Free Twisted Little Things and Other Stories by Amy Cross Page A

That part, anyway. Just look it up online. Vivian Carradine, her name was. A whole restaurant full of diners heard her suddenly start screaming as the bleach and poison burned through her stomach. That's a fact, that's not the part that's difficult to prove. It's what happened next that's a little more... open to interpretation. If you're that way inclined, anyway.”
    “What happened next?” she asked, even though she felt sure he was making the whole thing up.
    “The restaurant closed down, for starters,” he explained, as they continued to watch the table. “No-one wanted to eat here anymore, not after some woman had started spewing blood all over the place. That's when Annette and John bought the previous owners out, did it all up, changed the name and re-opened it as Croussiard's. I heard they got the place well cheap, on account of no-one else wanting to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Took 'em a while to make people forget what had happened, but eventually they turned the place into a success by going all high-end and fancy.” He sniffed. “It's all good now, so long as they remember not to ever let anyone sit at table nine. I mean, it's not like Annette's a superstitious woman, not by any means, but sometimes you just have to accept that you shouldn't go poking something into you don't understand. And you don't ever, ever seat anyone at table nine.”
    Lisa continued to watch the table for a moment, before turning to him. She wanted to laugh, to tell him she wasn't falling for his dumb story, but deep down she felt a niggling sense of doubt.
    “Have... things happened at that table?” she asked cautiously.
    “Like what?”
    “I don't know.” She paused, thinking back to Elizabeth's story about seeing a woman's reflection in the window. “You're the one who claims to know about it.”
    “Ghosts and bumps in the night?” he asked with a faint smile.
    “Has anything happened there or not?”
    He stared at her for a moment, before turning to look at the table again.
    “Sometimes people reckon they've seen things,” he explained. “Just little flashes. A brief reflection of a face in the window, a figure only seen out the corner of their eye. A nagging sense of a presence. Not me, I've never seen a damn thing, but...” He paused for a moment, still staring at the table in the far corner. “Maybe that's 'cause I've never been stupid enough to sit there.”
    “But other people have?”
    He smiled. “For dares. Bets. After work stuff, you know? When the restaurant's shut and everyone's tired, and the boss isn't around.”
    Lisa watched as another waitress stopped at table eight, replacing the cutlery as she prepared for a new booking. Behind the waitress, table nine stood in the shadows near the corner windows, seemingly unnoticed by all the diners.
    “Oi!” a loud voice shouted from the kitchen, causing Lisa to jump slightly. “Have you died out there or something, Clyde? Get back in here! These profiteroles won't make themselves!”
    “Chef's calling,” Clyde said with a grin, stepping back from the window. “Ignore everything I just told you, yeah? It's no big deal one way or the other. Just leave table nine alone and everything'll be fine and dandy. If you try to seat anyone there, though, Annette'll get well pissed. Trust me, it's more than your job's worth.” He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder as he turned to walk away. “See you around, maybe. We should grab a drink some time, get to know each other better. I've got millions of stories about this place.”
    Once she was alone again, Lisa remained at the little window, watching the crowded restaurant. She knew the story about table nine – at least the second half, about the ghost – was just a load of superstitious nonsense, but at the same time she couldn't help but feel a faint shiver as she watched waitresses slipping past the empty spot. As crazy as Clyde's claims had been, it was clear that the restaurant's staff gave table