Ghost Waiter

Joe Kalicki

Well-Known Member
Nov 11, 2006
Awesome Town, USA
Reading Ghost Rider Essentials. Bored at work. Wrote this. My first fanfic. Please don't be mean.

Ghost Waiter
Chapter 1 (of 1)

Johnny Blaze poured the old man another cup of hot coffee.

“Thank you, young man,” said the Old Man.

“No problem, sir. Your Night Rider is coming right up.” Johnny walked to the back of the greasy restaurant to check on the old man’s meal. As he stepped into the kitchen he heard a yell from Mrs. Simpson, wife of the owner of the greasy spoon, former stunt cyclist Crash Simpson.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny asked, running up to her.

“It’s Crash! He’s put aluminum foil in the microwave again! Oh, Johnny - - he isn’t very bright, but I love him so!”

Johnny ran to the microwave where Crash was standing, waiting for his foil wrapped cheese dip to heat up. Johnny caught the timer out of the corner of his eye and he could see his time was running out to do something. He confronted Crash as he counted the seconds down in his head. Forty-seven. . . forty-six. . . forty-five. . .

“Crash! You need to move out of my way! Putting aluminum foil in a microwave is very dangerous. I need to shut it off or there could be disastrous consequences for the people standing directly in front of the microwave, namely you and me, and also probably for the electricity in this whole building!” Crash just stared dumbly at Johnny. After so many years of landing on his head after ridiculous death-defying motorcycle stunts Crash’s brain slightly resembled the eggs of the Old Man’s Night Rider. Sunny –side up, a little runny.

Realizing he was running out of time (thirty-three. . . thirty-two. . .), Johnny shoved Crash to the ground and dove after him. Mrs. Simpson, watching this whole spectacle, ran towards her husband and his savior, coincidently standing directly in front of the ticking time bomb that was the convenient time-saving kitchen appliance.

“Crash! O, Crash! Johnny, is my beloved husband okay?”

“Well, he is physically unharmed, if I’m not misunderstanding the gist of your question. But Mrs. Simpson, I need you to get away from that microwave, or at the very least please push the stop button.” The foil in the microwave was throwing off sparks as the time was dwindling away. Twenty-one. . . twenty. . . nineteen.

“I don’t know how to use this thing! Crash always melted the cheese while I was doing all of the rest of the work. Oh, how I quietly resented him for the life his crazy daredevil stunts forced upon us, before I came to realize that anything we did was fine so long as we did it together.”

“Mrs. Simpson, please! Just push the Stop button!”

“I’ll. . . I’ll try!” Mrs. Simpson jabbed frantically at the buttons but she really had no idea what she was doing and with all the buttons and so little time left to try them all. . . “Is this it? Time? No. Defrost?” Eight. . . seven. . . six. . . “I think I have it!” She announced, pressing the popcorn button just as the time ran out on the microwave.

“I did it!” Mrs. Simpson announced proudly as the microwave exploded, throwing jagged bits of shrapnel directly into the woman, puncturing her like a bicycle tire right when you really want to ride your bike for some reason after ignoring it in the shed for the last two years. Also, the power in the building went out for a few seconds, but came right back on after that.

“Mrs. Simpson! No!” Cried Johnny Blaze. He ran to the fallen woman and right before her death she made him promise not to work at the restaurant for some reason that she intelligibly choked out with her last breath but which sounded suspiciously like “You are solely to blame for this unfortunate occurrence that has befallen me and I want you to stay as far away from my family as is humanly possible from this point on.”

“I promise,” Johnny promised.

A couple of days later after the old bag was in the ground and Johnny was packing his bags to leave, the Simpson’s daughter and an old one night stand of Johnny’s, Roxanne, ran to Johnny and pleaded with him not to quit the restaurant.

“You just can’t leave. The restaurant needs you. I need you. I can’t find anybody to cover your Friday night shift on this late notice.”

“I’m sorry Rocky,” Johnny replied solemnly, like a man who made a secret vow. A vow to get hammered with his friends this Friday. “I promised your mom before she died that I wouldn’t work here anymore.”

“But Johnny, I need somebody to watch over my father while I do all the hard work. Ever since mom died he’s been trying to stuff his face with pickles!”

“That’s. . . unfortunate.”

“You don’t understand. He’s allergic to pickles! He’s trying to kill himself!”

“Rocky, I can’t.”

“Johnny Blaze! If my father dies I’m taking his burial costs out of your last paycheck!”

“Look, I’ll do what I can, okay?” Johnny said angrily, and stormed off.

Of course the only possible way he could think of to protect Crash while still getting blasted with his buds was to turn to Satan. He borrowed an old book of Satanic verses from the library, of which he was a member and occasionally donated canned goods to for orphans, and immediately got to work drawing a pentagram on his apartment floor in goat’s blood. Even though his landlord just warned him last week “Enough with the goat’s blood already, geez.”

Johnny chanted and before him appeared the great Satan, a kind of dark, horned guy some would describe as “pretty tall, I suppose.”

“What hast thou summoned me for?” Asked the Lord of ending sentences with prepositions.

“I need a favor. Will you cover my shift Friday so I could go to the bar with my friends?”

“Certainly. And in exchange all I require is your soul.”

“Oh, maaaan! Can’t I just switch with you?”

“I’m sorry, maybe if it wasn’t on such short notice.”


The deal made, Satan went back to Hell and Johnny fell asleep on the couch watching the Fox News Channel, just like anyone else would after selling their soul.

That Friday Johnny went out with his buddies and got totally wasted. He woke up Saturday morning in his apartment, after being responsibly driven there by a designated driver, with his cell phone ringing. He answered it to hear Roxanne Simpson screaming in his ear. Apparently her father had eaten a pickle and died the night before and Johnny needed to cover the restaurant while Roxanne made plans to lay her father to rest. Johnny hung up and walked over to his pentagram and called for Satan.

“Can I help you?” The Dark Lord asked.

“Why didn’t you stop Crash from eating that pickle, man? Not cool!”

“Oh, that was this Friday? I thought it was next Friday!”


“Well, I guess we can chalk this one up to a miscommunication. I’ll take your soul anyway, of course, since you probably misspoke causing the whole situation to go down the way it did.”

“Man!” Johnny pronounced before his head burst into flame. Just then his cell phone rang again and he answered it between screams of pure agony. It was Roxanne again.

“You better be there Johnny Blaze or so help me!”


“Did you forget our deal?” Satan interjected. “You work for me now.”

“Who is that?” Roxanne asked. “Let me talk to him.”

Johnny handed Satan the phone while his flesh was consumed by fire, his skin in ashes floating to the blood-stained carpet under his feet.

Satan and Roxanne discussed the situation, Roxanne stressing her dire need for Johnny to come in tonight. It was agreed that as long as Johnny worked for the restaurant he would be allowed to walk the Earth, but the moment he left Roxanne’s employ he would be doomed to serve Satan for all eternity. Fair enough.

Johnny dutifully showed up for work that afternoon, after his head had returned to its normal human form. He took orders and poured coffee all the while regretting his deal with Satan. Although it was pretty fun to see his boys on Friday. They didn’t get together nearly enough, he thought.

But when the sun set Johnny’s head instantly transformed into a blazing skull once again, right in the middle of taking an order (bacon cheeseburger, hold the lettuce, can I get mayonnaise on that? Which would be known for all time as the Dead Man’s Special Order). Every customer in the place screamed like a little girl and ran out of the restaurant as the sprinklers kicked on, soaking everything. It was about that time Roxanne walked in to check on Johnny.

“Oh my God! Johnny, you flame-brained nincompoop! Where do you get off setting off the sprinklers and scaring away all our customers? Especially all the poor Girl Scouts who stopped by for dinner after a hard day selling cookies door-to-door?”

“I’m sorry?”

“That isn’t going to cut it this time, mister! Johnny Blaze, you’re fired!”

And a doorway to hell burst open and Satan walked out. He bowed to Johnny and motioned toward the door. “After you, sir.”

“Yeah, I’m comin’.”

The End
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This is great. I didn't laugh out loud, but I knew it was funny. It had a Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy kind of humour, which I enjoy.

You're a good writer. You should write some more.
Thank you. I'd love to write more.

I'm looking for an "ongoing" fanfic with lots of characters, but so far I haven't quite found the right thing.
Thank you. I'd love to write more.

I'm looking for an "ongoing" fanfic with lots of characters, but so far I haven't quite found the right thing.

I think you could do a funny Defenders.

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