Creepypasta

BURGRR ENTRIES

My appetite for meat is thoroughly dead, to say the least. I don't think I could ever trust it again, but I've noticed non-meat products are growing steadily rarer. Fruits and vegetables are sitting out longer between restocks. A lot of things are just getting phased out to make room for all the new items.

I shouldn't have to say this if you could already read and comprehend this far, but for the love of God, don't eat it. Don't taste it. Don't touch it. Try not to even smell it. The more people eat, the less they act like themselves. The funnier they talk. If you know something's up but you can't see what I'm seeing, I advise you stick to cereal. I haven't found anything fishy about any of the cereal yet.

I can't begin to postulate what's behind it all. Aliens? Terrorists? Illuminati reptiloids? I could believe damn near anything at this point.

Entry 2

The ads are everywhere. Flyers, neon signs, billboards, all of them written in some weird foreign language I can't find any match for, plastered with goofy artwork of bug-eyed hot dogs and steaks and less identifiable things. People stop and stare at them compulsively, pupils dilating while their clouded mind registers God only knows. A lot of people say the same exact thing, in the same exact tone and rhythm, every single time.

"Mmm-mm-mm-mm-mm! That sounds good enough to eat!"

I hear it a hundred times a day, when I risk going out anyway. Then they'll head straight to one of the impossible windows, the infected supermarkets, the rapidly multiplying vending machines or one of the green doors.

Those awful fucking green doors.

I don't know if they're actually new or I'm just newly capable of seeing them. The first one I noticed had "grown", for lack of a better word, on the back wall of our local Shop-Rite. An ugly, faded seafoam affair, smeared window shaped like their burger logo, chrome handle flecked with rust. Same as all the others I've seen since.

People were coming and going at a steady pace, but even when I staked it out for a good six hours, I never saw the same patron coming back out again. I guess that should have been a big warning sign, but I couldn't take it... I had to know.

It didn't lead into the store, of course. I knew it wouldn't. As soon as I stepped inside, I was assaulted by the sound of eating. Feasting. Wet, breathy chewing sounds drowning out everything else, tugging at my gag reflex. There were bars, tables and booths scattered in disorganized patterns around rows and rows of buffets. Many seats were occupied, but the bulk of the customers were eating on foot, wolfing shit down right out of the bars as they went along. I knew none of them could comprehend what they were really doing, where they really were.

The decor was almost, but not quite in the style of a retro fifties diner, maybe with a dash of Doctor Seuss. A lot of the furnishings looked chunky, soft and plastic, like they were designed for children, though I can't imagine any child with such depressing taste. Booths were lined with putrid, off-green cushions. Tables were a hideous yellow-tan with chipped, chrome trimmings. The floors were pale blue tile, like a public restroom, many pieces missing or disheveled. The walls were more of that tacky chrome interrupted by fake wood paneling, giving way to glass windows from about waist-height to the ceiling.

Yes, windows. Not visible from outside. I had stepped through a door in the middle of one plain, solid brick wall, but from inside, it was glass all around. They were so thick with grime that I could scarcely see through them, but I could tell it wasn't the correct view from behind the Shop-Rite. It looked more like some murky story-book vista, simple, blocky houses on rolling green hills. Despite the steady stream of people coming in through the door, I couldn't see a single sign of movement or life out there.