Julia was about to speak, about to suggest they hurry back to their car and hightail it out of here but Abe had opened the restaurant's door. She went inside and a moment later, Abe followed her. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the gloom inside as the walls had been painted dark gray with black-topped tables scattered about the room. From the ceiling hung two chandeliers. Ruby red glass globes scattered light over the room. Some interior designer's attempt at breaking away from the ubiquitous minimalism of most diners these days, Abe reckoned.
A man approached them from behind a bar that took up much of one side. Over recent years, Toledo had seen immigrants from much of the rest of the world, but Abe couldn't place this man's origins at all. He was shorter than average – about 5' 5" or so – and had the widest mouth Abe had ever seen and dark, glittering eyes set in jaundiced-looking skin. He wore a highly embroidered green robe as well as an orange turban. Two strange little humps – almost like horns – stuck up from the front of the turban.
"We have a reservation – Roseman," Abe said, nervous for some reason, although looking around he needn't have bothered. The place was nearly empty with only a handful of customers sprinkled about the room. Okay, it was a Tuesday – usually a quiet night – but somehow he didn't think Leng's would be around much longer. The man nodded, picked up two menus from the bar, escorted them to their table and seated them before handing over the leather-bound menus.
"Would you like something to drink?" the waiter asked. He had an accent, perfectly understandable, but precise and very foreign.
"I'll take a Southern Comfort, please," Julia said.
"Diet Coke for me."
"I'm sorry. We do not serve American drinks," the waiter said.
Abe saw the man had small, sharp teeth and an extremely long, red tongue, although that might have been a trick of the light.
"Whatever. Okay, whatever they have in Leng."
The man nodded again and glided away to the bar. Abe noticed he had unusually small feet.
"What an odd man," he whispered to Julia. However, he noticed that she wasn't listening. Instead, she was looking up at a large painting above them. It depicted a barren plain surrounded by distant saw-tooth mountains – even more desolate and windswept than the parking lot outside – on which stood a low stone building. A man – if it was a man – stood outside the building. Abe thought the scene looked evil somehow. That was probably because it was painted in sombre shades of black, gray and brown except for the man's yellow robe. It seemed a strange choice of picture for a restaurant, although it fitted the rest of the decor.
The waiter returned and placed two red glasses in front of them. He poured from a red bottle. "I will give you time to order," he told them.
"What is this drink?" Abe asked suspiciously.
"Wine from Dylath-Leen," their waiter said, showing them the bottle's label.
It was written in a strange foreign script that neither recognized. All the same, Abe shivered. He had studied law at Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts. Like all students there, he'd heard rumors about strange, forbidden tomes stored in vaults beneath the library. Although the authorities strenuously denied their very existence, those rumors never went away. One night, a friend, Rick, turned up at Abe's room clutching a photocopied sheet he claimed came from a book called Liber Ivonis. The bottle's script seemed similar to the writing of that half-forgotten memory.
When Abe spread out that crumpled sheet, he was amazed by the look of fear on his friend's face. To him, it was just a series of jumbled scribbles but looking closely there seemed to be some underlying meaning behind the text, something incomprehensible. The hooked script looked evil somehow as if dealing with malign forces.
"I shouldn't have come," Rick had said, folding up the paper and tucking it back in his pocket. "I wanted to show you that those rumors are true. Forget you ever saw it." With that, Rick had left and Abe heard his footsteps hurrying away. Abe thought it was just a silly prank – although Rick wasn't the type for jokes – and put it out of his mind. However, he had been plagued by nightmares that week, which he put down to the stress of his upcoming exams.
"One won't hurt you," Julia said, raising her glass. "You'll still be okay to drive."
They clinked glasses and swallowed. He didn't recognize the grape variety. It was sweet and heavy, like a Merlot, but there was a strange under taste. Not unpleasant but Abe wasn't impressed. That said he was no connoisseur. He shivered again as it went down.
"Cold?" whispered Julia, rubbing her bare arms to restore circulation.
Despite wearing a jacket, Abe nodded. The air-conditioning was turned up to the max. Looking at his beloved it was very obvious she wasn't wearing a bra as her nips stuck out prominently. Following his gaze, Julia flushed. "Looked your fill?"
Abe grinned but, acting the gentleman, he took off his jacket and handed it over.
The waiter returned, notepad in hand. "Ready to order, sir?"
Looking at the unfamiliar dishes, Abe selected Parg Beef with rice while Julia opted for black-bean Ultharian. With a nod, the waiter took away their menus.
"Wonder what Ultharian is?" Julia wondered.
"Should be good – whatever it is."
"And did you see his funny little turban? What's the point of those little points?"
"He's probably got horns under there," Abe joked. "Seriously, I guess it's some religious symbol."
Julia fingered her Star of David pendant. "Probably you're right. But I've never heard of anything like that before." She looked uneasy.
Trying to cheer her up, Abe said, "It's certainly different here but unless the food's really great, we won't come here again. Alright?"
They chatted about work, the possibility of getting away to Chicago and other things until a group of waiters appeared. The men were all similar, with wide mouths like horizontal slits and wearing strangely pointed turbans. With a bow, one placed a food warmer on the table, another topped up their glasses while another set down plates and then their food came.
Their waiter ladled food onto their plates then bowed. "Enjoy your meals," he said quietly before moving away.
"What do you think?" Abe asked after a few mouthfuls.
"Excellent – it's well cooked," Julia said chewing reflectively. "Interesting spices, I can taste cumin and coriander, I think, but I don't recognize the meat, although it's a bit like chicken."
"Same here. Mine doesn't taste quite like beef. Perhaps they have different cattle over there – you know like yak or water-buffalo or something. Not sure I'd have it again," Abe said, pushing a piece of meat around his plate with his fork.
"Shall we get a doggy-bag for Oreo?" Julia asked.
Abe shook his head. Oreo, like many cats, was a fussy eater. Neither spoke for a while as the cold and depressing atmosphere chilled conversation.
Leaning forwards, giving Abe a great view down her front, Julia whispered, "We're not stopping for dessert are we?"
Abe shook his head. "No, we'll pick up some Häagen-Dazs at the 7/11 on the way home." Lowering his voice, he said, "Chocolate chip cookie dough flavor and I'll lick it off your tits."
That made Julia flush again. She swatted his arm. "You know what I'll be licking my portion off. And it's not a plate."
"I'll get the bill." Taking out his MasterCard, he beckoned over the waiter. The little man glided over and Abe was struck by how small the man's shoes were – no bigger than a child's. With his wide mouth and horned turban, he was the most unusual guy he'd ever seen.
The man presented the bill – expensive but not unreasonably so and took the card to be swiped. Abe took two $5 bills out of his wallet for a tip.
"I think the cold's got to me," Abe said. "I need the rest room."
"Same here," said Julia. "You'd think they'd turn down the air-conditioning here. No wonder there's so few customers."
Pushing back their chairs, they stood and followed the sign for the rest rooms. It led them down a corridor lined with doors past the kitchens and, through a window, they saw a couple of chefs chopping up and dicing meat. Another was preparing a stir-fry. They looked like they were enjoying their work. From a CD player strange, unearthly music played. It sounded like an atonal mix of bagpipes, flutes and other instruments Abe didn't recognize. If there was a rhythm or beat, then it escaped their ears. Abe shivered, as the strange music combined with the cold air to chill his soul.
"I'll see you out here," Abe said, pushing open the door to the gents.
At least the rest rooms were clean and fresh. After drying his hands, Abe stepped out into the corridor. No sign of Julia. "Women," he muttered. "Why do they always take so long to have a pee?"
Moving down the corridor, he passed a room marked 'Office' and then past the kitchens. One of the chefs came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of diced meat. Like their waiters, he was a short man with a wide mouth and a turban with two humps at the front. However, he wore a bloodied white chef's jacket.
With what Abe guessed was an apology in a foreign language, the man brushed past him and carried the tray down the corridor towards the store. There was still no sign of Julia so, on a whim, Abe followed the chef down the corridor. He wanted to ask the man about their meals as neither recognized the food. Ultharian? Parg? It would be interesting to find out a little more about the unfamiliar cuisine. Nosey Rita was sure to ask tomorrow.
The chef pushed through a double door into the storeroom and cracked open a walk-in freezer. Although knowing this area would be off-limits to customers, following his impulse Abe followed the man through and up to the open freezer.
It took a moment for what he saw to register on his mind. No – this was impossible, yet there could be no room for doubt. As a lawyer, he was used to dealing with facts and compartmentalizing them. Even if he believed a client to be guilty, Abe still presented the best defense possible. Sometimes, he even got an acquittal in the teeth of overwhelming evidence. But there was no mistaking the evidence of his eyes.
Hanging from meat hooks on one side of the freezer was a row of cats, all frozen solid and stiff as boards. Yet that sight, gruesome as it was, wasn't what made him scream. No, far, far worse was what was hanging next to the cats. A frozen corpse of a man, suspended by the ankles, swung in slow circles, his body disturbed by the chef's entrance. In life, the man had been a plump black man. Now the corpse's eyes bulged as if his last sight in life had been one of utter horror.
Alerted by Abe's cries, the chef dropped the tray and it fell to the floor with a clatter, spilling cubes of meat everywhere. The chef shouted something in his own language and, picking up a cleaver from a shelf, advanced on Abe.
That broke his paralysis. Abe turned and ran back out into the corridor. Julia was standing there, looking about her. "What was that? Did you hear a scream?" she said. Noticing Abe's shock, she stepped forward. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"
Gripping her arm, Abe shouted, "Run – get out of here!"
"What?" Then Julia saw the chef with his raised cleaver. They turned and ran back down the corridor towards the main dining area. The other two chefs stepped out of the kitchen, blocking their way. Using his half-forgotten college football training, Abe shoulder charged them, dragging Julia behind him. He was larger and outweighed them and sent one man crashing back through the kitchen door while the other tumbled to the floor with a squawk.
The way ahead was clear.
"C'mon," Abe called back.
Then the ultimate horror stepped into the corridor from the office, blocking their way. Julia's shriek overtopped Abe's. They stopped running, desperate not to touch that abomination. The thing defied any logic – even through their horror they knew this monstrosity was not of this or any sane world.
The thing was man-sized but that was where the resemblance ended. It was a sort of upright, toad-like shape of a pallid pale-gray hue. Slime oozed from its warty skin. Although eyeless, a trembling mass of obscene, pinkish worm-like tentacles on the end of its rounded snout quivered and pointed in their direction; sensing, tasting the air. It raised one of its splayed fore-limbs and hopped towards them with a croaking grunt.
Wide-eyed with horror, Abe nearly threw up his dinner in disgust, but knew he couldn't. Not if he wanted to survive. Holding down his gorge, he turned away from that hideous abomination. Realization hit him that they were caught between this toad-like monster and the three chefs.
Abe simply stared. They were trapped. There was no way out.
