text: He hated the drive-thru. Every Wednesday after work, he would get into his hot and stuffy car and make the 15-minute drive from the office to the local McDonald's. Now, that's not to say he doesn't love McDonald's. Who doesn't? He was partial to a Big Mac or some Chicken Nuggets, but one thing he was not partial to was the drive-thru. No matter what time he left work, the drive-thru was packed. On this particular scorcher of a day, he took the cramped elevator down to the parking lot and got into his 2008 Ford Focus. It was a serviceable car, no bells or whistles, and at this stage, no real rhyme or reason as to how it still ran. It was hot as hell in the car, and he was starting to sweat through his office shirt. He tried the ignition. Once. Twice. And finally, a third time, and the car came to life. He glanced at his watch, almost 6 pm. The drive-thru line was going to be around the corner. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and started to call his wife. Every Wednesday was their night free of cooking, and Dad would bring home a McDonald's. A simple tradition, but one the kids loved even after all these years. I guess Happy Meals really do work he thought and rolled his eyes. "Hey hun," answered his wife with kids screaming in the background. She had an impressive ability to act so serenely when the kids were losing it. He did not have that gift. "So I'm just about to pull out of work now. The usual?" he replied. After 12 years of marriage the formalities of greeting your wife vanish. "Actually, Mikey would love a McFlurry. He's still on that kick of eating dessert before dinner. I need to get him out of that habit, but this can be one last treat." "A McFlurry? In this heat? How am I supposed to keep that from melting in this heat, Carla?" The heat always got to him. He could be having the most straightforward normal day, and the moment he started to overheat, so did his anger. She was used to it. "I don't know, but I'm sure you can figure it out, honey. Drive safe," she said and hung up the phone. It was always best not to argue back with him when he was like this. Just step away. A quiet life is a good life. He sighed and popped the phone back in its dash holder and pulled the aging Focus out of the asphalt parking lot and onto the main street. Traffic was surprisingly light for the time of day, and the cool breeze coming in the window was calming him down. Stopped at a red light, he switched on the radio. "Oh boy, it's a scorcher out there today. Temperatures could be hitting the high 30s, and that's probably going to continue all week. Make sure to find some shade, folks, and of course, avoid the McDonald's drive-thru," said the stereotypically upbeat DJ. The operator of the depleted Ford hardly noticed a word he said. He was busy staring off into the distance, lost in a daydream when the sounds of horns honking behind him brought him back to life. Glancing in his mirror, he gave a half-hearted apologetic wave to the car behind and continued through the intersection. Some other days it might have been a middle finger instead. He’d found himself day-dreaming quite often these days. Days that all seemed to roll into one. He turned the corner onto Sussex Street and could see the restaurant at the end of the road. Well, restaurant was a loose term, he thought to himself. More like an assembly line of synthetic and unidentifiable materials. Sussex Street was your classic North American strip built strictly for cars. Long gray stretches of concrete and asphalt lined on either side by the odd tree or bus stop. The town was an endless copy and paste of industrial business parks and car heavy streets. It was not the most scenic drive, and that heat was really beating down. He squinted in the hot sun and couldn't believe what he saw. There was no queue! How long had he been coming here? He couldn't remember, but he sure as hell remembered that he had never, not once, arrived after work to find the drive-thru completely free. Traffic seemed to have really died down in general. Even with sweat now starting to make its way down into the ass crack of his x-large trousers, he felt a small tinge of happiness. He pulled the car up beside the speaker that was in the shape of a large burger with Ronald McDonald standing directly behind it, with the menu on a board just to the right. It was clear the owner of this McDonald's prided themselves on it still looking the exact same way as it did when it first opened its doors in 1982. The Ronald statue was about 7 feet tall, and he was looking a little worse for wear. Most of the paint had started to come off, and some of his facial features were chipped. It was almost as if he was looking down on you as you were placing your order. "Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get you?" buzzed the voice from the burger speaker. They sounded strange, as if the voice was coming from far away or underground. "Hey, how are ya? So yeah, let me get eh... a Big Mac Meal with 2 Happy Meals, please," he was already looking down, fishing his wallet out when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly and could have sworn he saw Ronald's eyes dart back to their original position. No. No. It was the heat. Work had been stressful. Andrea had been all over him since that slip-up at the Fisher presentation. Life had just been a bit much lately. "Are you still there, sir?" asked the retro speaker. "Eh, yes, sorry. What did you say?" "What drinks with the meals, sir?" "Eh, Coke is fine... thank you," he answered while looking at Ronald again out of the corner of his eye. The statue's eyes were facing down, towards the speaker. He could feel sweat run down the side of his cheek. "Okay, sir, that'll be 7 dollars. You can drive to the next window." He watched the statue in his rearview mirror the entire time he rolled the Ford forward. Taking off his glasses to clean them, he saw how much sweat was on his hands. Why didn't the damn AC work on this hunk of junk? Looking into the payment window, he couldn't see anyone. It looked empty, which was incredibly strange for this time of day. Glancing in the mirror again, he still didn't see any cars in the queue. It was just him. After a couple of minutes, a shadow began to come to the window. Pulling the sliding hatch open with a snap, a middle-aged woman was holding out her hand and a receipt. "7 dollars, please, sir. Here's your receipt," she said while handing it to him. She took him by surprise. Her hair was permed so high that the McDonald's hat sitting on her head seemed to just be balancing there. She also seemed to be wearing some very intense pink eyeshadow and blusher. Long dangling earrings swayed from her ears as she took the cash and closed the hatch. Walking into the back of the restaurant it also looked like she was wearing leg warmers. "Odd... really odd," he said to himself as he put his wallet away. Glancing again in his mirror, it was still all quiet on the drive-thru front. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wiped the sweat from his brow again. I just need to get home and take it easy, he thought to himself. That's all it was. A moment later, the Flashdance inspired McDonald's employee was back with his food. She handed him a white bag that looked incredibly retro. He took the bag and placed it under the passenger dashboard. When he was a kid, his Dad would always turn on the foot warmers to keep the food warm; he had continued that tradition. Leaning out his window he glanced back at the Ronald statue again. It was lifeless, as it should be he thought. He pulled back out of the drive through and turned right to again join Sussex Street and rejoin the inevitable traffic, except... there wasn't any? Looking around, the entire street was a ghost town. Sitting at a red light, he couldn't spot another car on the road or even people out walking. Not even a dog or bird in the sky. He rolled his window down fully as the combined heat of the high sun in the sky and the Ford's heater blowing was really starting to make him cook. Thank God there wasn't any ice cream in the bag. "OH SHIT," he said while simultaneously doing a U-turn in the street. Any other day, and that would be a dangerous maneuver. Why did he always forget this type of thing? Always with Karla too. Christ, if he had arrived back home without the goddamned McFlurry, there'd be a World War right inside his 3-bedroom semi-detached. He killed the heater as beads of sweat started to run down his face. Racing like a maniac he didn’t even notice that he was swearing and muttering to himself. He did however catch himself in the mirror shaking his head like the bobblehead on his dash. He let a long breath out. He turned back into the narrow drive-thru, and in front of him there was a car at last. He couldn't really explain it, but this comforted him somehow. Usually the sight of another car in the drive through would send him into a frenzy. However, the empty streets, the heat and that weird statue had started to make him feel...off. This car restored some sort of order to proceedings. The car in front was a large pink Chevy, a real retro classic. It must have dated back to the late '50s or early '60s. The windows weren't exactly tinted, but all he could see was the outline of a head in the driver's seat. He was never a big car enthusiast, but it was hard to argue that this wasn't a beautiful car. Massive but impressive. The driver ahead moved up to the next window, with the Chevy's exhaust coughing loudly. He didn't notice the black plume of smoke coming from the pink monstrosity as he was so transfixed with the McDonald's drive-thru speaker. "Evening, sir! How can we help you today?" said the voice coming from the window. He just sat there. Mouth open. Gone was the creepy Ronald McDonald statue and the burger to boot. In their place was a new window, before the cash window, and a human. He leaned out his window to get a better look and suddenly realized the entire building was different. It looked like something straight out of a 1960s TV advert about the American Dream. The person standing behind the window was looking at him puzzled, possibly because that's exactly how he was looking at her. She was wearing a red and white striped collared shirt with what looked like a triangular paper hat on top of her head. She was much younger than the girl from earlier but looked strangely familiar. "Everything okay, sir? You look like you've seen a ghost." "Sorry, I just... where's the Ronald statue and burger gone?" She looked like she was talking to someone still wearing a straitjacket. "Ronald? I don't think anyone works here called Ronald, sir. We do still have burgers, though. Can I get you something? Our Hamburger and Shake combo is only 50 cents." "No, you see, there used to be a burger... wait, sorry, 50 cents? For the whole meal?" "Eh, yes, sir, you can see right here." She tapped the menu beside the window. It did indeed say 50 cents. He read through it, confused. Starting at this menu he really started to feel he was losing his grip. He could have sworn the building looked different and there was no way they just replaced the statute in the time it took him to drive back. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes and rubbing the bride of his nose, he took a deep breath. He just needed to get home. "Sorry, it's the heat today. I'm not great with it. Can I just grab a McFlurry? I forgot to get it the first time around." She seemed perplexed and looked around her as if she was looking for someone to help her out. "Eh, I'm not sure what that is, sir. Is that a dessert? Maybe I could interest you in a Malt Shake or a Fudge Sundae?" "What do you mean you don't know what a McFlurry is? I've gotten them here a dozen times. Here, take this and just ring it all through, okay? I'm not in the mood for games today or these pranks you guys are pulling. It's this damn heat," he said while handing over his American Express. She took it and turned it over several times. Looking even more confused now, she gestured for him to wait a minute while she vanished deeper into the restaurant. Sighing, he again rubbed the bridge of his nose and wiped even more sweat out from his eyes. This day couldn't end soon enough. Glancing up and squinting in the sun, the driver of the Chevy was now looking back at him through their back window. He couldn't make out any details on their face, but they sure were staring. "What? What are you lookin at? Eyes front, pal!" he shouted out the window. He could feel the usual anger building now, just on the precipice. The driver slowly turned back around in their seat and started to exit the car. A McDonald's employee handed them their food through the window, but they merely brushed past them. He was tall with curly red hair and had a face that had severe acne damage. He was dressed almost like a vagrant from the past, a heavy brown overcoat, some brown slacks, and what looked like shoes that were much too big for him. He made his way down the drive-thru staring the entire time. Bending down toward the driver's open window of the Ford, he placed his hand on the inside of the door and stared at the driver. The driver leaned back as far as he could. "Alright, man, sorry for shouting at you. I've just had a hell of a day, alright? No offense," he said while holding his hands up in a defenseless manner. Looking down, he noticed the hand on the frame of the door had splotches of paint on it. The tall man continued to stare. "Oh, hello, sir. Would you mind getting back in your car?" said the McDonald's employee, returning to the payment window. He turned around to look at her slowly, said nothing, and bent back into the car. "18, The Grove, Crescent Drive," he said and walked back to his Chevy and got in. His breath reeked of stale cigarettes and greasy burgers. The Chevy took off around the corner and out of sight. "I'm so sorry about that, sir. People aren't allowed out of their cars in the driveway. Thank goodness he's left. I asked my manager, and he's never heard of a McFlurry either or what this is. Maybe you're at the wrong restaurant?" she said while handing him back his card. He took the card back slowly. He was frozen with shock. 18 The Grove, that was his address. He'd never seen that man before in his life. Putting the card back in his wallet, he noticed he was shaking. Christ. Had he driven to the house? Surely not. Reaching for the phone, he called Carla and waited for the dial tone. Nothing happened. He had no signal whatsoever. It made no sense. "Eh, I'm sorry, sir, but is there anything else I can get for you? You still need to pay for your order." Before she even finished the sentence, he was speeding out of the drive-thru. He needed to get home. A terrible feeling had started to grow in his stomach. Things just didn't seem right. Everything seemed different. Turning back onto Sussex, traffic was still nonexistent, but the road seemed narrower? He didn't have time to think about that now. Pressing his foot to the floor, he pushed the Ford as hard as it could go. There was just something about that tall man that made him worry for Carla and Mikey. He had the look of someone who had the ability to be violent. Who had been violent before. Speeding past his office building, he couldn't help but notice that it was half the size it usually was. What the hell was going on? He tried Carla again on the phone and once again, nothing but a dead signal. Even though everything was passing by in a blur, it was clear to see the street and buildings were all different. Everywhere he looked, he saw something that reminded him of his parents' time. Passing a billboard for Old Spice that looked like it was ripped straight from the '60s or bus shelters that looked suspiciously clean and well-kept. He wasn't sure what was going on; all he knew was that his family being in danger took priority. He finally turned onto Crescent Drive and saw the pink Chevy parked right outside his house. Well, where his house used to be. What was in its place was the original house they bought before fully remodeling it. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Come on, Carla, be safe, goddamn it," he shouted to himself while pulling the car up behind the Chevy. Running across the front lawn, he started to slow to a walk. The front door was slightly open. He tried looking in the front window, but the curtains were drawn, which was doubly strange seeing as they didn't have curtains. This didn't look or feel like his house. He considered calling 911 but checked his phone again, no service. He needed to go in. Looking through the slit of the open door, he could see into the kitchen. Standing face-to-face with the door now, he tried to peek through and see into the living room on the right, but the door was closed. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, and the sweat that had covered him nearly all day was starting to go cold. He could hear nothing but silence from inside the house. He pushed the door slowly open until he could see fully into the house. It felt empty. It also felt like a stranger's home. "Hello? Carla? Mikey, you there?" he spoke into what seemed like a dark void. Moving into the hallway, he noticed a strange smell hanging in the air. He recognized it almost instantly. That terrible mix of cigarettes and greasy food. He moved his way down the hall and stopped outside the open kitchen doorway. Leaning into the unfamiliar room, he saw nothing and heard nothing but the humming of the fridge. The back door was closed and looked locked. Turning behind him and trying to move as lightly as possible, he moved out of the kitchen and back towards the front door. He peered upstairs and could see nothing but darkness. The blinds must be shut in each of the rooms. Looking back towards the sitting room door, he decided to try there first. He wished he was anywhere else but here. He wished that Carla and Mikey were just sleeping on the couch when he opened this door. Turning the door handle slowly, he pushed the door open, and every creak of the hinges made him twinge. The room began to light up from the hallway, and it took a full five seconds for him to fully comprehend what he was looking at. The room looked nothing like the sitting room he watched TV in the night before. Red and yellow garish wallpaper was end to end, and the room was centered around an old high marble fireplace. A chunky TV was sitting in the corner by the window, and across from the fireplace was a floral-patterned couch. Between the couch and TV was a bright green-colored rug. On top of the rug were two very bloody and bludgeoned bodies. One, a woman with blonde curly hair that was now matted with blood and what looked like small pieces of brain and bone. Beside her, the still body of a young boy whose head was fully face down in the rug. His body was contorted in an unnatural way. Still holding the door handle and standing in the doorway, he wasn't entirely sure how he was still upright. The longer he looked down at the bodies, the less it made sense. The dress Carla was wearing was drenched in blood. He didn't recognize the dress and certainly didn't recognize the clothes Mike was wearing. It almost looked like a cowboy outfit? He wasn't sure if those were tears running down his face or beads of sweat. Glancing around the room, his gaze stopped on a small photo frame on the fireplace. It was a black and white photo of a family, a mother and father, and their son. Even from across the room, he could tell it wasn't his family, nor was it him in the picture. Somehow managing to unfreeze himself he walked across the room, making sure he walked around the things on the floor. He did his best not to look at them. The moment he saw their faces he knew it would be real and he did not want that to be the case. The top of the mantle was coated in dust and looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in years. The three people in the photo were all smiling, posing for a family portrait. There was a golden retriever sitting in front of them while they all stood on their front lawn. A perfect family. Holding the photo now up to his face he started to recognize the man in the photo. He seemed so incredibly familiar. The black and white photo was slightly distorted so making out the finer facial details was tricky. It was the tall man. The one he had followed to this wretched place. Looking around again at the room he almost expected him to jump out from behind the door. But this photo must be from the 50s or 60s? The tall man was no older than maybe 40 or 45 at a stretch. Placing the frame back on the mantle he now bent down beside the body of the woman. Slowly reaching his hand out to her shoulder he rolled her over so that her face was towards the ceiling. A wave of relief and joy passed through him. It wasn’t Carla, but the woman in the photo. He didn’t recognize her but glanced back at the photo to be sure. Doing the same to the boy beside her, he silently wept for a few seconds. Wiping the tears away he stood up and headed towards the door. The sudden noise of whispers from upstairs made him stop in his tracks. “Hello? If you’ve harmed my family you won’t get away with it. Just come down now and we can talk” he said as the last few syllables that came out of his mouth stammered. Waiting, he heard no response. The upstairs seemed to be in complete darkness. Flicking the switch beside him did nothing. He had to go up there. Looking back at the front door and the hall around him, he wasn’t sure where he was, or more importantly, when he was. But Carla and Mikey could be upstairs. He had no choice. Kicking off his shoes he started up the steps. Plush carpet was under his feet. He wasn’t even sure if he was moving slowly trying to be quiet, or was it out of fear. Each step seemed to creak more than the last and the silence was getting so intense it was buzzing loudly in his ears. His hand was slipping on the banister due to the sweat and he didn’t even notice how loudly he was breathing. More whispers froze him to the spot. They sounded like the whispers of a man laughing but he couldn’t be sure. The hairs on his neck told him to be afraid. Stopped now on the last step he stared hard into the darkness. All he could make out were the doors of the three bedrooms and bathroom. Three rooms on the left, one on the right. He went to speak but only a crackling whisper came out. His mouth was dry. Steeling himself he moved onto the landing. The whispering sounded like it was coming from the end of the hall. The air still smelled of stale grease and now he could get the faint odor of BO. The man must be close, he worried to himself. Closing his eyes tight he thought of Carla and Mikey. He hoped they were still alive. He hoped they weren’t also trapped in this nightmare. Whatever had happened at the drive through had caused time to recede or maybe for him to travel back. He wasn't sure which, all he was sure of was that things weren’t the way they were. Taking several deep breaths he opened his eyes while still gripping the banister tight. The shock of what he saw winded him. He couldn’t breathe and his legs started to betray him. He leaned against the wall of the landing, trying to grasp his breath and calm his out of control heart. He was home. It was the present day again and the landing looked the way it always did. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling more confused or more happy. He was just about to call out Carla and Mikeys name in a panic when he heard his own name called from the kitchen downstairs. “Honey? Are you ready to eat? Your fries are getting cold.” said a voice miraculously like Carlas. He almost didn’t believe it. Maybe it was a trap? Peering back over the banister of the landing and looking downstairs, everything looked normal again. He could even see Mikey’s shoes by the door. What on earth had happened in the last couple of hours? Did he dare to tell them? Wiping the sweat from his face and neck as best he could, he started to tuck his shirt back into his pants to make himself look presentable again. He’d go down and suss out the situation, he was worried that maybe he was losing his mind or perhaps, had lost it already.. He didn’t want to end up like his father in some looney bin with no one coming to visit him. He made his way downstairs. Turning the corner into the kitchen he could smell the McDonalds again. This time it put a smile on his face. He wanted nothing more now than to sit down with his family and share some food. His wife was doing some dishes at the sink while little Mikey had his head down in a coloring book. Ron stood in the doorway and waited for his family to turn around to recognize him, hoping that everything was back to normal. That he didn’t need to relive the last couple of hours all over again. His wife turned to face him and smiled the biggest smile he had ever seen. It caused the overlarged red lipstick that she was wearing to crack at the seams. Her beautiful white foundation however stayed as perfect as it always had been, except for two almost perfectly straight black lines coming down her face from her eyes. That always happened when she cried. He walked to her and kissed her on her perfect red little nose. “It’s good to be home honey. It’s good to see you guys.” he said while ruffling Mikey’s curly red hair. He sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. Mikey smiled back at him with his big red lips. Picking up his glass of water he took a big long drink. Washing away the heat of the day. Looking back down at the glass he chuckled to himself. He had left red lipstick on the glass yet again. Still laughing he turned to his right to see the McDonalds employee from earlier sitting in the chair beside him. He couldn’t hear her but her lips were moving slowly. The sudden and alarming sensation of falling made him sit up right so quickly his head struck the rear view mirror of his car. He was sitting in his car. The sun was beating through the window. “Sir, is there anything else I can get you?” asked the McDonalds employee for the third time. She was starting to become concerned. He looked at his surroundings and everything seemed normal. He must have drifted off while waiting for his food. He was completely drenched in sweat. “I’m so sorry, no thats all thank you.” “Great. You can go to the next window and collect your food. The kind gentlemen in the car in front of you paid for everything.” she said while nodding in the direction of the car parked ahead of him. A head poked out of the window of the pink Chevvy, wearing a full face of clown make-up and teeth so yellow they looked rotten. The tall man waved at him slowly from the car. He turned his head back to the McDonalds window to protest but before he uttered a single word someone grabbed him around the neck. Squeezing. He could feel their plastic like skin on his exposed neck. He was starting to pass out. Just before he did, he saw the Ronald statue in the reflection of the window jerk his neck one final time.