?”

It trailed its bloody fingernail down the outer edge of her calf. The bugs were back, crawling along her skin, across her face, and down her throat. Val shook her head.

Its finger extended from the nailed slowly, agonizingly slowly, piercing all the way through her calf. Val screamed as white, hot searing pain flashed through her. It hummed as it worked, as it sawed away at flesh, and pulled James’s head closer to its side with its free hand, as though it was nothing more than a basketball.

“My sweet Val, the sweetest Valentine, oh my sweet, sweet girl,” it said. Valerie sobbed. It pulled a chunk of muscle from her calf, ripping it free from tenacious tendons. It was balanced on the tip of its nail, deep red and bleeding down its arm. Val stared through swimming spots in her vision. Her muscle glistened under the moonlight. It grinned. “I’ll sew you up.”

It pulled fishing line and a hook from its cloak. She gritted her teeth as her cheeks grew more wet. She could feel her mascara, sticky and running down her face. In, and out. In… and out. Val bit her tongue. She bit her cheek. She clenched her fists. She focused on the rocks poking her. It laughed.

“All done!” it said. “Stand up.”

The stitches were uneven. Her skin, red and irritated, was puffed. It looked like a series of small, red balloons as the blood dried. She used her left leg to stand. She kept the tips of her right toes on the ground, avoiding putting pressure on that aching, sore, throbbing calf.

“Put your clothes on.”

Val sniffled, wiping her hands across her ass to get the rocks out of her cheeks as she put her jeans on. Her right leg turned to water as pain seared her vision once more.

“I—”

“Don’t speak,” it said. It threw James’s head at her as she finished buttoning her jeans. She caught it. Blood leaked out of his cervical spine. Her gut flip-flopped. It approached her, cloak waving in the dark. “Go back to work. You know what to do.”

She nodded, tears running down her cheeks. She sniffled as she clutched her ex’s head close to her body. It was warm against the cold night.

“What about—”

“I’ll give you the heart. Give me ten minutes, okay sweetie?”

Val nodded. She limped towards Basil’s Pizza, face splotchy.

“Oh, and Val?” it said. Its red eyes flashed as it threw the bloody chunk of her calf at her. It was slippery in her hand. “Remember, you are my favorite secret ingredient.”

When the menus were distributed the next day, customers were delighted to find a new Valentine’s Day special, and Val, watching from her spot behind the counter folding napkins, glowed as they ate the heart-shaped pizza.

__ __ __

What better way to celebrate Valentine’s Day than by decapitating an ex and serving him on pizza?

If you like horror, I’ve recently reviewed Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica. It also dabbles in cannibalism.

Happy Valentine’s Day!