I know there are dozens of stories about the Hungry Man that you’ve probably heard if you’ve ever worked in fast food. Most of them are probably lies. But that doesn’t mean he’s made up. This is the no-bullshit truth of my encounter with him back in the early 2000s.

I’m 5’2, and back then I weighed maybe 90 pounds. People called me a chihuahua. I was the youngest female manager in my region, and I ran a tight ship. I expected everyone to do their jobs, but I was fair with the scheduling, and if someone needed to pick up a shift, I usually took it myself.

In January, we got hit with a brutal storm in the middle of cold and flu season. I lived close to the restaurant, so I was able to make the short drive in, but half of my coworkers called out. I probably should have just closed down, but that wasn’t in my nature. We ended up with three workers, two cooks plus me, so I made the decision to close the drive through and work the register myself, dine-in only.

The Hungry Man came in five minutes after we opened.

He was six feet tall and ungodly thin, practically a walking corpse. I couldn’t have told you his age. Maybe 30, maybe 40. He definitely had the weird stretch marks on his neck, just like everyone says.

His walk was labored as he paced to the counter, shivering and tracking snow behind him.

I said my usual greeting, and the man opened his shaking hand, dropping two crumpled, wet, dollar bills on the counter.

“Small fry,” he whispered, his chapped lips cracked and bleeding (yes, we served fries in the morning. Burgers too.)

“Anything else?” I asked, trying to stay smiling.

I felt bad for the guy. He was clearly starving, but he shook his head and repeated, “Small fry.”

I definitely tried to sneak him an extra fry or two as I got the order ready. He took the bag without meeting my eyes, then walked slowly outside, into the falling snow.

“You ever see that guy before?” I asked the cooks, but they both shrugged.

Considering the weather, we did decent business. Even in a blizzard, people still need to eat. The morning passed pretty normally. We made extra coffee. Outside, the snow kept piling up.

Then at lunch, the Hungry Man came in again. At first, I didn’t recognize him. Because he wasn’t thin anymore. He looked like a normal-weight guy, kind of hot, even. His walk was stronger now and more confident as he approached the counter.

I would have just assumed he was a totally different person, except those distinctive marks on his neck were still there. Definitely stretch marks, just like my sister got when she had her twins.

“Medium fry,” he said, his voice a little more sure this time.

“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I was a little freaked out, but honestly still convinced somehow that this was the first guy’s brother or something. I handed him the bag and he left.

After that, the storm got worse. By 4:00, the clouds were so think it felt like night outside, and no customers were coming in anymore. At some point, one of the cooks told me he was leaving. A few minutes later, the other left without even telling me.

I should have closed, but like I said, that’s not who I was. We’d banked a decent amount of food on the warmers, and I figured I’d at least keep the doors open for a few more hours to eke out a little more revenue.

At around 6:00, outside was pitch black. The Hungry Man walked back in. He was fat now, maybe 350 pounds of lard. Same marks on his neck, same blank stare. No question it was the same dude. He wobbled up to the counter, covered in snow.

“Large fry,” he said, his voice deeper than before. My heart beat fast in my chest, and I tried not to meet his eyes. He looked past me at the quiet, empty kitchen. “All alone,” he said.

I headed back to the kitchen and put together a large fry. When I came back to the counter, I found him at the counter. He had picked up a handful of ketchup packets and was popping them into his mouth, whole, chewing, and swallowing them, wrappers and all.

“So hungry,” he said, as I tried not to drop the fries. He looked back at the kitchen again. “All alone,” he said again, and a chill ran through me. I’d ignored bad vibes a couple of times in high school and paid a steep price. After that, I’d promised never to put myself in a dangerous situation with a guy ever again.

“We’re actually closing soon,” I said, almost whispering.

He took a step toward me. There was something unnatural about the way he moved. Like, he wasn’t actually as fat as he looked. More like a thin guy in a pillow suit. He didn’t wobble like he should have, and he was fast.

“All alone,” he said again. “So hungry.”

And then he smiled at me in a way I’d never seen before. Like–his mouth shouldn’t have been able to stretch that wide.

“Let me get you a couple more things,” I said. “On the house.”

I headed back to the kitchen, thinking I’d grab some more fries, maybe a few burgers from the warmers. But something in me whispered keep walking. So I did. I headed past the kitchen and back into the storage area. I was running now. There was a service entrance in the back, and I bolted through it, out into the raging snow. I didn’t stop sprinting until I reached my car.

I fumbled with the keys as the storm raged around me. Over the howl of the wind, though, I began to hear the thump thump of heavy steps, followed by the heavy thud of something metal hitting the ground. I couldn’t see anything through the screaming snow, but I could tell I wasn’t alone in the parking lot.

Finally, I got the car door open and jumped inside. And then my heart practically stopped. The entire passenger seat was filled with fast food wrappers. Not just from our place, but from all around the neighborhood. Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Dairy Queen. He must have been hitting them up all day.

I fucking screamed, but I didn’t lose my head. I jammed the keys in the ignition. Thank god my engine actually started. As my lights came on, the beams illuminated the service door, and I saw him there, somehow even bigger now. The door had busted off its hinges and lay at the ground by his feet. He was holding a foil wrapped burger, watching me curiously.

Then he shyly waved and went back inside.

I heard a few days later that one of the girls at Arby’s never made it home that night. People figured she got lost in the storm, maybe had her car go over a bridge or something. But they never did find her. It was like she’d just vanished, bones and all.

I put in my notice a few days later. They offered me more money, opportunities for growth, you name it. They asked if I was going to a different restaurant. I just told them I was done with fast food.