Billy had always been careless with his lunch. Last week, he left a ham-and-cheese sitting on a park bench while he signed a logbook. The pigeons swarmed it, the mayo went bad, and by the time he came back, all that was left was soggy bread and regret.
He thought the matter was over.
He was wrong.
On this particular afternoon, Billy followed his GPS deep into the woods. The coordinates bounced around, pointing him toward an old stump. He knelt down, ready to search—when he heard it.
A faint rustle.
A squish.
A… slurp?
From behind the stump slid something unnatural: two slices of bread, fused together with a sticky layer of mustard, dragging themselves forward like a slug. Bits of lettuce trailed behind it like a cape.
Billy’s eyes widened.
“The sandwich,” he whispered. “It’s back.”
The creature lunged, lettuce flapping, tomato seeds flying like shrapnel. Billy dove sideways, fumbling in the dirt. His hand struck plastic—a small camo container tucked under the stump. The cache!
With one heroic swipe, Billy signed his name in the log, slammed the lid shut, and held it up like a shield. The sandwich paused, quivered, and slowly retreated into the shadows. The forest grew quiet again.
Billy brushed dirt from his knees and sighed. “Another day, another find.”
From somewhere in the distance came a chilling whisper:
“Hey Billy… next time, it’s the burrito.”