The Sauce

[milktoaste]

Sorry it took me so long, I've been completely stuck on my latest story. Here is the version of The Sauce I'm going to submit to my schools annual publication, it is a little bit shorter and well. . . . hopefully better written. :) enjoy

The Sauce
By Charles J Hannah
Jason peers out from behind the double doors through one of the round glass windows that lead into the diner. It was one of the busiest lunch rushes he had seen since his father bought the diner almost six years earlier. Large groups of teenagers piled into booths laughing and flirting, locals from nearby towns surround the Formica counter top with a satisfied stature as they wipe sticky sweet BBQ sauce from their grins. His father's secret sauce is a smash hit, the more people eat it the more they want it. Barbeque ribs, barbeque chicken, barbeque sauce in cups along with baskets of French fries, and everyone wanted more. Julie, their loyal waitress sneaks it home for her kids and men buy bottles of the sauce to take home with them as well. Jason knew word was spreading fast and soon everyone in town will have fallen for his father's BBQ sauce. Finally the bank has something to get their minds off of the over due loans, but neither he nor his father have to worry about that any more.

It has only been six weeks since his father returned home with the sauce. He had a large mason jar full of it, roughly a gallon or so in a duffel bag safely wrapped in many towels like some sacred ancient artifact. At first glance Jason didn't understand what his father was so excited about. It looks like any ordinary sauce, a slow pouring deep brownish red. But there is something strange about the sticky liquid in that jar, the way the flavor grows on a person is almost addicting. It makes you eat more. His father said he discovered the recipe quite by accident during his latest church group trip to South America but he refused to give Jason the secret ingredient. During the weeks that followed Jason often caught his father boiling large pots of the sauce, but not once could he find any of the ingredients.

"Trust me boy" his father would say to Jason, "it'll save the diner, and that's all you need to know."

"Please tell me you're not buying it from somewhere.

"Oh no" his father once chuckled, "This sauce is all me."

His father was bound to be the next Carlton County Fair winner for best BBQ sauce, and to place his blue ribbon next to all the ones he earned for his homemade pies. One smell of his new sauce basted over a juicy pile of smoked ribs would be enough to draw crowds for miles. People wouldn't resist its evolved perfection. Jason could only think of bank loans and marginal profits, willing to overlook his fathers' secrecy surrounding the new sauce in the wake of the diner's recent gains.

That all changed this morning however, when Jason found his father's body on the kitchen floor at home; another pot of sauce burning on the stove. No ingredients were laid out on the counter, just the pot of sauce and an old wooden spoon. Jason remembered his mothers passing, and how the nurse felt her neck for a pulse before closing her eyes for the last time. He carefully reached down with two fingers, but before he could touch the pale blue skin something suddenly moved inside his father's mouth.

A large hard worm slowly curled as it pushed open his father's odd dead smile. It was so thick it clearly blocked the air way as it excreted the familiar reddish brown sauce from the tip. It was the sauce; this parasite his father must have contracted during his trip was turning him into the sauce that they had been feeding the town. The same sauce he himself had been enjoying since his father brought it home six weeks ago.

Not knowing what else to do, Jason returned to the diner and now he turns away from the double doors, the crawling in his gut subsided enough for him to stop and think for a minute. There is more than one bottle of liquor in this kitchen and it sends the worm back into a fury. He grits his teeth and takes a second swig; a strangely familiar flavor seems to mix with the liquid, not completely unlike blood. He can remember his grandmother telling stories about how people were more likely to get worms from unwashed fruits and vegetables than from uncooked meat. If only she knew.

Jason takes a deep breath to gather himself before walking back out into his late fathers' diner. "How long can I keep this a secret?" he wonders "How long before the worm is done making a sauce out of me" He tries not to think about it anymore. "I wonder if people would like how I taste?" Jason is met with praise from his customers. All of them smiling with his fathers' sauce smeared across their faces, he graciously accepts compliments from each of them. As he does so he ignores the pain in his gut, and he ignores the burning and the itching and the crawling, he ignores the future which he knows is bleak for everyone in this small town, the small town that he and his father had called home for nearly six years now. He smiles and serves up a couple orders of fries to a pretty high school girl and her friends, extra sauce, secretly wishing his father never brought it home with him so many weeks ago. For now all he could do was enjoy the success which he had always dreamed of, and pray the worm would kill him before the town members realize the sauce they so love to eat may have already begun to make a sauce out of them.

[milktoaste]

I've edited like three times :), I fix something every time i read it.

[Doc Faustus]

You're doing better. This reads a lot more smoothly.

[milktoaste]

The Sauce
By Charles J Hannah

Jason peers out from behind the double doors through a round glass window that leads into the diner. He is awed by the busiest lunch rush this diner has seen in nearly six years, since his mother past away. Large groups of teenagers were piling into booths laughing and flirting while locals from nearby towns surround the Formica counter top with satisfied gestures, wiping sticky sweet BBQ sauce from their grins. His father’s new secret sauce was bringing their tired diner back to life; everyone who tastes it eagerly comes back for more. Barbeque ribs, barbeque chicken, barbeque sauce in cups along with baskets of French fries. The waitresses sneak it home for their kids; men buy bottles of the sauce to take home with them as well. Jason knows word is spreading fast and soon everyone in town will have fallen for his father’s sauce. Finally the bank will stop hounding him for over-due payments, payments that neither he nor his father will have to worry about anymore.

It was only six weeks ago when his father first returned home with the sauce. He had a large mason jar full of it, roughly a gallon or so in a duffel bag safely wrapped in many towels like some sacred ancient artifact. At first glance Jason didn’t understand what his father was so excited about. It looks like any ordinary sauce, a slow pouring deep brownish red. But there is something strange about the sluggish sticky liquid in that jar, about the way the flavor grows on a person. It makes you eat more. His father said he discovered the recipe quite by accident during his latest bible dispersing trip to South America but he refused to give Jason the secret recipe. During the weeks that followed Jason often caught him boiling large pots of the sauce, but not once could he find any of the ingredients.

“Trust me boy” his father said, “it’ll save the diner, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Please, just tell me you’re not buying it from somewhere.”

“Oh no” his father once chuckled, “This sauce is all me.”

His father was determined to be the Carlton County Fair winner for best BBQ sauce, and to place his blue ribbon next to the ones he’s earned for his homemade pies. One smell of his new sauce and its tangy sweet aroma basted over a juicy pile of smoked ribs would be enough to draw crowds for miles. No one can resist its evolved perfection. Jason’s mind was too concerned with bank loans and marginal profits, and so the diners’ recent gains made him more than willing to over look his father’s secrecy.

However, that all changed this morning, when Jason found his father’s body lying on the kitchen floor; another pot of sauce burning on the stove. No ingredients laid out on the counter, just the pot of sauce and an old wooden spoon. Jason remembered his mothers passing, and how the nurse felt her neck for a pulse before closing her eyes for the last time. He carefully reached down with his first two fingers, but before he could reach the pale blue skin something suddenly moved from inside his father’s mouth.

A large hard worm slowly curled as it pushed open his father’s odd smile. It was thick enough to clearly block the old man’s air way, a familiar reddish brown sauce spurting from the worms end. His father must have contracted it during his trip, and the worm had been turning him into the sauce they were feeding the town. The same sauce Jason himself had been enjoying since his father brought it home six weeks ago.

After hiding his fathers’ body, Jason returned to the diner. He knows it is too late for countless patrons as he turns away from the double doors. There is more than one bottle of liquor in this kitchen; the bourbon sends the worm into a fury, reassuring Jason that he is host to a parasite as well. He grits his teeth and takes a second swig. A strangely familiar flavor mixes with the liquid, not completely unlike blood and perhaps molasses and brown sugar too. He can remember his grandmother telling stories about how people were more likely to get worms from unwashed fruits and vegetables than from uncooked meat. If only she knew.

Jason takes a deep breath to gather himself before walking back out into his late fathers’ tiny diner. ‘Remember to smile, remember eye contact.’ He exhales ‘I wonder how long I have before the worm is done making a sauce out of me?’ He tries not to think about it anymore. ‘I wonder if they’ll like how I taste?’

Jason is met with praise from his customers. All of them smiling with sauce smeared across their faces, he graciously accepts compliments from each of them. As he does so he ignores the pain in his gut, and he ignores the burning and the itching and the crawling, he ignores the sound of 100 customers chewing and the future which he knows is bleak for everyone of them. He smiles and serves up a couple orders of fries to a pretty high school girl and her friends, extra sauce, secretly wishing his father never brought it home with him so many weeks ago. He shamefully places the girls’ money into the cash register, for now all he can do was enjoy the success which he had always dreamed of, and pray the worm would kill him before the town members realize the sauce they so love to eat may have already begun to make a sauce out of them.