The Lunch Lady
Today’s Menu: Chicken Nuggets, Tater Tots, Celery Sticks, and Orange Jell-O
“What happened to the other lunch lady?” On the opposite side of the lunch counter, a dark-haired boy stared up at Ellen Sweeten through his glasses.
Ellen smiled. “I don’t know. Today is my first day.” This morning she’d pulled a black hairnet taut over her braids, tied on a new apron, and applied her trademark red lipstick.
Golden chicken nuggets and crisp tater tots warmed on the steam tables, the delicious aromas filling the cafeteria. The children crowded around, curious.
“Wow! Chicken nuggets? We never have chicken nuggets!” the boy shouted. Ellen spooned them into plastic trays, along with celery sticks and gelatin.
“What’s that orange stuff?” a girl with a ponytail interrupted.
“It’s Jell-O,” Ellen explained.
The children looked at each other, confused expressions on their faces.
“Don’t you ever have Jell-O for dessert?” asked Ellen.
Another boy shook his head. “We don’t ever have dessert at school.”
The girl nudged him. “That’s not true. Sometimes Ms. Kramp gives us stewed prunes.”
Ellen handed them their trays. “No prunes here, I promise.” It warmed her to see the excitement on their faces. She knew she was going to love Sunrise Elementary School.
Ellen had never worked in a cafeteria before. Principal Hopkins hired her on the spot after tasting the homemade banana bread she brought to the interview. Her new work space was intimidating: an oversized oven with double doors, shelves of pots and pans, and an industrial two-horsepower mixer on wheels which was almost as tall as she was. She wondered if it could be used to make cinnamon rolls.
When lunch was finished, Ellen wiped down the counters. Earl, the ginger-haired custodian, rolled up his sleeves and commenced scrubbing the plastic trays. Soon Principal Hopkins joined them.
“How was your first day, Ms. Sweeten?” The principal’s bald head bobbed as he spoke. “I heard marvelous things about your cooking.”
“The oven is a little temperamental — the tater tots almost burned. Other than that, fantastic.” Ellen grinned. “You have great kids.”
“I agree, and they’re happy to have you. They’re not used to having such good food. Our last lunch lady was…well…” he faltered. “She left a lot to be desired. Anyhow, if you need anything, you know where I am.” Principal Hopkins left the kitchen.
“She was terrible,” Earl said once the principal was out of earshot. “Kids would rather starve than eat the swill she cooked up. There was even a rumor she liked to spit in the food — you know, add a little bit of herself to every meal? But nobody could catch her.”
“Ugh.” Ellen untied her apron and hung it on a hook. “Did she get fired?”
“Fired? I wish. Me and the teachers never figured it out. Hopkins tried to get rid of her, but she must’ve been related to somebody important. And forget about her retiring — she swore she’d die before she retired.”
“Wait a minute. “ Ellen’s forehead creased in confusion. “If she didn’t get fired or retire, where is she?”
Earl shook his head. “Nobody knows. The last time we saw her was last week. It was after lunch, and she told me she’d wash the trays herself — rudely, as I recall. The next day, there was a stack of dirty trays in the sink and no lunch lady. The police couldn’t find her neither.”
Ellen shivered. “I hope nothing happened.”
“I doubt it.” Earl waved a soap-bubbled hand, dismissing the notion. “She probably moved away and didn’t tell anyone. Good riddance to that bad apple.”
Earl rinsed the last tray and went off to vacuum the classrooms, leaving Ellen alone. She covered the leftover celery sticks in plastic wrap and was about to put them away, when a loud knock startled her.
“Hello?” She looked around the room. The kitchen was empty.
Two heavy knocks sounded again, as if someone was hitting metal. The lights flickered.
“Earl?” Ellen called. “Mr. Hopkins?”
There was no answer.
Ellen tiptoed in the direction the noises had come from. Another knock boomed and she jumped. It seemed to be coming from the oven. She ran over and yanked the doors open, but it was bare.
Ellen stood still and listened, pulse racing. But the kitchen was quiet, and soon she feared she had imagined the sounds.
Today’s Menu: Crunchy Tacos, Shredded Lettuce, Diced Tomato, Salsa, Refried Beans, and Fresh Strawberries
Ellen blinked back tears as she lifted a pan of black smoking tacos out of the oven. She had set them inside a few minutes ago to warm. Fortunately, not all of the pans had burned, but she would have to remake them, and lunch was already five minutes late.
As she made a new batch, Principal Hopkins strode into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why isn’t lunch ready?”
“It’s the oven again.” Ellen tugged at the corner of her apron. “First it wouldn’t heat up and now it’s too hot.”
Principal Hopkins’ brow furrowed. “You should’ve started it earlier.”
“I turned it on an hour ago.” Ellen struggled to keep her voice steady. “It was making strange knocking noises yesterday — it may be broken.”
“Hmmm — I’ll have Earl fix it after lunch. Until then, please hurry.” Principal Hopkins walked back to the cafeteria.
The line of children extended out into the hallway. They cheered as she brought the hot tacos out to the serving counter. She pulled on her plastic gloves and went to work. After the final tray had been handed off, Ellen gazed out at the sea of children eating lunch and brimmed with contentment.
“Miss?” a voice said.
A little girl with black hair held out her tray. “There’s hair in my tacos.”
Ellen gasped. “Let me see.” Poking a gloved finger in the meat and lettuce, she found three long white hairs.
“Where did these come from?” Ellen muttered. Her own hair was black. Earl’s was orange. And Principal Hopkins didn’t have any hair. She threw away the hairy tacos and gave the girl two fresh ones.
A boy approached the counter. “There’s hair in my beans, Miss,” he said, holding up his tray. Several long white hairs floated in the refried beans. Five more children ran up with their trays.
Ellen looked out at the ocean of children again. Now they were poking at the tacos, concerned expressions on their faces. On the opposite side of the room, Principal Hopkins peered into a taco, his lips forming a thin white line. She quickly served the children fresh trays of food.
At the end of lunch, Principal Hopkins trudged over.
“Ms. Sweeten.” His voice was stern. “Several students had hair in their tacos. You must wear a hairnet. We cannot have hair in the food.”
“But Mr. Hopkins,” Ellen’s voice quivered. “I am wearing a hairnet. My hair is black. These were long and white. Who at this school has white hair?”
Principal Hopkins blinked. “Why that sounds like D — no, that’s impossible.” He smoothed his lapels and cleared his throat. “Please make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Ellen returned to the kitchen where Earl was peering into the oven.
He glanced at her downcast face. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m afraid I’m gonna get fired.” The tears she’d held back all day escaped and ran down her cheeks. “I really need this job. And I like it here.”
“I’ll help you.” Earl patted her shoulder. “I’ll fix the oven and we’ll clean this place, top to bottom. No telling what that horrible hag did in here.”
Her spirits lifted, Ellen filled a bucket with water and soap. She scrubbed the counters and walls, touching every surface. As she worked, she hummed and planned next week’s menu.
“I fixed it,” Earl announced. “But I need to tighten this bolt. Is there a wrench in your office?”
Ellen blinked. “Office?”
He gestured towards the far wall, at a door Ellen hadn’t noticed before. She wiped her hands on her apron and scurried to investigate.
The office was a closet and a shabby desk, with no photographs or personal effects. Ellen wondered if the lunch lady had used it. She slid the top drawer open and found two packages of denture cleaning tablets, toenail clippers, and paperclips. The next three drawers didn’t have much, other than two packages of knee-high support stockings and a hairnet. Ellen plucked a long white hair from the net and glared at it, a cold shiver tickling the spot between her shoulder blades. Although there was nothing unusual about stray hairs, these filled her with dread.
She wiggled the handle of the bottom drawer, but it was stuck shut. No, not stuck, she thought, spotting the keyhole — locked. Checking the drawers for a key, she remembered the toenail clippers. She dug out the attached nail file and shimmied it into the lock. She slowly rotated the file until the metal latch shifted down.
Ellen tugged open the drawer. Inside was a black book, its leather cover cracked from age. In the right corner, a spiky hand had written, “Property of Dolores Kramp” in silver ink. Ellen lifted the book out. On its pages were symbols and inscriptions from a language she’d never seen.
One page was bookmarked. Ellen studied the symbols, noting the one of the horned man. There was something familiar about it.
Suddenly there was a shout, followed by a cry.
“Earl?” Ellen dropped the book and sprinted into the kitchen. Earl’s legs kicked wildly from the mouth of the oven, the double doors trapping his body.
“Earl!” Ellen raced to the oven and pried at the doors, but they wouldn’t budge, as if held by a super-human force.
“Turn it off,” he shouted, struggling to break free. “It’s heating up!”
Ellen fumbled for the heating dial, but it was set to “off”. Overhead, the lights flickered. She spied the oven’s electrical cord and yanked the plug out of the wall. Blue sparks showered onto the floor and a foul smell of clogged drains wafted through the air.
She grabbed Earl by the back of his jeans and dragged him back. Ellen was strong, but she was only able to move Earl a few inches. “Push!”
“I can’t.” Earl’s voice was muffled inside the oven. “I think my shoulder’s dislocated.”
Leaning her weight back as she held Earl, Ellen kicked hard at the oven door. The oven hissed. She hauled him out with such force that they both collapsed on the floor.
They lay on the linoleum and gazed at each other. Tears pricked Ellen’s eyes: Earl’s hair was burned, his eyes dazed, his handsome freckled face soaked with sweat, and his shoulder slumped at an awkward angle.
“Earl, are you al — “
Suddenly the oven lurched forward. A menacing deep-throated laugh echoed out from the gaping doors.
“Let’s get out of here.” Ellen shoved Earl to his feet, and together they hobbled out the door.
Today’s Menu: Meatloaf, Mashed Potatoes, Brown Gravy, Corn and Cherry Cobbler
Ellen placed olive slices on the trays of meatloaf with shaking hands. This morning the oven was back in place. She tried to warn Principal Hopkins, but he’d only laughed.
“A haunted oven, Ms. Sweeten? Ridiculous! Ms. Kramp is probably playing a slot machine in Vegas, not possessing our oven.”
Earl was at home, nursing his shoulder. At the doctor’s office, he tried to make her promise she’d stay away from the oven.
“It’s evil — it sucked me in.” He shuddered. “We haven’t seen the last of it.”
Warily, Ellen loaded the trays of meatloaf and cherry cobbler into the oven, careful not to get too close. As she closed the doors, her eyes fell upon the oven’s brand insignia — a horned man, similar to the one she had seen in the black book.
She attached the mixing blade to the industrial stand mixer, and then dumped chopped boiled potatoes into the metal bowl. Keeping an eye on the oven, she lowered the blade into the bowl and flipped the switch. The blade tore through the potatoes in seconds as Ellen added milk and butter.
She transferred the mashed potatoes to a serving tray, then took the meatloaf and cobbler out of the oven. She inspected them and didn’t see a single white hair. Everything was ready to serve.
The line moved quickly and the children dove into their food with relish.
“Maybe today will be okay,” she murmured.
“Ewwww!” she heard someone scream. A boy ran up to the counter holding out his tray. “There’s a band-aid in my mashed potatoes.” Flesh-colored tape peeked out of the white potato mound.
“Gross!” someone else shouted a few seconds later. A girl stood and held up something long, brown, and dripping with cherry filling. “There’s a stocking in my cobbler!”
“Ms. Sweeten!” the boy with glasses yelled. He gripped a pink and white object. “There’s dentures in my meatloaf and — “ He began to gag.
The cafeteria erupted into chaos. Children screamed, retched and ran to the garbage can to throw away their trays. Cries of “there’s a finger!,” “there’s a toe!” and “there’s a wad of hair” echoed above the din.
“Everyone calm down!” Mr. Hopkins shouted.
But everyone ignored Mr. Hopkins.
“Ms. Sweeten,” he roared, waving a cherry-coated support stocking. “This is disgusting! You’re fired!”
A loud gurgling groan came from somewhere in the cafeteria, and the garbage can rattled and shook. The children whimpered and backed away.
Two glistening brown hands, made entirely out of meatloaf, extended out of the garbage and grasped the sides of the can. A meatloaf skull with long white hair plastered to the sides rose out of the can. Two green olive eyes stared out at the crowd, its mottled torso composed of mashed potato, cherry cobbler, corn, and meatloaf.
A little girl gasped. “It’s Ms. Kramp!”
A gaping hole opened where there should have been a mouth, and a set of dentures slid into place.
“Ahhh, how I’ve missed the sounds of gagging children,” the monster gurgled.
It slid one support-hose clad foot out of the trash can on to the floor with a wet squelching noise, then the other.
“Run, kids!” Ellen shouted, and the children bolted out the cafeteria doors.
“You thought you could get rid of me, didn’t you Hopkins?”
“N-n-o,” stammered Principal Hopkins, scrambling to cower behind Ellen.
“Twenty years of service, and this is how you repay me.” The monster lurched towards them. Ellen and Mr. Hopkins slowly backed into the kitchen.
“What are we going to do?” Mr. Hopkins cried.
“We need weapons.” Ellen freed two butcher knives from the magnetic knife strip and handed one to Mr. Hopkins.
The creature advanced, leering hungrily.
“Get back!” Ellen brandished the knife.
The meatloaf monster chuckled. “You’ll never stop me. Monday, I’ll come back as ham and beans. Tuesday, I’ll rise up from lasagna. Come Wednesday, I’ll resurrect out of tuna casserole.” It lunged at Principal Hopkins, grabbing him by the throat.
Ellen stabbed at it, her knife sinking in all the way. But the monster ignored her and continued throttling Hopkins. She stabbed again, this time in the monster’s temple. Ms. Kramp didn’t seem to notice.
Exasperated, Ellen flung the knife away and hunted around the kitchen. Mr. Hopkins clawed at Ms. Kramp’s meaty fist, his face red and his eyes bulging. Ellen spied the stand mixer.
She grasped the mixer and tilted the head back, causing the blade to rise. Then she flipped the switch and shoved the mixer into Ms. Kramp. The blade tunneled into the meatloaf, flinging meat all over the walls. Roaring, the monster released Principal Hopkins. Ellen angled the mixing blade lower and pushed again, demolishing the lower torso and part of an arm.
The head and shoulders toppled to the floor, and Ellen scooped up and dumped them into the mixing bowl. She lowered the mixing blade straight into the Ms. Kramp’s face and whirled it into oblivion.
When she had finished, Ellen turned the mixer off and wiped the sweat from her brow.
“You okay?” she asked Mr. Hopkins.
He rubbed his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You’re not fired anymore.”
“What’d you do to make Ms. Kramp so angry?” asked Ellen.
Mr. Hopkins looked sheepish. “I fired her. I caught her spitting in the food. I didn’t want to tell anyone because she’s the superintendent’s stepsister.”
He glanced nervously at the oven. “You think she’s still inside?”
“Definitely,” Ellen said. “She used the book to perform some sort of ritual.”
“You know, Ms. Sweeten…you’re right.” Principal Hopkins smoothed out his lapels. “We do need a new oven.”
When Ellen arrived the following morning, a red delivery truck was parked out front. Principal Hopkins waved her over. Purplish bruises dotted his neck, half-hidden beneath his collar.
“I have good news.” Principal Hopkins beamed. “I bought brand new appliances for the cafeteria. They’re delivering them right now.” As if on cue, two men exited the building, wheeling an empty dolly.
Ellen’s eyebrows shot up. “That is good news. But I thought we were just getting a new oven.”
“I called the company and they offered me an amazing deal,” Principal Hopkins said. “We’re going to have the best cafeteria kitchen in the whole state!”
The delivery man handed him an invoice. “That was the last one, sir.” His eyes briefly met Ellen’s.
There was something strange about those eyes, Ellen thought. They shone too brightly, darted too quickly — they were almost inhuman.
She watched the men climb into the truck cab. “Which company did you say they were from?”
“I didn’t,” said Principal Hopkins. “The company is called Inferno Ovens and Wholesale Appliances. They used to be Inferno Ovens when they sold us the first one. Guess they’ve expanded.”
As the red truck pulled away from the curb, Ellen noticed a symbol on truck’s side — a horned man. “Uhh…Principal Hopkins — “
Principal Hopkins grinned. “We’re going to be famous.”
