Ground Chuck
A man in a dirty brown coat walks into a butcher shop, with a large paper bag wrapped in his arms. Short in statue he waits quietly for his turn. There is only one other patron ahead of him, an old woman ordering two pounds of round steak. Upon her leaving, the butcher with a booming voice asks, "What can I do for you?"
The man timid standing beneath flickering fluorescent lights, steps forward and stutters, "I would like to return this meat." The butcher tall and girthy, stares the short man down with little amusement. The man struggles to look him in the eye. As he adjust his grip on the package he continues, "I got this only yesterday, but I'm afraid I just can't eat it."
"I've never seen you here before," the butcher exclaimed resting his beefy tattooed arms across the white laminated counter. "Well no, you wouldn't," explains the man, "there was an older gentleman. He had a thinning hairline and wore glasses."
"That would be the owner Chuck, he won't be in 'til seven. Anyhow all sales are final." "I don't think you understand, I didn't actually buy it..." "Then how did you get it?" "Well I don't think it's important. It's just that I don't think I can eat it now, and if I just leave it here I will be on my way."
The man proceeded to set the brown paper bag on the counter. A pool of blood gathers from the bag. The butcher growing increasingly aggravated notices a trail of blood leading all the way to the door. "Look pal, I can't have you dripping blood all over the place. I have to clean this up, before Chuck comes in and loses his head."
The man looking at the trail begins to stutter, as if deeply disturbed. "Get out of here," the butcher having enough yelled, "and take your meat with you!" The man promptly left, making a beeline for the door, but he did not take the package. The butcher sighed, then shook his head in disgust. He mopped up the mess, the man had left then contemplated the package.
He wandered over to it, then cautiously inspected its contents. There were several white packages tied with string. He opened a couple and saw nothing unusual. In fact, they were rather lean cuts. "Perhaps they can be grounded down into hamburger meat?" He pondered. He had planned on leaving the meat for his boss to decide, but he never showed. Growing bored he then made the decision himself and began unloading the packages into the grinder. He had grounded up several of the packages before finding one rather large package at the bottom.
Convinced that this had been the one leaking he reached in. He was perplexed by its odd shape as well as its solid mass. Setting on the counter he carefully untied the string. The color from the butcher's face depleted as his eyes widened with putrid terror. For what stared back at him with glazed eyes and blue lips, was the head of his employer, Chuck.