Dante's Wafflehouse

Dante’s Wafflehouse

Ian Bahas

Suddenly, Waffles! That’s a phrase I never thought I would use in my lifetime, but there is little else I can use to describe my current predicament. How did I even get here? The last thing I remember doing was swiping my card at the grocery store. When I came to, I found myself tied to a chair with giant waffles all around me and a giant waffle iron about 500 feet (or something like that, not sure if they are giant or I am small.) away. The scary thing is, every time I sleep, I find myself closer to the waffle iron....and more waffles have been made, even though there is no batter in sight. To top that all off i’m occasionally hearing these voices. That really seemed excessive. As if this place weren’t bad enough, it’s driven me insane already

It’s been about 10 days/sleep cycles (I can’t really tell). The waffles are stacked to the freaking ceiling at this point and now that I look at them closely, they are all branded with some kind of weird pentagram in the middle and some illegible text.. What the heck is going on? I’m only about ten feet from the waffle iron. I can see my reflection in it now. The gaunt, heavily bearded man who looks back surprises me. Exactly how long have I been here? As if waiting for that cue, the voices start up again, stronger than ever. They seem to be coming from all around me, yet i’m the only one here....unless....no. It can’t be. The waffle iron opens and a familiar red face peeks his head out from between the grooves