You trudged as silently as you could through the endless, twisting hallways that made up this strange, liminal place. Above you, old fluorescent lights made a muted hum, the half-silence somehow worse than utter quiet. Beneath the soles of your well-worn shoes lay more of the cheap, piss-yellow carpet that covered all of the floors, as well as some of the walls. Here at least, the walls were an off-brown, and though the color broke up the monotony a little, it was still horrendously ugly. Almost as unpleasant as the slightly wet, and sometimes sagging grey ceiling tiles that were only mostly intact.

You glance around and note that the mold that was growing in the ceiling had begun to crawl down the walls though it at least hadn't gotten far. This area seemed a bit worse off than the majority of the oddly clean office space was but now thankfully, you were alone. The memory of your recent run-in with the strange stick creature had left you unscarred, at least physically. The wailing cry it made still echoes in your ears whenever the quiet starts to get to you.

“Gonna need to find some more supplies soon,” you mutter to yourself.

It wasn't the first time you made such a note aloud and you had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. Something about saying it for all to hear made it feel more real, and the world a little more ordered. The thought of food buoyed your flagging mood, and you walked a little faster down the long, hallway.

After a bit of walking, you find yourself at a crossroads. Both right and left seem the same, with the only upside being that at least both sported none of the water damage of the last area. You weren't sure what it was about the black mold that grew in some sections but it made you uncomfortable, and you gave it a wide berth.

“Where’s a coin when you need one?” You murmured aloud.

After a moment to think about it you shrug, and take a step to the left. Only for a faint, familiar
aroma to stop you dead in your tracks.

“Is that… no it can't be,” you mutter. “It smells almost like McDonald's?”

You don't know if you’ve finally lost your mind and are hallucinating, but the mere possibility of real food, albeit processed and fatty, was too enticing to pass up.

You turn around immediately and begin to walk in the other direction. Then you start to jog, moving a little faster as the smell grows stronger and the allure of fried meat digs its hooks into you. Before you know it you are sprinting down the carpeted halls, taking turns at a breakneck pace, uncaring as to what may lay around the next bend.

“Please be real, please be real,” you repeat under your breath.

Finally, you bank around another sharp turn and find yourself in the strangest restaurant you’ve ever seen in your life. Given where you’ve found it though, it makes sense that any fast food joint would be as weird as the one before you.

Sit was only about the length of a school bus long, with leather-backed booths on either side, creating a narrow walkway between them. At the end, there were a number of bar stools that sat before a counter. Behind it was a normal-looking workstation, albeit one that was squished into a space smaller than it was designed to fit. Above it all hung a familiar red, white, and yellow sign that immediately made you recall the last time you had seen those golden arches.

“Wait, McDonald’s?” You whisper.

Stepping up to the counter, you notice that there is a door behind the counter, though it is only half the height of a normal one. This on its own isn't that strange a detail given your surroundings, but there is something off about it. The wood seems too high quality, the doorknob was a bit too shiny for the lifeless, liminal hell you’ve been wandering through for who knows how long.

You are considering hopping the counter when the small door opens, and in walks a creature of myth and legend. Not a monster, but something clearly not from your world.

“A horse?” You exclaim in confusion.

“Excuse you,” the creature retorts, hopping up onto the counter, and bracing its forehooves so it can look you in the eye. “But the great and powerful Trixie is no whorse!”

You are being cussed out by a strange blue unicorn wearing a star-covered wizard’s hat in the middle of an off-brand McDonald's deep in what you’ve come to call, the backrooms. For a moment you get the distinct impression that you stand at the very precipice of madness. Then it passes, and you look back at the now confused horse staring at you.

“Are you okay? You were really twitchy for a second there,” remarked the Great and Powerful Trixie.

“I just almost had a stroke,” you reply.

“Trixie does not think you should stroke in public but if you must. At least warn Trixie so that she may give you some privacy,” Trixie exclaimed.

“That's not… I assume you work here?” You ask.

“Indeed Trixie does,” the horse proclaimed with a grin. “It may not be the most glamorous of positions but Trixie is excited to own her own restaurant. Franchise though it may be.”

“I’ll have two big macs, a large fry, a large Coke, and a Jr. Chicken,” you announce, growing more excited by the second. “Oh, and I’ll pay for that all with debit.”

“We don't have that. We don't have that, we don't have that, we don't have that, and we don't accept debit,” Trixie retorted without missing a beat. “May Trixie recommend our Hula burger and a side of onion nuggets? Perhaps a tall glass of Mr. Pib?”

“I…” you struggle for a moment, only to sigh. “Of course, you don't have anything actually good. What did I expect in a place like this?”

“Trixie does not control the menu thank you very much and she would appreciate it if you did not badmouth her location,” Trixie exclaimed. “One of the creepy people who work in this strange office may hear you.”

“You’ve met other people here?” You whisper, leaning in close.

“Oh yeah. There was cord guy. The weird lady with a camera for a head and a whole bunch of people in big yellow suits,” Trixie answered. “Odd bunch, but at least the black cord guy tips well.”

“He… what? On second thought. Never mind,” you dismiss. “Just tell me what you do have.”

“Certainly, valued customer, ahem,” Trixie cleared her throat and stood a little taller. “We have the McLean Deluxe. The best-selling Hula Burger. McSpaghetti, onion nuggets, the Mcafrika, a selection of salad shakers, and finally the chopped beefsteak sandwich.”

“I am loathe to ask but what do you have to drink?” You prompt, already dreading the answer.

“We have crystal Pepsi, new Coke, faygo diet chocolate cream pie, the previously mentioned doctor Pib, though Trixie doubts the creator’s credentials if they made that beverage,” Trixie remarked, clearing her throat. “Mountain Dew Flaming Hot, and last but not least, Fresca.”

“All of those sound terrible,” you mutter.

“Trixie does not need to stand here and take your insults. If you are not going to order something then I will have to ask you to leave,” proclaims the irritated horse.

“No, I’ll order something just uh… give me a sec,” you hurriedly reply.

“I’m sorry but we do not carry the Mc Sec at this time.”

“That was- whatever I’ll take A Mc Afrika, two Chopped beefsteak sandwiches, and a large… Fresca,” you answer after a long, irritated pause.

“Excellent decision, valued customer. And how will you be paying for that?” inquired the sapient horse creature.

“Uh, cash?” You half ask half state, pulling out a roll of twenties you found during your travels.

“I’m afraid we don't accept that currency,” Trixie dismissed.

“Would you accept… a bunch of copper wire, some computer parts, and a broken radio?” You ask, dumping the contents of your backpack onto the counter.

“Ahh, you are interested in our salvage program. Yes, Trixie may accept this, thank you,” declared Trixie.

The horse then scooped up all of the junk you deposited on the table and dropped into something behind the counter. She then input your order into the antique-looking register, and with a clunk, produced a receipt which she handed to you.

“Trixie shall call your order when it's ready,” proclaimed the horse.

“Uh okay,” you mutter, accepting the receipt, and taking a seat at one of the stools.

The next few minutes are a haze, with your brain struggling to grapple with this fresh new batch of weird. You are barely even aware of time passing before all of a sudden the horse is yelling a number.

“Order Two Oh Three!” She calls.

“Oh uh, that's me,” you murmur, stumbling into a stand and accepting the offered brown bag. “I don't suppose you know a way out of here, eh?”

“Duh, the exit,” Trixie replied.

“I don't know where that is. Maybe you could give me some directions, or let me use that weird little door you have back there,” you press, glancing over her shoulder.

“Trixie is afraid that is for employees only and before you ask Trixie is not hiring,” dismissed the horse.

“That's not- I wasn't,” you sigh. “Could please just tell me how to get out of here? I’d give you-”

“Oh hello, mister Creepy Cord man. So nice to see you,” Trixie called, staring at something or someone behind you. “Let me guess, another half dozen Aloha burgers and a large Mountain Dew Flaming Hot?”

You sigh as you hear the familiar awkward footsteps of the creature that has been hunting you for the past three days.

Your last words are- “I didn't even get to drink my fresca.”

Author's Note

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