By Rayia Adams

It was a day like any other day, I was being a grump. Sure, I was a little snappy after a long hard day of elementary school, but who could blame me, I mean, social studies could be challenging. I was sitting there smoldering like a put out fire, tapping my tablet screen, over and over . But my mood quickly changed, when something out of the ordinary happened. 

“We’re going to Famous Dave’s for dinner!” my mom announced. 

“What’s Famous Dave’s?” I asked, continuing to play Swipe the Gold on my tablet. 

“A restaurant. They have ribs there.” My mood instantly changed. Who didn’t love ribs! Only idiots, I guess, and I wasn’t one of them. 

After taking too long to get ready, my family piled into the car. The car veered around turns as rain pounded against the window, and we all sprinted into the restaurant to avoid it.

“Table for five, please,” my mom asked, and we were lead into the depths of Famous Dave’s, past the kitchen teeming with the scent of baby back ribs. I could almost taste them. 

“I want ribs,” is all I said when I got to the table, before I started coloring my kids menu.

“What do you want to drink?” 

“Sprite,” I replied grumpily. I just wanted to color. 

“What do you want for your side?”

“I don’t know. What do they have?” 

“It’s right in front of you. You know how to read, don’t you?” My mom sounded exasperated. I looked at the menu. 

“Mashed potatoes.” I went back to my coloring. My stomach started to growl. I couldn’t wait for my ribs. 

Anytime a plate came out of the kitchen, my head snapped towards it, and the aroma filled my nose, but it took too long before mine came. 

But when it finally arrived, I was elated. I dug into the ribs with a ferocity rarely seen when I ate. But I realized my parents were staring at me, so I stopped, and that’s when I noticed the huge, pink, pig mascot standing in front of me. 

He was shaking his finger. At what, I didn’t know. He was looking in my direction. But then I realized.

I was covered in the remains of his brother, or sister, or his girlfriend! Whoever it was, they were smeared on my hands and face. And the pig mascot was mad. His finger was still shaking at me. And if stayed shaking until he finally stopped. I thought I was off the hook. But boy, was I wrong. 

He started walking away, or at least, I thought away, but he ended up stopping right behind me. His hands gripped my shoulders. 

“Vroshfb djfidb fjkfj,” he said, his voice muffled behind his mask. My parents looked at me expectantly. I didn’t know how they understood what he had said, I sure didn’t. They stared at me a moment longer, so I just muttered some nonsense under my breath. 

“Hmmmm.” The pigs fingernails dug into my shoulders, or at least it felt like they did. My breath caught in my chest. This pig was crazy. So crazy. I would never come to Famous Dave’s again. 

His hands twitched. I could tell he was imagining wrapping them around my neck and squeezing, until I died, just like his siblings had. But before he could, by some miracle, his grip released, and he walked away. He glanced back before he was fully out of sight, and he shook his finger once more. 

I had lost my appetite, and the dead pig sat like a stone in my stomach. I waited for everyone else to finish, and the ribs were packed into a styrofoam box. 

“That was good,” my dad said. 

“It sure was,” my mom replied. My siblings nodded, then started to argue about who had to sit in the middle, and I would have nodded, too, but I was still scared.

What if Famous Dave’s mascot saw me agree?

We all piled into the car once again, and as the headlights struck the window, I swore I could see the pig mascot standing there, staring at me with his dead eyes, plotting my death. And his finger was still shaking at me, and would continue to shake at me in my nightmares.