Daniel Spoonfingers

​  Jake wasn’t a man accustomed to begging, but it was all he had left to do. 

​  “Please don’t do this. I’m pleading with you, Travis. Don’t do this to me.” 

​  There was a pause, followed by a heavy sigh, before the man on the other end of the call responded. 

​  “This isn’t me, Jake. It’s corporate. And their decision is final.”

​  “But why?” Jake whined.

​  “You’ve posted a loss five quarters in a row. Every other Soup or Swim location is raking in the profits, yet you can’t seem to even cover your payroll, much less those barrels of extra soup we’ve had to ship you.” 

​  Heat flushed Jake’s face, and he stood up, gripping the phone tighter. 

​  “I’ve explained that to you!” Jake yelled. “That freak of nature keeps sh-” 

​  “Enough with this Spoonfingers nonsense!” Travis shouted. “The lawyers warned you to stop singling this guy out. It’s a miracle he hasn’t sued us already. Frankly, most of us don’t even believe that he exists.” 

​  “Doesn’t exist?!” Jake roared. “I sent you security footage a hundred times. The guy’s a soup slurping menace!” 

​  “I’m not doing this with you, Jake. You’re finished at this company. Finish out the day, inform your staff, make your deposits, and leave the keys to the restaurant in the drop box.” 

​  Travis took a deep breath, and his tone softened as he continued. 

​  “Thank you for being a part of the Soup or Swim family. We hope that you have a souper tasty time as you pursue future endeavors and-” 

​  Jake slammed the receiver as hard as he could, hanging up the call. The phone cracked, and he growled and swept it off the desk. He sat in the office, steaming over the unfairness of it all. Just because he had the misfortune of having a bad customer, they were closing his location? After all the years of service, the profits he’d pulled in, this was how they repaid him? He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as rage overcame him. 

​  The tinkling of the bell on the front door pulled his attention, and for a long time he didn’t believe what he was seeing. Daniel Spoonfingers, in the flesh. The customer who had singlehandedly eaten away all of his profits. A focal point for all of his rage. 

​  Jake knelt and quickly punched in the code to the safe. He reached past the stacked cash and gripped the revolver behind it. Soup or Swim locations went viral a few years back for being easy smash-and-grab targets. Ever since, all managers were tasked with keeping a firearm on the premises. Daniel Spoonfingers wasn’t a thief in the traditional sense of the word, but he’d taken from Jake all the same. Now Jake was going to make him pay. 

​  The revolver felt heavy in his hand, and for a moment, Jake struggled to get the cylinder open. Finally, he found the release and pressed it forward, causing the cylinder to pop free. Confirming that the gun was already loaded, he closed it back, then stood. He didn’t bother to conceal the weapon as he stepped out of his office near the back of the restaurant. No thoughts of running away entered his mind. He would do what he needed to do, then await the consequences. Without his job, his life had no purpose anyway. Unemployment was a prison of sorts, too, so why not do something drastic and go to prison for real? Maybe they’d let him work the kitchens there and serve soup to his fellow inmates. 

​  Daniel Spoonfingers was already posted up at the soup buffet line. Just like always, the lanky man was half-crouched, legs apart and arms spread wide, giving him access to as many soup basins as possible. Instead of fingers, each of his hands had five wooden spoons as digits, and every last one of them was dipped into a soup. The man was an artist at eating liquids, filling each spoonfinger before depositing them with blistering speed into his waiting mouth. Then he’d plunge them back into the communal soups, an unhygienic attack that revolted other customers. The entire display was disgusting. It was inhuman. It was unacceptable. 

​  Jake stopped a few feet away. The only training the company had given him on the firearm was a three-question online quiz that they’d provided him with the answers to. A tremor ran through his arm as he raised the gun, and it occurred to him that he’d never hurt anyone in his entire life. But Daniel Spoonfingers had ruined his life. It was only right that he was punished. After all, who else could be blamed for Jake’s downfall? 

​  “Um, Daniel?” Jake said, shoving the revolver into his pocket. 

​  “Hmmmm, I’m quite certain you received the letter from my attorney,” Daniel Spoonfingers said. “I paid for the buffet like everyone else. I’m well within my rights to eat here.” 

​  Jake’s boot squeaked on the tile as he stepped closer. He put his hand on Daniel Spoonfingers’ shoulder. 

​  “How’d you like some more soup, Daniel?” 

​  The spoonfingered man’s eyebrows shot up. 

​  “More soup than this?” he asked, spoonfingers spreading wide and gesturing at the buffet of soup. 

​  “Lots more,” Jake said with a nod. “Follow me.” 

​  For the first time in a while, Jake smiled. This. This was the plan. Daniel Spoonfingers was a freak of nature, no doubt, but he wasn’t the enemy. As they went through the employee-only door and through the kitchen, Jake knew in his heart who the real enemy was. The corporate suits at Soup or Swim headquarters. And by the time he pulled open the heavy door to the walk-in refrigerator, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Revenge would be delicious. 

​  Daniel Spoonfingers pushed past him, pressing his spoonfingers to his cheeks. His eyes widened. 

​  “Is that-”

​  “Soup,” Jake interrupted. “Every barrel we’ve got.” 

​  He patted Daniel Spoonfingers on the back. 

​  “And it’s all yours.” 

​  It was all the permission Daniel Spoonfingers needed. He surged forward, deftly using his spoonfingers to pop the lid off the first barrel. The freakish man gave no indication that he minded or even noticed the chilled state of the soup. All ten spoonfingers dove below the surface, working in unison to transport the soup to his hungry gullet. He leaned close, cutting down the distance the spoonfingers had to travel before they could deliver their flavorful bounty. 

​  Watching as Daniel extended his arm and got to work on a second barrel, Jake leaned against the wall and nodded. This was right. He felt it in his chest. Justice at last, handed down to a faceless corporation that deserved nothing less. He could revel in it for hours, and that’s exactly what he did. Daniel Spoonfingers was a soup-eating machine, and three hours later, he was on to the eighth barrel of soup and showing no signs of slowing down. After spending this much time observing the man, a question occurred to Jake. 

​  “How’d you end up with spoonfingers?” 

​  For the first time since they entered the walk-in refrigerator, Daniel Spoonfingers stopped moving. Rivulets of soup ran down his chin and dripped onto the floor. A wicked smile spread across his thin lips, and as he turned his gaze upon Jake, it felt as if the temperature in the room plummeted. 

​  “I thought you’d never ask,” Daniel Spoonfingers said. 

​  Even before Daniel Spoonfingers moved, Jake was already trying to pull the gun from his pocket. But his frigid fingers were slow to respond, grasping clumsily at the revolver. Daniel leaped onto him, knocking him to the ground. The gun went clattering away. 

​  “Somebody hel-” 

​  Jake’s cry for help was cut short as Daniel Spoonfingers shoved all ten spoonfingers into his mouth. The freakish man drove them deep, bopping tonsils and threatening to cause Jake to vomit. 

​  And then Jake felt it. The change. The numbness in his fingers disappeared, replaced by something new. A warmth. He expected pain, but there was a strange comfort as the transformation gripped him. He held his hand up and watched as his fleshy digits were replaced by wooden spoons. It took only a few seconds, and when it was done, Daniel Spoonfingers stood and smiled down at him. 

​  After taking a long moment to marvel at his new spoonfingers, Jake felt a hunger deep inside himself. He looked up at Daniel Spoonfingers, like a newborn staring up at its father for the first time. 

​  “What do we do?” Jake Spoonfingers asked. 

​  Daniel smiled down at him. 

​  “We do as we were born to do,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing at the barrels of soup. “We feast, my child.”

​  And feast they did.