Sundae Bloody Sundae

I wrote this very short story about four years ago. It was inspired by my sister's insatiable appetite for McDonald's hot fudge sundaes. It was requested that I post it. Originally, it was posted on Livejournal. Remember Livejournal?

McDonalds brings unparalleled bliss to billions upon billions of satisfied customers. We’ve all read the signs that seem to verify these stats, Over 99 Billion Served. Never do we question this impossible claim. Sure, it most likely means that they count repeat customers, but what if that were not the case? There are fewer than seven billion humans on the planet, and many of those do not consume fast food of any kind. So who are these others? Where are these others? And most importantly, what do they really want?

On a warm Sunday afternoon Mary felt a strong urge to consume a hot fudge sundae from her favorite fast food joint, McDonalds. She grabbed her keys

, brushed her hair, and convinced her massively obese teenage brother to tag along. (It really didn’t take much convincing.) They hopped, well, she hopped, and he struggled into the minivan. Completely out of breath, Tim asked her the most important question of the day.

“Do you think…the…machine is…gonna work?”

“It damn well better be working, or there’s going to be a massacre.” She could not have known at this time that her statement would become prophetic.

They started on their journey with the best of intentions; simply two hungry, innocent siblings with a hankerin for some frosty deliciousness. Unbeknownst to them, and the rest of humanity, their craving would lead to a series of unprecedented events that would determine the fate of all peoples.

Mary pulled into the parking lot and asked her jovial brother if he wanted anything besides a sundae.

“Another sundae and a Big Mac stuffed with a fish sandwich.”

“A Big Mac stuffed with a fish sandwich. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and just get you one sundae.”

“Hello, welcome to McDonalds, would you like to try a value meal?” said the voice from the loudspeaker.

“No thank you. I’d like to have two hot fudge sundaes with nuts please.”

“Two nuts?”

“Yes please. And two sundaes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry our ice cream machine is broken.”

On a normal day this would have simply aggravated Mary, and she would have driven off without incident, but something was stirring inside of her that would not accept “no” for an answer.

“Can I ask why it is broken? It seems to break often,” she asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say. Would you like anything else?”

“No, but I do want to talk to your manager.”

“Oh boy, pull into the parking lot and come inside then.”

Mary parked the minivan and went inside with her brother close at hand. Nothing is more intimidating to a McDonald’s staff than an overweight teenager, and she planned to use him as leverage. The manager stood at the cash register completing an order for an elderly couple. They left him in a state of frustration after paying with nickels and dimes.

“Excuse me sir, are you the manager?” Mary asked.

“Yes I am Miss. Is there a problem?”

“I wanted to ask about the broken ice cream machine. Why is it so often broken?”
“I uhhhh, I don’t know why. It just breaks down from too much use once in a while,” he said nervously. Mary reached over the counter and grabbed his tie.

“I am so sick of this shit! Who are you? Who the hell are you? You’re no one!”

“Ma’am please.”

“Ma’am? What is this garbage?”

“Mary, settle down,” Tim pleaded.

“No, I will not settle down!” She pulled out a pistol and pushed it to the manager’s forehead.

“Oh my God she has a gun!” One of the pimpled face employees cried.

“Who wants to add Ed here to the menu? Who wants a side of Ed with a Big Mac stuffed with a fish sandwich? Now, let’s see just why this machine isn’t working.” Mary pushed Ed, the manager, toward the ice cream machine.

“I I I I I I ca ca ca ca can’t do this,” Ed said.

“What?!?” Mary shot Ed in the left knee. A female employee fainted. “Open it!”

Ed, writhing in agony, reluctantly inserted the key that would unlock the belly of the beast. As he slowly opened the door, Mary wiped the blood from her face. Then she beheld something terrible.

Inside the ice cream machine was a tiny goblin-like creature with yellow eyes. It screamed louder than a jumbo jet, and made a mad dash for Mary. Her reaction was to shoot, and shoot she did. The creature blew into a million pieces.

“No! You madwoman! Do you know what you’ve done?” Mary did not reply, for she was still working out the recent unexplainable events in her head.

“What was that thing?” Tim asked.

“That was a Barlmarg from the magic ice lands of Buttjig. His name was Crawkbar the Lenient,” Ed replied.

THE END?