Beth glanced down at her watch and sighed. It was nearly 11:00am; time for the spandex-clad bitch-brigade to arrive with their parade of ill-bred children and clutter her tiny café with their convoy of gigantic prams. She resented wasting another Saturday lunchtime on six gold diggers who spend two hours nursing their decaf soy lattes and gossip about reality television while ignoring their snot-nosed little brats as they run around the premises, screaming at the top of their lungs and scaring away potential customers who stop at her door.
High-pitched nasal voices announced the group’s arrival as they barged into the building and blocked the doorway with their prams. Beth had raised the issue of fire-safety concerns caused by blocking the café’s only exit on several occasions, only to be told that several of their husbands were lawyers who would happily drag her into court and sue her for discrimination. She silently cursed the well-intentioned writer who featured her café in their blog, “Undiscovered Eateries Of Sydney”. She genuinely didn’t need their help; her coffeehouse was only half a block from Hyde Park, and made a tidy profit from tourists and locals alike. Since their blog post a few of months ago Beth had noticed a sharp increase in the number of obnoxious socialite wannabes passing through her front door.
The moment they abandoned their prams they started dragging tables into the middle of the shop floor, making it difficult for anyone else to enter the café. Accepting the fact these obnoxious bitches would threaten her with legal action if she told them to return the tables to their original places, Beth predicted her coffee machine would develop a mechanical fault next Saturday, just before 11:00am. However, she felt confident she would be able to repair it in time for the lunch rush. The following Saturday she might have to close the doors a little before 11:00am to deal with a “family emergency”. The week after that she might have an unexpected influx of early morning customers who all ordered soy lattes, completely depleting her stock of soy milk before 11:00am. After several disappointing Saturday mornings Beth hoped these foul hags would decide to take their “business” elsewhere.
Sharp finger-snaps cut through the air, rousing Beth from her thoughts. A plastic-faced bottle-blonde glared pointedly at Beth as she impatiently snapped her fingers again. Beth gritted her teeth and forced a smile onto her face as she approached the table. The obnoxious blonde Harpy made an elaborate display of asking everyone in the group for their orders as the other hags continued unloading the children from their prams. Beth calmly exhaled as she wrote their orders on her notepad. This weekly ritual was unnecessary because the group’s order hadn’t changed in the three months since invading her café.
Beth confirmed their order then hurried over to the coffee machine to commence making their drinks. As the children chased each other around the shop floor shrieking and yelling Beth briefly fantasised about throwing the Harpy’s coffee in her face.
‘Just get this order out to the table; then you won’t have to deal with them again’ Beth thought as she delivered the drinks to the table.
“Will that be all?” Beth asked, genuinely hoping nobody wanted to add anything to their order.
“Yes thanks sweetie” the Harpy replied in a condescending tone, quickly adding a sneer that she reserved for anyone she saw as ‘beneath her’.
Knowing this was the last Saturday morning she’d have to tolerate their behaviour, Beth smiled then returned to the counter to clean the coffee machine. The women resumed their conversation. Their shrill voices and shrieks of fake laughter pierced Beth’s brain like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.
Beth quietly observed the women as she cleaned. She noticed there was a strictly enforced pecking order in the group. The Harpy lead the conversation; the remaining women participated with all the enthusiasm of teenage girls who feared being kicked out of the clique for not conforming. Their heavy make-up and gaudy jewellery marked them as having more money than style. Elegance and grace were not concepts these women understood.
A middle-aged couple stopped outside the café looking for somewhere to eat. After seeing the unsupervised children running amok, and the prams blocking the doorway they quickly re-joined the flow of pedestrians and disappeared into the crowd. Beth shook her head and frowned, annoyed by the loss of potential customers. She was determined this revolting group would never return to her café. A terrified scream from outside roused Beth from her thoughts. As she looked over at the front door a woman ran past her shop, dragging a small child by the arm. She was quickly followed by a young couple and an old man. Beth dropped her cleaning cloth on the counter then pushed her way through the prams blocking the door.
“Excuse me! How dare you touch my pram!” a red-haired gargoyle snapped at Beth as she exited the building.
Ignoring the woman, Beth looked for the source for the commotion. At the end of the block she could see a large crowd of people congregating at the intersection. At first glance it appeared the Zombie Horde Parade had started early, frightening a number of pedestrians. She stared for a few moments before realising the pedestrians weren’t just reacting to the parade, it looked like a brawl had broken out between a group of pedestrians and some of the parade’s participants. As she watched the melee intensify, she hoped the police would arrive quickly and arrest the instigators. Curiosity turned to fear when she saw a small group of spectators had broken away from the brawl and were sprinting towards her.
Not wanting anything to do with them, Beth retreated inside to close the doors. Panic washed over her as she realised the twin-doors were stuck, jammed open by prams and oversized handbags belonging to the group. Frantically, Beth started pushing items out of the way.
“Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing?”, the Harpy demanded as she slammed her cup down on the table.
“Those people that ran past a few moments ago were running from a brawl at the end of the block. Nearly a dozen people just broke away from the fight and they’re headed this way. I’m trying to close the doors to keep them out” Beth explained.
“Oh, bullshit. You’re just trying to get rid of us. You’ve been rude to us since the moment we got here…..” the Harpy spat, obviously wanting Beth to waive the bill for the group’s coffees.
The obnoxious woman’s complaint was interrupted by angry shouts and terrified screams as a crowd of people ran past the open door, heading toward Circular Quay. Shocked that the runners had ignored the sanctuary of an open door; Beth stuck her head outside. Her relief was short-lived. Barely four shopfronts away a mob of battered and bloodied combatants shambled along the road, doggedly pursuing the fleeing pedestrians. Upon seeing Beth, they staggered onto the footpath and headed straight toward the entrance of the tiny café. Beth ducked back inside and desperately tried to clear the clutter from the doorway.
“Bitch….. if you touch my stuff one more time, I will call my husband and we will sue you” a scrawny, oily-haired woman snapped at Beth.
Ignoring the woman, Beth backed away from the front door and eased her way toward the kitchen. Six large, badly injured men forced their way into the café just as Beth reached the kitchen door. Their leader swung his massive arm at one of the prams, knocking it out of his way.
“Listen to me, you low-life fucks…..” was all the oily-haired woman managed to say before she was tackled to the floor by two of the men. A blood curdling scream filled the air but was cut short by a thick gurgle of blood as one of the lunatics ripped her throat open with his teeth.
Beth had been in several bar brawls in her younger days but had never seen anything like this. She slipped inside the kitchen, locked the door, then peered into the café through the circle of glass in the door. More bloodstained brawlers forced their way into the tiny eatery. The redheaded gargoyle at the end of the table grabbed her pram and rammed it into the legs of the closest man. The lunatic snarled at the woman as he yanked her baby from the pram. The redhead shrieked as she lunged for her baby. She was too slow; her fake fingernails grazed the infant’s leg as the lunatic tore the baby’s stomach open with his teeth. Two of the women pushed their toddlers into the path of the approaching psychopaths as they retreated to the kitchen door.
“You’d better let me in, you filthy skank” the Harpy shrieked as she hammered her fists against the door. “I know my rights. You’ve got a duty of care. You have to protect me”.
Agonised screams and bestial snarls filled the café as the fiends tore skin and muscle from their victims. In vain, the Harpy bashed harder on the door. The metallic clanking of her rings and bangles immediately drew the attention of newly arrived maniacs pouring through the entrance.
“Let me in you fucking bitch!” the Harpy screeched. “I will make you sorry for locking me out here. I will fucking sue…..”.
Her words cut short as she was tackled to the floor. Beth’s terrified face peering through the circle of glass was the last thing the Harpy saw before one of the monsters gouged out her eyes.
Text copyright © 2024 by Beau Johnston
