Episode 18

The kitchen at Saint Mark’s was a world unto itself, a bustling, clattering universe of steam, sizzling, and the perpetually hurried rhythm of meal prep. I’d been there for a few months, first as assistant chef, then promoted to head cashier, a role that put me in a unique position to observe the comings and goings of both staff and, as I was coming to learn, something else entirely. It started subtly, with the food trays. We’d meticulously count them after each meal service, stack them neatly in the designated area, and yet, by morning, a few would invariably be missing. Not just one or two, but a consistent handful, enough to make you question your sanity. We’d search high and low, check every nook and cranny, but they’d simply vanished. Then, just as mysteriously, they’d reappear a day or two later, clean and stacked as if they’d never left. The chefs grumbled, the dietary aides fretted, and I, behind the register, would just feel that familiar prickle of unease crawl up my spine.

But the missing trays were just the appetizer. The main course of strangeness arrived with the meal cart. This wasn't just any cart; it was a hulking, stainless-steel behemoth, loaded with trays of hot food, ready to be distributed to the wards. We’d fill it to capacity, push it into the holding bay, and lock it securely. Yet, on more than one occasion, I’d walk into the kitchen early, before the official morning shift began, and find the cart not just full, but *overstuffed*. It was as if it had somehow replenished itself. Trays that had been empty or partially depleted the night before were now brimming with steaming portions, exceeding its usual capacity. My assistant chef, a man named George with a perpetual grease stain on his apron and a healthy dose of skepticism, would just shake his head and mutter about faulty thermometers or overworked staff. But I saw it. I saw the improbable abundance, the impossible fullness of that cart. It was like a phantom chef had been working through the night, not just preparing meals, but somehow conjuring them from thin air, leaving behind an edible, yet utterly inexplicable, testament to their presence. And the missing trays? I started to suspect they weren't lost at all, but perhaps… borrowed. Taken by unseen hands for a spectral supper, only to be returned when their ghostly appetites were sated.