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Speaker 1: I still remember the night Big Joe's smile finally slipped

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off his face, transforming into something sinister and unrecognizable. That

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was the night when the air in our quiet little

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town grew heavy, as if soaked in dread. I was

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working the night shift at Voodoo Donuts, the kind of

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place that smelt perpetually of sugar and spice. Yet that

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night the aroma was suffocated by a palpable tension. Joe

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was a regular, a man whose massive frame was only

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outmatched by his usual jovial disposition. Lately, though, he'd been different.

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More than once, I'd caught him muttering under his breath,

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eyes wide, and darting as if chasing invisible demons.

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Speaker 2: His obsession with the.

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Speaker 1: Texts ass Challenged, a monstrous donut eating contest designed for

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thrill seekers, had grown into a nightly ritual. He just

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kept talking about it whenever he came, asking if anyone

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had completed the challenge of eating half a pound donuts

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in less than eighty seconds. But that night he wasn't

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just there for donuts. He stormed in just past midnight.

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The door banged against the wall, startling us all as

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we were the last of staff and customers who were

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soon going to wrap things up. My heart thumped painfully

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against my chest as I watched him walk straight to

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the counter.

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Speaker 3: The nights, the night sir up, the feast of.

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Speaker 1: Feasts, he whispered, his voice of coarse whisper that sent

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shivers down my spine. The way he said it, it

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was as if he wasn't really talking to me, but

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to something behind me, something only he could see. I nodded,

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unsure of how to respond, and handed him the tray

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stacked with the gargantuan donuts. As the other patrons cautiously watched,

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Joe sat alone in his usual corner booth, the dim

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overhead light flickering slightly, as if shivering from his cold presence.

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Speaker 2: He didn't eat immediately.

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Speaker 1: Instead, he closed his eyes, mumbling words too soft to

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make out. Then, without warning, he began devouring the doughnuts

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with a frenzy I had never seen before. Each bite

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seemed to fuel an increasing agitation in him. Halfway through

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his grotesque display, he paused, his breaths ragged, his eyes

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snapped ope and locking into mine. They were bloodshot, the

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veins pulsating like they were alive.

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Speaker 2: He speaks to me, Sarah.

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Speaker 3: He tells me, I'm almost there to the divine glut gy.

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Speaker 1: His words slurred into a madman's laugh. I took a

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step back, my instincts screaming at me to call for help.

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Other customers began to murmur among themselves.

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Speaker 2: Eighty seconds are up, Joe, That's all I could say.

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Speaker 1: Suddenly Joe stood up, knocking the table over donuts tumbling

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to the floor. He began chanting loudly in a language

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I couldn't recognize, his voice growing louder and more fervent

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with each word.

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Speaker 2: I am the.

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Speaker 3: Vessel Whitner, the Coronation, the king of gluttony, who shall

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build his paradise upon the CRUMBSI leave behind.

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Speaker 1: In a flash, he grabbed one of the kitchen knives

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we used for cutting giant donuts. Pointing it, he turned

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to the room, his eyes wild. People screamed, scrambling towards

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the exit, but Joe was faster. He lunged towards the

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nearest customer, a young man who had been too slow

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to react. I watched, horrified as Joe dragged him back,

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pressing the knife to his throat.

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Speaker 2: It will becouble fist.

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Speaker 1: The young man tears streaming down his face began to

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eat the leftover donuts, which Joe picked from the floor

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and shoved into his mouth. Joe counted till a but

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since the man wasn't able to finish eating the leftovers,

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Joe cried, literally, tears rushing from his eyes as he

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wailed loudly while looking up in the sky before slashing

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the man's throat.

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Speaker 2: With the knife.

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Speaker 1: My mind raced, terror gripping me as I realized the

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nightmare Joe had succumb to. I needed to do something.

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It was then that I noticed the old fire extinguisher

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near the back door. I edged towards it, praying. Joe's

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focus remained on his dead hostage. My hands shook as

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I gripped the cold metal, the weight of it grounding

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me enough to muster the courage for what I needed

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to do next.

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Speaker 2: I had to wait for the right moment.

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Speaker 1: Joe's frenzied shounce filled the room, blending with the cries

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of the trapped patrons. Joe, oblivious to the people's terror,

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continued his demented sermon about the glories of excess. I

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in closer, the weight of the extinguisher grounding me despite

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the shaking of my hands. Joe's back was partially turned

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to me, his attention wholly consumed by his diluted ritual.

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Speaker 2: I knew I had only one shot at this.

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Speaker 1: If I missed, or if he turned too soon, I

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doubted he would hesitate to make me his next victim.

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Just as Joe raised the knife, signaling another terrifying command,

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I sprang forward with all the strength I could muster.

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I swung the heavy extinguisher. It connected with the side

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of his head with a sickening thuught, and for a

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moment time seemed to slow down. Joe's eyes widened and

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shock and pain. The knife clattering to the floors, he

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stumbled sideways. He then shook his head, a low growl

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emanating from his throat, and fixed his gaze on me.

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Speaker 2: There was a moment of sheer terror.

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Speaker 1: When I thought he would charge, but instead he staggered,

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clutching his head. The impact had disoriented him, but it

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hadn't been enough to knock him out.

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Speaker 3: You don't understand. I'm the chosen one. They talked to me,

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They tell me what to consume. Gluttony isn't a sin,

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here a throne.

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Speaker 2: I've called the police show it's over, but he.

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Speaker 1: Only laughed, a disturbing, hollow sound that echoed through the

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now silent shop. He began stumbling towards me, his steps

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uncertain but determined.

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Speaker 2: It's never over a fish, It never ends. Count the

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eighty seconds.

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Speaker 1: With that, he grabbed the doughnut from a nearby table

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and started hogging on it. I backed away, keeping the

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extinguisher ready, But just as he was about to complete

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the challenge, something happened. His breathing grew labored, his face

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increasingly pale.

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Speaker 2: Suddenly something stuck.

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Speaker 1: Joe clunched at his chest, his eye bulging with a

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mix of pain and fear. He took another step, then collapsed,

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his massive body hitting the ground with a force that

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shook the nearby tables. For a moment, I stood frozen,

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staring at his still form, the extinguisher slipping from my

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numb fingers. The room was silent, except for the soft

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sobs of relieved customers in the distant sound of approaching sirens.

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I knelt beside jaw, my hands trembling as I checked

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for a pulse.

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Speaker 2: There was none.

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Speaker 1: His eyes, once filled with a mad fervor, were now

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lifeless and empty. The police arrived minutes later, their questions

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blending into.

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Speaker 2: The cacophony of my shocked thoughts.

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Speaker 1: I explained what had happened, my voice distant and hollow

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in my own ears. They took statements, their expressions a

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mixture of sympathy and disbelief. Later, as I sat in

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the back of an ambulance, a blanket around my shoulders

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and a cup of coffee trembling in my hands, I

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couldn't shake the image of Joe's final moments. The madness,

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the obsession with a devilish feast. It had consumed him completely.

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The weight of the night's events pressed heavily on me.

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The town would recover, the diner would reopen, and life

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would go on, but the shadows of that night would

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linger in my mind, the horrifying lengths to which obsession

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could drive a man. As the first light of dawn

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crept through the windows, touching the chaos left behind, I

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realized the nightmare was over, but its echoes would still

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haunt me forever. The story you just saw is inspired

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from a true event. Voodoo Donuts's popular eighty second challenge

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was suddenly stopped in twenty seventeen when a man choked

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on his doughnut while attempting the challenge and sadly passed away.

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The drive to Voodoo Doughnuts that night felt like an adventure.

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My friend Amy was in town and we had a

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couple of beers before the hunger pangs gone to us.

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She had never been to Voodoo Donuts before, so we

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hopped into our car and drove.

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Speaker 2: It's your last night here, Amy, we should make it.

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They should be open.

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Speaker 1: Still, the streets were deserted. As we pulled up to

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the donut shop. The neon sign was off, but dim

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light flittered through the frosted windows, hinting, ye't someone still inside.

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Speaker 2: They're clothes, but maybe they have leftovers. Bitch, you better

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not be talking about a raid. I am God, you're

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so drunk. Come on, let's see.

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Speaker 1: As we approached the glass door, it swung open, revealing

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a figure dressed in the Voodoo Donut mascot costume, a

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cartoonish voodoo priest complete with a top hat and painted

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on bones. Ladies, what a delightful surprise, the mascot exclaimed

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in a muffled voice, the head piece distorting his features.

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Speaker 2: You're just in time for a special naked.

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Speaker 1: Something about his tones sent a shiver down my spine.

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But Amy, ever, the adventurous soul, laughed it off and

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pulled me inside.

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Speaker 2: Why not I like your hat, By the way, Oh,

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such a lovely curmploman from such a lovely lady. Here,

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free colas cumpliments from the house.

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Speaker 1: The mascot rushed to the counter and filled two glasses

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of cola from the tap. The drinks looked innocuous enough,

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but as I took a sip, a bitter undertaste caught

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me off guard. I chalked it up to my drunkenness,

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fueled by the eerie setting and the mascot's unsettling presence.

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We chatted about trivial things while the mascot tried flirting

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with Amy, our laughter echoing in the empty shop, but

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within minutes the room began to spin. I tried to

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grasp the counter for support, but my hands wouldn't cooperate.

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I managed my voice a mere whisper before darkness took over.

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When consciousness back, it brought with it the stark reality

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of our situation. Cold tile pressed against my cheek, and

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the air smelled sickly sweet, tinged with something metallic. My

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head throbbed as I tried to move, only to realize

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my wrists were bound tightly behind me. Panics set in

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as I turned to see Amy similarly restrained her eyes

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wide with fear.

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Speaker 3: Where are we well?

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Speaker 2: What is happening in the kitchen?

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Speaker 1: I murmured, my gaze, taking in the horrifying sight of

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butcher's knives gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The mascot was

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no longer a cartoonish figure, but a menacing shadow flirting

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between the ovens encounters. As he approached, he pulled off

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the mascot head, revealing a gaunt face with hollow cheeks

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and crazed eyes.

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Speaker 2: Welcome to the night shift.

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Speaker 1: I make special doughnuts after hours for my friends at

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the graveyard. They are always hungry, always ready to bite

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and taste something new. He hissed, a twisted smile playing

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on his lips as he prepared the batter, who in

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their right mind wouldn't After all, my secret ingredients are

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going to be so so sweet. His laugh was bone chilling,

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echoing off the stainless steel surfaces.

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Speaker 4: It's a special recipe, you see, I add a human touch,

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He started laughing, maniacally, holding up a grotesquely sharp cleaver.

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Speaker 1: Amy sobbed beside me, her body shaking. I felt cold

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in my throat as the reality of his words sank in.

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This wasn't just a robbery or a prank. It was

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something far more sinister. The psycho stepped closer, the cleaver,

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catching the light as he moved. Let's prepare the doughnut,

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he said, his voice eerily calm.

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Speaker 4: The trick is to not make a chunky. Don't worry, darlings,

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you'll be, he grated, till you're fine.

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Speaker 1: As he reached for Amy, something primal awakened within me,

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the need to protect, to survive. I wriggled, feeling the

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zip ties biting into my skin, drawing blood.

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Speaker 2: But I didn't care.

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Speaker 1: I had to do something, anything, to prevent this monster

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from fulfilling his ghastly intent. As the psycho advanced towards

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Amy with the cleaver, my heart pounded against my ribs

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like a frantic drum. The cold tiles beneath me felt

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slick with my own sweat As I struggled against the

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tight zip ties. Amy's whimpers filled the air, a heartbreaking

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sound that fueled my desperation.

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Speaker 3: Please don't do this.

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Speaker 1: Amy pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. The man paused,

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his head, tilting as if considering or plea, but his

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eyes remained cold and detached silence. He looked at his cleaver,

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but seemed dissatisfied, so he got up to bring a

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different blade. In that terrifying moment, my fingers brushed against

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something small and metallic on the floor, a drop screw,

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perhaps from one of the kitchen appliances. It was sharp, jagged,

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with every ounce of strength left in me. I maneuvered

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my hands to grasp it between my fingers. Don't worry,

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I'm not a monster. You won't feel anything. The psycho

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returned with a syringe filled with a clear liquid.

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Speaker 2: This was my moment.

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Speaker 1: With a fierce yank, I managed to cut through one

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of the zip ties using the screw. My wrists bled,

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but I was free. The psycho hadn't noticed yet. I

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leapt up my legs, weak but driven by adrenaline, I

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charged at the man.

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Speaker 2: He turned just as I.

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Speaker 1: Slammed into him, the impact sending us both crashing into

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a nearby prep table. The syringe flew from his grasp,

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skittering across the floor. He was quick to recover, stronger

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than he looked. His hands clawded my arms, trying to

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pin me down, but the fight had given me a wild,

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frenetic strength. I thrashed and kicked, kicking over trays and utensils.

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Speaker 2: The clamor was deafening.

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Speaker 3: Help somebody, help us.

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Speaker 2: Amy screamed.

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Speaker 1: The psycho growled, his expression twisting into one of pure fury.

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He lunged for the cleaver he had set aside, but

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in that split second, Amy put her legs in the way,

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making him fall face first into the floor. I grabbed

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a pot of boiling sugar glaze intended for the doughnuts,

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and swung it with all my might. The hot liquid

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splashed over him, scalding his skin. He screamed, a sound

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so harrowing it seemed to shake the very walls that

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the doughnuts shop. While he writhed in agony, I rushed

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to Amy, tearing at her bindings with a knife I

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had picked. As soon as she was freeing, we didn't

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pause to look back. We bolted towards the front door,

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stumbling over our own feet and our frantic escape.

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Speaker 2: The cool night air hit us like a wave as

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we burst.

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Speaker 1: Out of the shop, We ran without direction, fueled by terror,

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until we saw the distant lights of a police cruiser

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patrolling the area. Waving our arms, we screamed for help.

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Our voice is hoarse but determined. The police officers were

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quick to respond, their training kicking in. As soon as

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they took in our disheveled, injured appearances. We recounted everything,

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the words tumbling out in a chaotic rush. It took

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less than an hour for the police to get hold

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of the psycho, who ran into the woods. As we

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sat in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in blankets

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and sipping hot, sweet coffee that bore no resemblance to

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the nightmare we had just endured. Amy squeezed my hand

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and smiled. I shook my head slowly and smiled as well.

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The ordeal was over, but I knew the shadows of

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that night would linger a stark reminder of the fragility

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of safety and the depth of human depravity. But amid

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those shadows, there would also be a glimmer of something

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fierce and invincible, the enduring strength of friendship and the

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unyielding will to survive.