The Haunting of the Last Supper

The mist rolled in, shrouding the once-grand restaurant in an ominous silence. The patrons, a motley crew of the living and the dead, sat around the dimly lit tables, their eyes reflecting a hunger that went beyond the physical. The restaurant was known for its secret menu, a collection of dishes that whispered tales of the supernatural, and tonight, it would serve its most dangerous course yet.

The chef, a man with a weathered face and eyes that held the secrets of countless nights, moved silently between the tables, his movements as fluid as a ghost. His name was Lucius, and he had been serving the Undead for as long as anyone could remember. His restaurant, The Last Supper, was a place where the living and the dead mingled, a place where the line between life and death blurred.

At the head of the table sat a man whose eyes were hollow, his skin translucent. He was the patron of The Last Supper, a man who had lived for centuries, feeding on the souls of the living. His name was Malachi, and he had a special request for tonight's meal: a dish that would satisfy his unquenchable thirst for power.

Lucius approached Malachi with a bowl of steaming broth, the scent of it mingling with the musty air of the restaurant. "The secret menu, sir," he whispered, his voice laced with the fear of the unknown.

Malachi nodded, his hand reaching out to grasp the bowl. "The Last Supper," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I have been waiting for this night."

Lucius nodded, his eyes never leaving Malachi's. He knew the dangers that came with this dish, a dish that was said to hold the essence of an ancient curse. But he had served Malachi before, and he had always found a way to survive.

The broth was served, and the patrons began to eat, their expressions of delight and hunger a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere. But as they took their first bites, a change came over them. Their eyes widened, and their faces contorted in pain. They were no longer the living, the dead, or even the undead—they were something else entirely.

Lucius watched in horror as the patrons around him began to transform, their flesh melting away to reveal the twisted skeletons beneath. He knew he had to do something, but he was frozen in place, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what was happening.

In the chaos, Malachi's voice cut through the screams and the pain. "This is what you deserve, Lucius. You have been a servant to the living and the dead, but you have never truly understood the power of the undead."

Lucius looked at Malachi, his eyes filled with fear and regret. "I didn't know, Malachi. I didn't know the true cost of what I was serving."

Malachi laughed, a sound that sent shivers down Lucius's spine. "You always knew, Lucius. You just chose to ignore it."

As Malachi's laughter filled the room, Lucius found the strength to act. He rushed to the kitchen, his mind racing with the knowledge that he needed to stop this. He reached for the only thing that could save them, a relic that had been hidden away for centuries.

Back in the dining room, the patrons were now skeletal, their bodies writhing in agony. Lucius's heart raced as he returned to the table, the relic in hand. He raised it above his head, his voice filled with a newfound determination.

"Malachi, this ends now!"

With a roar, Lucius hurled the relic at Malachi, the air crackling with power. Malachi's form began to dissolve, his laughter fading away as the relic's energy enveloped him. The patrons around him began to stabilize, their flesh slowly regaining its former form.

Lucius collapsed to the floor, exhausted but alive. He looked around at the patrons, their expressions of relief and gratitude clear. They were no longer undead, no longer a threat to the living.

As the patrons began to leave the restaurant, Lucius remained behind, the weight of what he had done settling on his shoulders. He knew that he had saved them, but at what cost? He had become a ghost chef, a chef who served the living and the dead, and now, he was haunted by the secrets of his past.

The restaurant remained open, its secret menu still in existence, but Lucius had changed. He had learned the true cost of serving the undead, and he would never forget the night of the Last Supper.

And so, The Last Supper continued to serve its patrons, but the secret menu had been altered, a warning to those who dared to tamper with the supernatural. For in the heart of the restaurant, a ghost chef watched over his creation, a silent guardian of the living and the dead.