Speaker 1: I still remember the night Big Joe's smile finally slipped
off his face, transforming into something sinister and unrecognizable. That
was the night when the air in our quiet little
town grew heavy, as if soaked in dread. I was
working the night shift at Voodoo Donuts, the kind of
place that smelt perpetually of sugar and spice. Yet that
night the aroma was suffocated by a palpable tension. Joe
was a regular, a man whose massive frame was only
outmatched by his usual jovial disposition. Lately, though, he'd been different.
More than once, I'd caught him muttering under his breath,
eyes wide, and darting as if chasing invisible demons.
Speaker 2: His obsession with the.
Speaker 1: Texts ass Challenged, a monstrous donut eating contest designed for
thrill seekers, had grown into a nightly ritual. He just
kept talking about it whenever he came, asking if anyone
had completed the challenge of eating half a pound donuts
in less than eighty seconds. But that night he wasn't
just there for donuts. He stormed in just past midnight.
The door banged against the wall, startling us all as
we were the last of staff and customers who were
soon going to wrap things up. My heart thumped painfully
against my chest as I watched him walk straight to
the counter.
Speaker 3: The nights, the night sir up, the feast of.
Speaker 1: Feasts, he whispered, his voice of coarse whisper that sent
shivers down my spine. The way he said it, it
was as if he wasn't really talking to me, but
to something behind me, something only he could see. I nodded,
unsure of how to respond, and handed him the tray
stacked with the gargantuan donuts. As the other patrons cautiously watched,
Joe sat alone in his usual corner booth, the dim
overhead light flickering slightly, as if shivering from his cold presence.
Speaker 2: He didn't eat immediately.
Speaker 1: Instead, he closed his eyes, mumbling words too soft to
make out. Then, without warning, he began devouring the doughnuts
with a frenzy I had never seen before. Each bite
seemed to fuel an increasing agitation in him. Halfway through
his grotesque display, he paused, his breaths ragged, his eyes
snapped ope and locking into mine. They were bloodshot, the
veins pulsating like they were alive.
Speaker 2: He speaks to me, Sarah.
Speaker 3: He tells me, I'm almost there to the divine glut gy.
Speaker 1: His words slurred into a madman's laugh. I took a
step back, my instincts screaming at me to call for help.
Other customers began to murmur among themselves.
Speaker 2: Eighty seconds are up, Joe, That's all I could say.
Speaker 1: Suddenly Joe stood up, knocking the table over donuts tumbling
to the floor. He began chanting loudly in a language
I couldn't recognize, his voice growing louder and more fervent
with each word.
Speaker 2: I am the.
Speaker 3: Vessel Whitner, the Coronation, the king of gluttony, who shall
build his paradise upon the CRUMBSI leave behind.
Speaker 1: In a flash, he grabbed one of the kitchen knives
we used for cutting giant donuts. Pointing it, he turned
to the room, his eyes wild. People screamed, scrambling towards
the exit, but Joe was faster. He lunged towards the
nearest customer, a young man who had been too slow
to react. I watched, horrified as Joe dragged him back,
pressing the knife to his throat.
Speaker 2: It will becouble fist.
Speaker 1: The young man tears streaming down his face began to
eat the leftover donuts, which Joe picked from the floor
and shoved into his mouth. Joe counted till a but
since the man wasn't able to finish eating the leftovers,
Joe cried, literally, tears rushing from his eyes as he
wailed loudly while looking up in the sky before slashing
the man's throat.
Speaker 2: With the knife.
Speaker 1: My mind raced, terror gripping me as I realized the
nightmare Joe had succumb to. I needed to do something.
It was then that I noticed the old fire extinguisher
near the back door. I edged towards it, praying. Joe's
focus remained on his dead hostage. My hands shook as
I gripped the cold metal, the weight of it grounding
me enough to muster the courage for what I needed
to do next.
Speaker 2: I had to wait for the right moment.
Speaker 1: Joe's frenzied shounce filled the room, blending with the cries
of the trapped patrons. Joe, oblivious to the people's terror,
continued his demented sermon about the glories of excess. I
in closer, the weight of the extinguisher grounding me despite
the shaking of my hands. Joe's back was partially turned
to me, his attention wholly consumed by his diluted ritual.
Speaker 2: I knew I had only one shot at this.
Speaker 1: If I missed, or if he turned too soon, I
doubted he would hesitate to make me his next victim.
Just as Joe raised the knife, signaling another terrifying command,
I sprang forward with all the strength I could muster.
I swung the heavy extinguisher. It connected with the side
of his head with a sickening thuught, and for a
moment time seemed to slow down. Joe's eyes widened and
shock and pain. The knife clattering to the floors, he
stumbled sideways. He then shook his head, a low growl
emanating from his throat, and fixed his gaze on me.
Speaker 2: There was a moment of sheer terror.
Speaker 1: When I thought he would charge, but instead he staggered,
clutching his head. The impact had disoriented him, but it
hadn't been enough to knock him out.
Speaker 3: You don't understand. I'm the chosen one. They talked to me,
They tell me what to consume. Gluttony isn't a sin,
here a throne.
Speaker 2: I've called the police show it's over, but he.
Speaker 1: Only laughed, a disturbing, hollow sound that echoed through the
now silent shop. He began stumbling towards me, his steps
uncertain but determined.
Speaker 2: It's never over a fish, It never ends. Count the
eighty seconds.
Speaker 1: With that, he grabbed the doughnut from a nearby table
and started hogging on it. I backed away, keeping the
extinguisher ready, But just as he was about to complete
the challenge, something happened. His breathing grew labored, his face
increasingly pale.
Speaker 2: Suddenly something stuck.
Speaker 1: Joe clunched at his chest, his eye bulging with a
mix of pain and fear. He took another step, then collapsed,
his massive body hitting the ground with a force that
shook the nearby tables. For a moment, I stood frozen,
staring at his still form, the extinguisher slipping from my
numb fingers. The room was silent, except for the soft
sobs of relieved customers in the distant sound of approaching sirens.
I knelt beside jaw, my hands trembling as I checked
for a pulse.
Speaker 2: There was none.
Speaker 1: His eyes, once filled with a mad fervor, were now
lifeless and empty. The police arrived minutes later, their questions
blending into.
Speaker 2: The cacophony of my shocked thoughts.
Speaker 1: I explained what had happened, my voice distant and hollow
in my own ears. They took statements, their expressions a
mixture of sympathy and disbelief. Later, as I sat in
the back of an ambulance, a blanket around my shoulders
and a cup of coffee trembling in my hands, I
couldn't shake the image of Joe's final moments. The madness,
the obsession with a devilish feast. It had consumed him completely.
The weight of the night's events pressed heavily on me.
The town would recover, the diner would reopen, and life
would go on, but the shadows of that night would
linger in my mind, the horrifying lengths to which obsession
could drive a man. As the first light of dawn
crept through the windows, touching the chaos left behind, I
realized the nightmare was over, but its echoes would still
haunt me forever. The story you just saw is inspired
from a true event. Voodoo Donuts's popular eighty second challenge
was suddenly stopped in twenty seventeen when a man choked
on his doughnut while attempting the challenge and sadly passed away.
The drive to Voodoo Doughnuts that night felt like an adventure.
My friend Amy was in town and we had a
couple of beers before the hunger pangs gone to us.
She had never been to Voodoo Donuts before, so we
hopped into our car and drove.
Speaker 2: It's your last night here, Amy, we should make it.
They should be open.
Speaker 1: Still, the streets were deserted. As we pulled up to
the donut shop. The neon sign was off, but dim
light flittered through the frosted windows, hinting, ye't someone still inside.
Speaker 2: They're clothes, but maybe they have leftovers. Bitch, you better
not be talking about a raid. I am God, you're
so drunk. Come on, let's see.
Speaker 1: As we approached the glass door, it swung open, revealing
a figure dressed in the Voodoo Donut mascot costume, a
cartoonish voodoo priest complete with a top hat and painted
on bones. Ladies, what a delightful surprise, the mascot exclaimed
in a muffled voice, the head piece distorting his features.
Speaker 2: You're just in time for a special naked.
Speaker 1: Something about his tones sent a shiver down my spine.
But Amy, ever, the adventurous soul, laughed it off and
pulled me inside.
Speaker 2: Why not I like your hat, By the way, Oh,
such a lovely curmploman from such a lovely lady. Here,
free colas cumpliments from the house.
Speaker 1: The mascot rushed to the counter and filled two glasses
of cola from the tap. The drinks looked innocuous enough,
but as I took a sip, a bitter undertaste caught
me off guard. I chalked it up to my drunkenness,
fueled by the eerie setting and the mascot's unsettling presence.
We chatted about trivial things while the mascot tried flirting
with Amy, our laughter echoing in the empty shop, but
within minutes the room began to spin. I tried to
grasp the counter for support, but my hands wouldn't cooperate.
I managed my voice a mere whisper before darkness took over.
When consciousness back, it brought with it the stark reality
of our situation. Cold tile pressed against my cheek, and
the air smelled sickly sweet, tinged with something metallic. My
head throbbed as I tried to move, only to realize
my wrists were bound tightly behind me. Panics set in
as I turned to see Amy similarly restrained her eyes
wide with fear.
Speaker 3: Where are we well?
Speaker 2: What is happening in the kitchen?
Speaker 1: I murmured, my gaze, taking in the horrifying sight of
butcher's knives gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The mascot was
no longer a cartoonish figure, but a menacing shadow flirting
between the ovens encounters. As he approached, he pulled off
the mascot head, revealing a gaunt face with hollow cheeks
and crazed eyes.
Speaker 2: Welcome to the night shift.
Speaker 1: I make special doughnuts after hours for my friends at
the graveyard. They are always hungry, always ready to bite
and taste something new. He hissed, a twisted smile playing
on his lips as he prepared the batter, who in
their right mind wouldn't After all, my secret ingredients are
going to be so so sweet. His laugh was bone chilling,
echoing off the stainless steel surfaces.
Speaker 4: It's a special recipe, you see, I add a human touch,
He started laughing, maniacally, holding up a grotesquely sharp cleaver.
Speaker 1: Amy sobbed beside me, her body shaking. I felt cold
in my throat as the reality of his words sank in.
This wasn't just a robbery or a prank. It was
something far more sinister. The psycho stepped closer, the cleaver,
catching the light as he moved. Let's prepare the doughnut,
he said, his voice eerily calm.
Speaker 4: The trick is to not make a chunky. Don't worry, darlings,
you'll be, he grated, till you're fine.
Speaker 1: As he reached for Amy, something primal awakened within me,
the need to protect, to survive. I wriggled, feeling the
zip ties biting into my skin, drawing blood.
Speaker 2: But I didn't care.
Speaker 1: I had to do something, anything, to prevent this monster
from fulfilling his ghastly intent. As the psycho advanced towards
Amy with the cleaver, my heart pounded against my ribs
like a frantic drum. The cold tiles beneath me felt
slick with my own sweat As I struggled against the
tight zip ties. Amy's whimpers filled the air, a heartbreaking
sound that fueled my desperation.
Speaker 3: Please don't do this.
Speaker 1: Amy pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. The man paused,
his head, tilting as if considering or plea, but his
eyes remained cold and detached silence. He looked at his cleaver,
but seemed dissatisfied, so he got up to bring a
different blade. In that terrifying moment, my fingers brushed against
something small and metallic on the floor, a drop screw,
perhaps from one of the kitchen appliances. It was sharp, jagged,
with every ounce of strength left in me. I maneuvered
my hands to grasp it between my fingers. Don't worry,
I'm not a monster. You won't feel anything. The psycho
returned with a syringe filled with a clear liquid.
Speaker 2: This was my moment.
Speaker 1: With a fierce yank, I managed to cut through one
of the zip ties using the screw. My wrists bled,
but I was free. The psycho hadn't noticed yet. I
leapt up my legs, weak but driven by adrenaline, I
charged at the man.
Speaker 2: He turned just as I.
Speaker 1: Slammed into him, the impact sending us both crashing into
a nearby prep table. The syringe flew from his grasp,
skittering across the floor. He was quick to recover, stronger
than he looked. His hands clawded my arms, trying to
pin me down, but the fight had given me a wild,
frenetic strength. I thrashed and kicked, kicking over trays and utensils.
Speaker 2: The clamor was deafening.
Speaker 3: Help somebody, help us.
Speaker 2: Amy screamed.
Speaker 1: The psycho growled, his expression twisting into one of pure fury.
He lunged for the cleaver he had set aside, but
in that split second, Amy put her legs in the way,
making him fall face first into the floor. I grabbed
a pot of boiling sugar glaze intended for the doughnuts,
and swung it with all my might. The hot liquid
splashed over him, scalding his skin. He screamed, a sound
so harrowing it seemed to shake the very walls that
the doughnuts shop. While he writhed in agony, I rushed
to Amy, tearing at her bindings with a knife I
had picked. As soon as she was freeing, we didn't
pause to look back. We bolted towards the front door,
stumbling over our own feet and our frantic escape.
Speaker 2: The cool night air hit us like a wave as
we burst.
Speaker 1: Out of the shop, We ran without direction, fueled by terror,
until we saw the distant lights of a police cruiser
patrolling the area. Waving our arms, we screamed for help.
Our voice is hoarse but determined. The police officers were
quick to respond, their training kicking in. As soon as
they took in our disheveled, injured appearances. We recounted everything,
the words tumbling out in a chaotic rush. It took
less than an hour for the police to get hold
of the psycho, who ran into the woods. As we
sat in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in blankets
and sipping hot, sweet coffee that bore no resemblance to
the nightmare we had just endured. Amy squeezed my hand
and smiled. I shook my head slowly and smiled as well.
The ordeal was over, but I knew the shadows of
that night would linger a stark reminder of the fragility
of safety and the depth of human depravity. But amid
those shadows, there would also be a glimmer of something
fierce and invincible, the enduring strength of friendship and the
unyielding will to survive.