Unclaimed Pizza

I started my shift expecting a dead day; it was a Tuesday, and the college town where I worked was often fairly sleepy by 7 pm. After bullshitting with Jeffrey, my friendly-yet-vacant coworker, I retreated to the back office of the pizza parlor, packed full of old receipts and pizza boxes. I could see Jeffrey milling about the kitchen, preparing one of the few pizzas requested that evening. On the monitor showing the front of the restaurant, I saw our delivery driver preparing to leave for the customer’s house. It was nearly closing time when we finally got another call. Jeffrey grumbled about it being late, but answered. I noticed he looked mildly confused. Our delivery driver was still out, so Jeffrey told this to the customer on the other side of the phone and promised it wouldn’t be too long of a wait. “All good?” I asked after he hung up. “Yeah…” Jeffrey looked troubled, an unusual sight. Normally there wasn’t much that bothered him. He couldn’t remember his problems long enough for it to matter. “It was a weird call, that’s all.” “Weird in what way?” I asked. “Were they rude?” “Nah, that’s normal,” Jeffrey chuckled. “This was different.” “How?” He sighed. “I don’t know, man.” He turned away from me to begin the order. I shrugged. I supposed if he didn’t want to tell me, he didn’t have to. Once Jeffrey was almost done with the pizza, I decided I should help out. I was about to start compiling the other parts of the customer’s order (some sodas) when I realized we were out of the flavor they requested. “Ah shit,” I muttered. “Hey, Jeffrey, we’re out of that soda. Let me call them back.” Jeffrey huffed in response. I went to the phone on the wall and redialed the last number. To my confusion, the line was dead. “Hey, this number isn’t working,” I told Jeffrey. Jeffrey turned and frowned. “That’s weird. They just called.” “I know,” I said. “Oh well, let me see if I can find the number from the address they gave you.” Jeffrey motioned to the order he was referencing on the counter. “Feel free. I don’t care much if they don’t get their soda anyway. I think the address said Lake Street. Maybe that’s by the mill. Bad service?” I shrugged in response. I took the address to the backroom computer, and Googled it. To my surprise, the address didn’t bring up anything. Had they given us a fake address? Who orders a pizza to a fake address and cancels their phone number? Was it just a prank? Did Jeffrey write it down wrong? I was about to look further into it when I heard Jeffrey shout in the kitchen. “Dude, come here!” I ran to the kitchen to find Jeffrey staring at the freshly cooked pizza sitting on the counter. It looked normal. “What?” I said, mildly irritated. “Just look,” Jeffrey insisted. “I am, what am I supposed to be looking— Oh!” I recoiled. The molten cheese of the pizza was squirming, as if an eel was writhing directly underneath it. “Eugh! What is that?” “I don’t know, man,” Jeffrey said. He reached out his fingers, as if to touch it. “I don’t know about that,” I cautioned. Jeffrey poked it anyway. As soon as his finger touched the cheese, it reverted back to a normal, perfectly still pizza. We stood there for a moment in silence, unsure of what to do. After a bit, Jeffrey extended his middle finger and poked it again. This time, the cheese gave way, and his finger sunk into the pie, all the way to the first knuckle. Jeffrey hesitated, then pressed further, his finger sinking to the second knuckle. “What the hell?” I muttered. “Shouldn’t you be through the pizza by now?” I inspected the counter, confused. His finger should have touched the metal counter already. Jeffrey laughed nervously. “I don’t know man,” he said. I retreated to the back room to grab my cell phone, wondering if I should do something. When I glanced at the security camera monitors, I saw that they were both showing static rather than the usual images of the pizza parlor and the parking lot. I ran back to the kitchen to find Jeffrey elbow-deep in the mutant pizza, the cheese stretching around his arm like spandex. “This is incredible!” Jeffrey marveled. I didn’t know what to do. At least it didn’t seem dangerous. “C’mere,” Jeffrey said, motioning at me with his other arm. I shook my head, my feet firmly planted where I was. “Come on, try it! It feels so weird,” Jeffrey said. He took his hand out, shockingly completely devoid of sauce or cheese. I hesitated, then stepped forward. I slowly pushed my fingers into the cheese, tensing my body in anticipation of the burning cheese. Instead, the cheese felt soft. It gave way easily to my hand, stretching easily as if I had stuck my hand in a stocking. My whole hand was in the pizza now. It felt oddly pleasant. I could feel the sauce swirling around my fingers, but it wasn’t too hot. I pulled my hand out, surprised to find it clean just as Jeffrey’s had been. “What the fuck is going on?” I exclaimed. Jeffrey laughed. “I know, man! This is fucking nuts!” He moved to put his own hand back in, but I shook my head. “Aw, come on.” “I don’t think we should mess with it anymore,” I said. I went to the back of the store, hoping to find security camera evidence of the experience, but when I rewound the tape, I just found useless static. I put it back to the live feed, and saw Jeffrey about to stick his arm in again. Just before his fingers touched the cheese, the cameras hit static again. I went back to the kitchen, arms crossed. “Man, I told you not to,” I scolded. “I couldn’t help it, it feels so cool,” Jeffrey said. He swirled his arm around contentedly. “It’s really nice. Like a spa.” I chuckled, but at that moment, Jeffrey’s whole body jolted alarmingly. Jeffrey cried out, and tried to pull his arm back out, but he seemed to be glued to the pizza. Skeptically, I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t fuck with me man,” I said. “Dude, I’m not!” Jeffrey shrieked. “Help me!” “Maybe we can cut off the pizza around it?” I said hastily, scrambling around the kitchen for a pizza cutter or knife. Jeffrey began to sink faster. I rushed to his side to pull him out, yanking on his torso and shoulder, but to no avail. The pizza rose rapidly up to his shoulder. “Take a deep breath!” I shouted, though I doubted it would help. Jeffrey followed my advice just as the pizza swallowed his head. When the crust reached his other shoulder, I heard a sickening snap as the pizza collapsed his body like a foldable lawn chair. I heard a muffled scream from the pizza. Horrified, I tried to pull on Jeffrey’s waist, but it was no use. The pizza was too strong and too fast. I fell to the ground as the soles of Jeffrey’s sneakers were enveloped by the pizza. For a moment, I sat there on the sticky linoleum floor in disbelief and shock, panting. I rushed to the back room to check the cameras, but they had returned to normal and the static masked any evidence of what happened to Jeffrey. On the other monitor, I saw our delivery driver pull into the front parking space of the restaurant. I went back into the kitchen, still in shock. The pizza sat innocently on the counter, the golden melted cheese still appearing to be perfectly untouched.