S2/E4 | The Diner

waitress says, don't trust his cooking. Before he came here he was a well renowned chef. People came from all over to eat his food. He had quite the following, a series of cookbooks, interviews with all the major papers, his own line of Pasta sauces. He was well on his way to being a very wealthy chef. What happened? Well, he moved into a very large house in a very fancy neighborhood. His neighbors loved him. He threw lavish parties,

large barbecues, elaborate brunches. You know. His Christmas parties were legendary, so I've heard, and come Halloween there was always a flood of costume children outside of his door. You See, he made his own confections, all kinds, but a toddry scandal at one of his restaurants called something of a fall from grace and he ended up having to shutter his doors. After that, it was a domino effect. His cookbooks quit selling, he lost his agent, he became a

pariah and with his good fortune went his mind. He became para, knowing that his neighbors were whispering behind his back. He quit throwing parties, no more brunches, barbecues. His house went dark, except for Halloween. For Halloween he decorated lavishly. The neighborhood children were overjoyed once more. They lined up to receive his famous candies, and one by one they grew violently ill. By midnight, dozens of children in the ER, their mouths shredded by the razor blade he'd placed in

the candy. When the authorities went to get him, he was gone, on the run the road. Let him here. Does everyone know this? They do. Why don't they arrest him? The chief loves his CORNED BEEF HASH H my guy said he is an excellent chef. Hello mother, hello, here's your coffee. WHO's your friend? Someone I picked up on the beach? You're not from around here. You have something on your mind. I can tell. I can always tell, and if I s laden, I know that. Look, it's okay.

Take a moment to glance over the menu first, then we'll talk. Pay No attention to us over there at the girl. He hates being here, we all do. But don't worry, the food is fine, not like those fancy dinner chains, but it's good, except for the desserts. Please don't order Pie. Okay, for the love of all that's good and holly, do not order the hi. Sorry, it's been a long shift. He really long shift. My aunt was a waitress once, started out in a little place

just like this one. She also made pies. For long everyone wanted them. Within a year she quit and opened her own shop. Orders came in from everywhere. Sooner pies were in stores and restaurants across the country. Yet she still lived in her little cottage. Sure, she fixed it up some, but she insisted on saving every dollar, even though she had a lot of money. She never married and had no kids. That bakery in those pies were her whole life anyway. Just don't order the Pie. Okay,

we'll touch you about pie. Now about your problem. Well, of course I know, honey. That secret of yours is juicier than dust as burgers. Well, most things are, but I digress. If you don't confess, you can't leave, not the diner but dire brook. Everyone else passes right through. No one stays here, not willingly, especially not after sunset. Oh sure, you might think you're just visiting some old time picture postcard New England fishing town, pretty if you

like gray skies and salty air. It's like a lot of places, small towns that draw you in with quaint shops that take you back to a quieter, less hurried time. And that's how it happens. Once the sun sets, fog rolls in from the woods, bringing all sorts of things with it. It's important that you tell us what you did before then I will be stuck here forever. Of course I tried to leave. I tried walking, driving, hitchhiking.

Nothing worked. I'd get close to the town limits in blackout, poof then I'd wake up in another area of direbrook. Some hearts are worth some others, and after a while I quit trying this place. It's not normal. There are lots of telephone lines, but they don't work, as you've noticed. There's no cell phone reception either, and no Internet. Mail never leaves the post office and nothing comes in. I've given notes to people passing through and the hopes I'll

be rescued, but nothing comes of it. I think people forget the moment they leave town. I don't know what happens to the notes, but I know you did something we all do. A couple sharing a peach coller in the booth by the window, the man eating Blueberry Pie at the counter who keeps glancing your way. heally eats blueberry and when he smiles, the stains on those teeth of his anyway, keeping quiet, eh. I did too, but she's saw right through me, same as I do you.

I stopped in for lunch, sat in that booth right over there, and I noticed her right away, though I can't say why. Maybe because her stormy gray hair and eyes matched the town's mood. Had just taken a sip of coffee when she slid onto the seat across from me, but maybe she was a grifter wanted me to pay her tab. There are plenty of her table, so I started to slide out of the booth when she said your aunt made the best pies. Then she leaned forward

and whispered. Go ahead, tell me what you did. I told myself she was crazy, kind of like what you're thinking right now, except you're a little scared too, honey. We're all hiding something that you I can see it on your face. I Hook in your eyes and I might as well be looking into a mirror. You're not going to talk, are you fine? Then maybe if I go first. My aunt and I went hiking. Whenever she wasn't working yourself to death, she'd picked certain things to

or salads or stews. She'd point out which mushrooms, leaves or berries were safety eat and others that I kill you whatever seemed like too much of a risk to me if I want to produce. I went to the store one night. I stopped by for dinner, but she didn't answer the door or the phone. I had a key and let myself in. I found her on the living room floor, unable to move. Her eyes bulged from her pale face and she gasped for air over and over. I dial line win one. Paramedics didn't arrive in time.

I was very cooperative. Told them she had a heart condition. I also told them she spent the morning foraging for delicacies to include in our dinner. Did you know that water him luck looks like something of Flora's uses. insteadly, though, they found pieces of it in the bowl of salade she had made. As our only family, I inherited everything. I sold it all, including the company that I bought a numerouscedes and headed east new start new life. I planned on doing all the living my aunt never did.

Then I stopped here. The woman with the gray hair said, confess or you'll spend your life in hell. Well, I thought the same as you. I'd worry about consequences after I died. Hindsight right. Okay, I've got to tell you something. I have this theory. I think hell has been on earth all this time, hiding in plain sight, and it'll pass through towns where you stopped to fill the gas tanker, pee or maybe grab something to eat. TIREBROOK is one

of those places. Look, I don't and everyone sure you can do what I did, do a little dine and dash without the dining part, but you're not just going to be able to leave here. First Time I tried and Mer say he's got a flat about a mile from here. Coincidence right under my breath. I admitted that. When I found my aunt, I sat on the floor for a while before calling there I confessed, sort of, not that I believed that woman, but muttering it couldn't hurt.

And I tried calling for a roadside assistance and myself wouldn't work. I told the truth, even if no one heard me, but I hadn't told all of it. So I made another roadside confession. I hid my aunt's cell phone. M They might ask why I'd hid her phone after we got back from hiking. I wouldn't have told you the truth. Not then I tried hitchhiking out of town. Next I thought I might make it when I saw the sign that read leaving dire rock, see you soon.

That's what I noticed. What lady on the sign? Nothing, no trees, no road, just a bank of thick fog. Like the other times, I blocked out and woke up alone in the woods. You don't want to know what's in the woods. I ran, just ran. My Aunt's last words echoed in my head, or had to come from the fog, I know. I broke down and told the truth. I picked water and lock leaves and mixed them with edible plants she put in her basket. She always had

salad for lunch the boys and wouldn't take long. But it wouldn't do if she called for help, so I hit her phone. The only way out of town was to confess. I screamed it to the heavens. Yes, I did it. I poisoned to my aunt. I killed her and fog lifted and I made it back to the road. But my confession had come too late. Sun had already said. Now I'm here for who knows how long years, the rest of my natural life, all of eternity, serving up hamburgers and shakes instead of lifting it up out of

Beach House. And the worst part, regulars come and ask for Pie her pies day in and day out. Hell is right here on earth. If you don't confess by dark, you'll be stuck in dire room too forever. So what'll it be? From the menu? Of course, while you're wait for your order, we'll talk. Don't be shy, confess. It's good for the soul. It's just the coffee for us. Thank you suit yourself, but you're missing out. This is a hell of a cook. He scorn me. Fashion is

famous around here, but thank you. No, all right, hon here's your check. Have a great day now, and just says confess. Well, she'll just have to settle for money, won't she? No, let's drink our coffee as we walk. It will warm your bones faster that way. Are we well to take the monks? They always make their way back. Come on, you too, take care now, father blessed. Everything returns to him. And Look, the wind off the water

has blown the morning fog away. The sunlight is so pale at this time of year, like it barely has the energy to shine. Shall we there's still so much to see and the doctor to visit. Yes, excellent, onward, upward. Yeah, tomorrow, on thirteen days of Halloween, the church, the net stay full of fish, of crowd and Scroop, not simply because they have passed on into the sea, but because of the offerings I leave to dry here, because of the

good work I am pledged to give. Every cycle, every new moon, I write our stories here on the stones, just as generations of pastors have before. We have smoothed these walls with whale fat and warm blood were clean with salt from the sea. My family tree has taken moves here beneath the foundation of this church. We've always been here, in the space between the people and the deep.

Thirteen days of Halloween. The Diner, starring Kathy Na, Jimmy, Bethany and and and Adrian Epley, written by Michelle Mudo with additional material by Nicholas Takowski. Sound Design and mixing by Josh Thine, engineering by violent Ferton, DUBWAY STUDIOS NEW YORK. Casting by Jessica Losa. Created by Matt Frederick and Alex Williams, with executive producer Aaron Manky. A production of I heart radio, grim and mild and BLUMHOUSE television.