Pasta

WEBVTT
00:01:18.880 --> 00:01:26.748
The fluorescent lights in the Midwest pasta plant hummed with a tired late-night drone, a sound Scott Detheridge had grown so accustomed to.
00:01:26.748 --> 00:01:28.292
It was like a second heartbeat.
00:01:28.292 --> 00:01:35.245
Tonight, though, the hum felt different, lower, somehow, almost a growl.
00:01:35.245 --> 00:01:42.807
Scott, his tie loosened and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, locked the door to his cramped office.
00:01:42.807 --> 00:01:50.310
The air thick, with the fine pale dust of semolina flour and the sweet, almost yeasty aroma of hydration.
00:01:50.310 --> 00:01:52.653
It was nearly eleven.
00:01:52.653 --> 00:01:55.266
The night shift was a skeleton crew.
00:01:55.266 --> 00:02:05.853
Nowhere to be found, of course, the massive twin-screw extruders that could force tons of dough through intricate dyes to create everything from delicate orzo to robust rigatoni.
00:02:05.853 --> 00:02:07.115
Now, mostly silent.
00:02:07.115 --> 00:02:19.709
Only the rhythmic whir of the automated drying chambers, where precisely controlled temperature and humidity coaxed the moisture from the freshly formed pasta, echoed softly in the vast space.
00:02:19.709 --> 00:02:30.054
The packaging lines, with their swift robotic arms that folded cardboard boxes and filled them with precisely weighed spirals and shells, stood dormant.
00:02:31.257 --> 00:02:42.682
Scott usually liked the quiet of the plant after hours, a chance to collect his thoughts before the morning's inevitable rush of production schedules and quality control checks on the incoming shipments of durum wheat.
00:02:42.682 --> 00:02:51.391
But tonight a prickle of unease danced on the back of his neck, a feeling as unwelcome as a stray kernel of corn in a batch of penne.
00:02:51.391 --> 00:03:09.807
He walked the long corridor that bisected the main production floor, his footsteps echoing off the polished concrete, past the towering silos filled with mountains of golden semolina Past, the dormant packaging lines, their sensors, dark and unblinking.
00:03:09.807 --> 00:03:24.633
It was when he reached the far end, near the hulking bule or extrusion machines relics from the plant's early days still used for specialty shapes that he heard it, a sound that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.
00:03:24.633 --> 00:03:31.129
It was coming from inside Machine 7, a behemoth typically used for elbow macaroni.
00:03:31.129 --> 00:03:40.889
Scott knew its inner workings well the auger that relentlessly pushed the dough forward, the rotating die head that shaped each individual curve.
00:03:40.889 --> 00:03:49.692
Now it emitted a wet scraping sound like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard, mixed with a low guttural clicking.
00:03:49.692 --> 00:03:57.733
It wasn't the sound of a machine malfunctioning, not the familiar clatter of a loose bolt or the whine of a failing motor.
00:03:57.733 --> 00:04:01.887
This was organic, wrong.
00:04:01.887 --> 00:04:05.173
Scott's heart hammered against his ribs.
00:04:05.173 --> 00:04:15.591
He told himself it was probably just a rat, though he'd never heard a rat make a sound like that, a sound that hinted at something being chewed and formed.
00:04:15.591 --> 00:04:21.091
He hesitated, his hand hovering over the emergency shut-off button.
00:04:21.091 --> 00:04:25.992
A large red mushroom cap designed to instantly halt the tons of pressure.
00:04:25.992 --> 00:04:29.608
Within Curiosity, that old devil won out.
00:04:30.620 --> 00:04:35.007
He grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight from the wall mount and approached the machine cautiously.
00:04:35.007 --> 00:04:41.528
The inspection panel on the side of machine seven, secured by heavy latches, was slightly ajar.
00:04:41.528 --> 00:04:43.809
He aimed the beam inside.
00:04:43.809 --> 00:04:49.632
The air within smelled strangely sweet, like fermenting dough mixed with something metallic.
00:04:49.632 --> 00:04:58.480
At first he saw only the usual residue of fine semolina dust clinging to the stainless steel walls and the remnants of dried macaroni.
00:04:59.483 --> 00:05:04.072
Then the beam caught something moving, something impossible.
00:05:04.072 --> 00:05:12.646
It was roughly three feet tall, hunched over, and it was made of pasta, not just coated in it but formed from it.
00:05:12.646 --> 00:05:21.204
Its torso was a twisted, still damp mass of freshly extruded fettuccine clinging together as if glued by its own moisture.
00:05:21.204 --> 00:05:29.891
Its limbs were thick, rigid tubes of dried ziti, their ridged surfaces catching the light, and its head.
00:05:29.891 --> 00:05:41.303
Its head was a grotesque caricature of a human skull, the eye sockets filled with dark, brittle rotini, their spiral shapes unsettlingly like empty sockets.
00:05:41.303 --> 00:05:51.712
It moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, its pasta joints clicking and scraping against each other, the sound like dried pasta being snapped in half.
00:05:51.712 --> 00:05:53.543
And it was eating.
00:05:54.826 --> 00:06:03.694
Scott watched frozen in disbelief and horror as the creature gnawed on a piece of broken lasagna sheet, its movements disturbingly deliberate.
00:06:03.694 --> 00:06:11.461
He could see the faint dusting of white flour on its form, as if it had just emerged from the initial stages of production.
00:06:11.461 --> 00:06:19.704
The wet clicking sound he'd heard was the sound of pasta being pulverized by something inside that horrifying form.
00:06:19.704 --> 00:06:22.548
Perhaps the very moisture used to bind the dough?
00:06:22.548 --> 00:06:24.050
Horrifying form, perhaps, the very moisture used to bind the dough.
00:06:24.050 --> 00:06:33.740
Then, as if sensing his presence, the creature stopped.
00:06:33.740 --> 00:06:43.724
Its rotini eyes swiveled in his direction and a low, menacing hiss emanated from what might have been its mouth a jagged tear in the mass of pasta that formed its face, revealing a dark, pulpy interior that looked disturbingly like wet dough.
00:06:43.724 --> 00:06:45.411
Revealing a dark, pulpy interior that looked disturbingly like wet dough.
00:06:45.411 --> 00:06:48.459
Terror, cold and sharp, pierced through Scott's disbelief.
00:06:48.459 --> 00:06:50.459
This wasn't a nightmare.
00:06:50.459 --> 00:06:52.069
This was real.
00:06:53.214 --> 00:06:59.048
The pasta creature unfolded itself, its movement surprisingly quick, despite its rigid composition.
00:06:59.048 --> 00:07:14.302
It took a step towards the inspection panel and Scott could see with sickening clarity that its fingers were sharp in pieces of spaghetti stained a disturbing shade of brown, perhaps from dried blood or some other unholy secretion.
00:07:14.302 --> 00:07:16.168
He didn't wait.
00:07:16.168 --> 00:07:26.987
He scrambled backward, his flashlight clattering against the corrugated metal of a nearby spiral conveyor used to move finished pasta to the packaging area.
00:07:26.987 --> 00:07:31.084
He turned and ran, his breath catching in his throat.
00:07:31.084 --> 00:07:40.796
The wet clicking and scraping followed him, growing louder, closer, echoing off the smooth surfaces of the continuous pasteurizers.
00:07:40.796 --> 00:07:43.723
He risked a glance over his shoulder.
00:07:43.723 --> 00:07:56.786
The pasta thing was lurching after him, its unnatural gait, somehow terrifyingly efficient, as it moved past the towering bags of imported Romano cheese waiting to be blended into a sauce line.
00:07:56.786 --> 00:08:02.279
It moved with a silent determination that spoke of a hunger beyond comprehension.
00:08:03.522 --> 00:08:08.961
Scott sprinted down the corridor, the hum of the factory lights now seeming to mock his panicked flight.
00:08:08.961 --> 00:08:20.281
He could hear the creature behind him, the sound of its pasta limb scraping against the polished concrete floor, the wet clicking, a constant, horrifying reminder of its presence.
00:08:20.281 --> 00:08:34.865
As it passed the stainless steel tanks where water was precisely mixed with the semolina to begin the transformation into dough, he reached the main doors of the plant, fumbling with the heavy security bar, his fingers were slick with sweat.
00:08:34.865 --> 00:08:37.763
He could hear the creature getting closer.
00:08:37.763 --> 00:08:44.524
It's clicking now, right behind him, the faint scent of warm, drying pasta emanating from it.
00:08:44.524 --> 00:08:50.581
Finally, the bar lifted and he yanked the door open, bursting out into the cool night air.
00:08:51.803 --> 00:09:09.515
He didn't stop running, didn't dare to look back, until he was halfway across the deserted parking lot, the vast dark bulk of the Midwest pasta plant looming behind him like a monstrous tomb, the faint scent of cooking pasta now tinged with something rotten.
00:09:09.515 --> 00:09:12.997
He finally stopped gasping for air, his lungs burning.
00:09:12.997 --> 00:09:17.539
He looked back In the dim light of the parking lot lamps.
00:09:17.539 --> 00:09:20.721
He could see a figure standing in the open doorway of the plant.
00:09:20.721 --> 00:09:23.182
It was the pasta creature.
00:09:23.182 --> 00:09:32.726
It stood there, its twisted form silhouetted against the faint light inside its rotini eyes, seeming to gleam with a malevolent intelligence.
00:09:32.726 --> 00:09:35.608
It didn't move, just watched him.
00:09:35.608 --> 00:09:45.373
A low, guttural hiss drifted across the parking lot, carried on the night air, a sound that seemed to vibrate with the very essence of uncooked dough.
00:09:45.373 --> 00:09:48.437
It was a promise.
00:09:48.457 --> 00:09:53.827
Scott Detheridge knew with a chilling certainty that settled deep in his bones that this was just the beginning.
00:09:53.827 --> 00:10:02.442
He had seen something that shouldn't exist, a nightmarish byproduct of the very process he oversaw, and now it was hunting him.
00:10:02.442 --> 00:10:13.597
The taste of fear was bitter on his tongue, a grimacing flavor that no amount of marinara made with the finest San Marzano tomatoes could ever wash away.
00:10:13.597 --> 00:10:21.879
He was the plant manager, and tonight he had discovered the horrifying secret that lurked within the heart of the pasta factory.
00:10:21.879 --> 00:10:26.668
And it was hungry, so terribly, terribly hungry.
00:10:28.294 --> 00:10:33.727
Scott fumbled for his car keys, his hand shaking so violently he could barely grip the cold metal.
00:10:33.727 --> 00:10:39.875
He jammed the key into the lock of his Ford Taurus, the click echoing in the stillness of the night.
00:10:39.875 --> 00:10:46.319
He yanked the door open and practically fell into the driver's seat, his heart pounding like a trapped bird.
00:10:46.319 --> 00:10:52.679
He jammed the key into the ignition and twisted the engine sputtering to life with a groan.
00:10:52.679 --> 00:10:59.865
He slammed the gear shift into reverse and backed out of the parking spot, his eyes glued to the plant's entrance.
00:10:59.865 --> 00:11:04.947
The pasta creature was still there, a silent, unsettling sentinel.
00:11:06.014 --> 00:11:13.944
As Scott accelerated forward, tires squealing, the creature began to move again, its jerky gait somehow matching the speed of his car.
00:11:13.944 --> 00:11:16.942
Panic clawed at Scott's throat.
00:11:16.942 --> 00:11:25.548
He pressed down harder on the accelerator, the Taurus roaring as it sped out of the parking lot and onto the deserted industrial road.
00:11:25.548 --> 00:11:39.389
He glanced in his rearview mirror the pasta thing was still following its unnatural form, illuminated by the streetlights, looking like some kind of grotesque animated scarecrow made of food.
00:11:39.389 --> 00:11:41.778
This can't be happening.
00:11:41.778 --> 00:11:44.343
He muttered his voice, a strained whisper.
00:11:44.343 --> 00:11:46.548
This has to be a dream.
00:11:46.548 --> 00:11:52.486
He swerved onto the main highway, the familiar lines of the road blurring in his fear.
00:11:52.486 --> 00:11:55.418
He looked in his rearview mirror again.
00:11:55.418 --> 00:11:59.427
The creature was still there, impossibly keeping pace.
00:11:59.427 --> 00:12:04.326
It was closer now, its rotini eyes seeming to bore into him.
00:12:05.554 --> 00:12:08.004
Then Scott saw something truly horrifying.
00:12:08.004 --> 00:12:24.346
As the creature ran, pieces of its pasta body would occasionally break off A strand of fettuccine here, a piece of penne there, only to be instantly replaced as if the creature was constantly reforming itself from some unseen source.
00:12:24.346 --> 00:12:31.668
It was as if the very essence of pasta was being drawn to it, coalescing into its terrifying form.
00:12:31.668 --> 00:12:34.278
He knew he couldn't outrun it.
00:12:34.278 --> 00:12:37.403
It was relentless, unnatural.
00:12:37.403 --> 00:12:39.788
He had to try something else.
00:12:39.788 --> 00:12:44.101
He slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching in protest.
00:12:44.101 --> 00:12:47.878
He threw the car into park and yanked the emergency brake.
00:12:48.840 --> 00:12:55.480
He reached into the back seat, his hand brushing against the smooth, cool metal of his daughter Addison's aluminum softball bat.
00:12:55.480 --> 00:12:59.168
She was a much better softball player than he ever was.
00:12:59.168 --> 00:13:04.907
He'd promised to take it out of the car after her last game but hadn't gotten around to it.
00:13:04.907 --> 00:13:07.599
Now it felt like a lifeline.
00:13:07.599 --> 00:13:12.028
He grabbed it, the familiar weight comforting in a bizarre way.
00:13:12.028 --> 00:13:19.688
He flung the door open and faced the creature it had stopped about twenty feet away, its pasta limbs twitching.
00:13:19.688 --> 00:13:24.385
The air around it seemed to shimmer, with a faint, dusty haze of flour.
00:13:24.385 --> 00:13:26.418
Stay back.
00:13:26.418 --> 00:13:28.705
Scott, yelled, his voice cracking.
00:13:29.794 --> 00:13:35.447
He hefted the bat Addison's name scrawled in pink marker, barely visible in the dim light.
00:13:35.447 --> 00:13:37.402
His hand trembled.
00:13:37.402 --> 00:13:39.640
The creature didn't respond.
00:13:39.640 --> 00:13:44.562
It simply tilted its head, the rotini eyes glinting in the streetlight.
00:13:44.562 --> 00:13:49.928
Then it began to move again, its jerky steps closing the distance between them.
00:13:51.154 --> 00:13:57.008
Scott swung the bat, putting all his weight behind it and Lord knows he had put on some weight.
00:13:57.008 --> 00:14:01.947
The aluminum connected with a dull thud impacting the creature's torso.
00:14:01.947 --> 00:14:08.427
Instead of the satisfying crack of bone, there was a splintering sound like dry twigs breaking.
00:14:08.427 --> 00:14:15.668
The bat sank slightly into the mass of fettuccine, leaving a dent, but the creature didn't even flinch.
00:14:15.668 --> 00:14:21.754
Then it lunged.
00:14:24.715 --> 00:14:26.418
Scott stumbled backward, the bat slipping from his sweaty grip.
00:14:26.418 --> 00:14:29.083
The pasta creature was on him in an instant, its rigid limbs, surprisingly strong.
00:14:29.083 --> 00:14:33.259
It slammed him against the side of his car, the impact knocking the wind out of him.
00:14:33.259 --> 00:14:38.739
He could feel its pasta fingers, sharp as broken glass, digging into his flesh.
00:14:38.739 --> 00:14:45.057
One of them pierced his cheek, tearing through the skin, and he tasted blood, thick and metallic.
00:14:45.057 --> 00:14:49.005
He screamed a raw, primal sound of pure terror.
00:14:49.005 --> 00:14:54.721
He tried to fight back, kicking and flailing, but the creature's grip was like iron.
00:14:54.721 --> 00:15:00.500
It pressed him harder against the car, the twisted mass of its body grinding against his.
00:15:00.500 --> 00:15:03.748
Then it began to consume him.
00:15:03.748 --> 00:15:12.157
Its jagged mouth, that horrifying tear in its pasta face opened wider, revealing a dark, wet interior.
00:15:12.157 --> 00:15:22.687
It pressed its face against his and Scott felt a sickening sensation as thick, hollow tubes of bucatini began to slide into his mouth, down his throat.
00:15:22.687 --> 00:15:28.881
He gagged, trying to spit them out, but more kept coming, filling his mouth, choking him.
00:15:29.923 --> 00:15:33.269
Bucatini Addison loved it with pesto.
00:15:33.269 --> 00:15:36.644
He'd always teased her for slurping the long strands.
00:15:36.644 --> 00:15:38.801
Now they were his undoing.
00:15:38.801 --> 00:15:47.244
He clawed at the creature, his fingers sinking into its brittle pasta flesh, breaking off pieces of macaroni and rigatoni.
00:15:47.244 --> 00:15:49.380
It didn't seem to notice.
00:15:49.380 --> 00:15:55.176
It continued to force the bucatini down his throat, the wet clicking sound echoing in his ears.
00:15:55.176 --> 00:15:57.117
Force the bucatini down his throat, the wet clicking sound echoing in his ears.
00:15:57.138 --> 00:16:04.083
He felt a sharp agonizing pain in his stomach as the pasta began to move inside him, expanding, twisting.
00:16:04.083 --> 00:16:11.889
He could feel the rigid tubes tearing at his insides, the sharp edges of the dried noodles ripping through his organs.
00:16:11.889 --> 00:16:14.211
His vision began to blur.
00:16:14.211 --> 00:16:21.663
He could feel the creature's weight pressing down on him, the smell of stale flour and dried pasta overwhelming him.
00:16:21.663 --> 00:16:26.580
He tried to scream again, but all that came out was a choked gurgle.
00:16:26.580 --> 00:16:35.307
As more and more bucatini filled his mouth, his lungs, he could feel the hollow centers of the pasta filling with his own blood.
00:16:35.307 --> 00:16:38.335
He could feel the hollow centers of the pasta filling with his own blood.
00:16:41.427 --> 00:16:42.955
Addison's bat lay forgotten on the asphalt.
00:16:42.955 --> 00:16:55.845
The last thing Scott Deathridge saw was the dim glow of the streetlight reflecting in the dark, lifeless rotini eyes of the creature that was devouring him from the inside out His favorite pasta, now a disgusting harbinger of his final agonizing moments.
00:16:55.845 --> 00:17:01.605
Then darkness the pasta creature stood over Scott's lifeless body.
00:17:01.605 --> 00:17:12.040
Its form, now slightly larger, bulkier Pieces of broken penne, spaghetti and bucatini littered the ground around them, stained with Scott's blood.
00:17:12.040 --> 00:17:19.076
The creature tilted its head again, a faint, wet clicking, the only sound in the stillness of the night.
00:17:19.076 --> 00:17:37.363
Then it turned and loped back towards the silent, looming bulk of the Midwest pasta plant, disappearing into the darkness, leaving behind only the horrifying testament to its existence oh yeah, and a discarded aluminum bat with a girl's name scrawled on it.