You should not mess around with stuff you find in abandoned shopping centres. Let alone start eating it. The person I interviewed today may have had some sort of paranormal experience. But there is every chance they’ve just poisoned themselves.
As always, if you have any questions for them, please let me know.
For a while flavoured milkshakes were the coolest thing. What was so awesome about the shop in Monfeld is their use of fresh ingredients. A strange term for processed chocolate bars and sweets, but you understand their point. Ask for a Snickers bar milkshake, and get a Snickers bar. The cow with sunglasses grinned from a sign behind the counter.
These were such happy weekend memories. I broke into Monfeld to see that cow one more time.
The doors to the shop were locked, but the lock was bust. It shattered with a decent enough kick. But the bloody cow logo no longer watched from the wall.
I hopped across the dusty counter, expecting little on the other side. My hand made a perfect handprint in the muck. The cardboard boxes on the other side were a nice surprise. Even with a decent kick, they did not budge. It was like they were packed with weights.
I had to rip one open. Monfeld will get knocked down at some point, and anyone can take this stuff. The paint style tins were a surprise. All of the labels were victims of time, and hid what lay inside.
My penknife went to work on the lids. A puff of vivid powder emerged from each one. More filled the tin, and was unrelated to the colour of the tin. Cool blue contained scarlet. Flamingo pink hid within chocolate brown. Banana yellow was sickly green.
If ghosts exist within Monfeld, they did not try to disturb me. They will knock this place down one day. It was worth a try.
I laid out my cup, and tapped in some green, yellow and red. Each tin was lead brick heavy. The powders did not mix, but formed a multicoloured sand at the bottom, a miniature psychedelic desert. I poured my water bottle, and stirred the potion with my penknife.
Chemical reactions are so odd. Dust and water thickened into something exactly like milkshake. It even had that thick creamy smell exactly like fresh milk. A few grains of powder remained around the rim, but apart from that this was milkshake perfection.
I tasted my concoction. It was immaculate. The exact flavour of a Snickers milkshake. Not a simulation, but the perfect representation of a that dream. The chocolate was so fresh, the nuts so sweet.
I heaved the tins up the corridor in shuttle runs. Something howled in the DVD shop. The taxi driver raised his eyebrows. But I was not leaving them behind.
The milkshakes are still delicious. I drink one every day. This was just powder, and it was not that old. But the dreams occur. I am in Monfeld, in the milkshake shop. Creating that milkshake once again. But this time the cow in sunglasses is at the window. He is up on his back legs, trying to get in.
Hoof marks stain the window. The powder has almost run out. I go back tomorrow on the hunt for more.
