This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/orangeplr on 2024-10-20 23:03:44+00:00.
“Jesus Christ, you look pathetic, man.”
My coworker, his baggy eyes sinking down like a bloodhound, couldn’t contain his snort as he swung the plastic swinging door open for me. I scowled at him with as much hatred as I could muster.
“Shut up. Asshole.” I shoved past him, squeezing between his slouching form and the shelves of electronic cigarettes contained in their bright fluorescent boxes, screaming out SOUR RASPBERRY CRUSH! and COTTON CANDY! at whoever’s eyes inevitably drifted to their section behind the register.
The truth was, he was right. I looked pathetic. I felt it, too. I felt like a slug stuck to the bottom of Gods shoe. I slammed my bag down on the counter, careful not to bump my cast against anything. I had already made that mistake of carelessness, and payed the price heavily.
Zeke held his hands up in surrender, his Cheeto stained fingertips glowing faintly orange in the fluorescent lighting.
“My bad, dude. I knew it was rough, I just didn’t know how rough. You look like an injury lawsuit billboard.”
I waved him off, pretending I couldn’t be bothered to turn my head to look at him, ignoring the reality that my neck brace physically wouldn’t allow it.
“Just go. Get out of here.”
Zeke yawned and slung his jacket over his shoulder. “Don’t have to tell me twice. See ya’.”
I watched him circle around to the break room to leave out the back door, pulling our metal stool up to the register with my ankle. I couldn’t be mad at him for pointing out how pathetic I looked, because it was true, just how I couldn’t judge his dark eye bags when I imagined mine looked ten times worse. Sometimes it felt like there was a hierarchy in the convenience store, a power struggle: Zeke worked from 2pm to 10pm, and I stepped in to take the torch until six. Sometimes, when I was especially displeased with the night shift, I imagined him as a fat king, eating grapes and drinking wine from the bottle at home. It was more likely that he played Call of Duty and took bong rips until he passed out, knowing him.
I always convinced myself I liked being alone, but every night the second Zeke left, it felt like reality began to fade. A gas station convenience store at night was like a portal, like some spot between dimensions. Half there, half not. It felt like being in a school during summer vacation, or visiting a completely empty water park. Slightly wrong.
I sat for a while, just watching out the window, until I couldn’t stand the encroaching boredom. When that happened, I slipped my headphones over my ears and shuffled to the fridges in the back, cracking open a redbull and getting started on my nightly menial tasks.
I had just finished sweeping the floors when the bell on the door jingled, signaling my first customer of the night. I shrugged my headphones to rest awkwardly around my neck brace, calling out a greeting. It turned out to be a very tired looking woman, who swayed in place and smiled sleepily at me when I joined her at the counter.
“Hey,” she said. “Can you put thirty bucks on four?”
“Sure thing.”
She handed me a twenty and two fives. I could feel her looking me up and down, but I ignored it as a rang her up.
“What happened to you, if you don’t mind me asking?” She said finally, as if she’d mustered up the courage. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her greasy hair as if she had to hide after giving in to her curiosity.
I waved her off like I had Zeke, struggling to keep the polite smile on my face. “I’m fine. Just an accident.”
Once the woman left and I had watched her dinky Chevy Cruze peel off down the road, I pushed my headphones back up and cranked up the Joy Division playing from my phone. I didn’t feel like finishing the sweeping. I checked the time - 12:05 - and sighed loudly. I wondered if I could get away with sneaking to the back to take a quick nap… but I knew my boss would check the security cameras, and then she would have my ass.
I unwrapped a chocolate bar from next to the cash register, making a mental note of how much I owed the till so far. I gave a knowing look to the camera in the corner, pointing to the candy like, I know, I’ll pay it. I popped the entire second half into my mouth, feeling it melt on my tongue, and crumpled the wrapper in a half moon around my index finger. I stared at it for a while, feeling strangely guilty. It was funny how many hours I worked just to end up fat and broke anyways, and it was because during the night shift, there was nothing to do but eat.
I did a few more tasks before retreating back behind the counter, and I was beginning to drift off with my head in my arms when a strange feeling washed over me.
Something felt off. An odd, hot chill crept up the back of my neck, and I felt suddenly violently frustrated that I couldn’t scratch it.
I felt like I was being watched.
When I looked up, there was a man in front of me. I nearly toppled backwards off my stool, and my arm and head ached sympathetically at the mere concept of falling on them.
The man didn’t say anything, He just stood in front of me, smiling at me.
He had brown hair, neatly moussed back, and clear if not slightly pale skin. I would have guessed he was about forty-five, but I couldn’t tell for certain. The first thing I noticed was that smile, which stretched across his face a little too widely for - I checked the time again - 2:36 am, and displayed his sparkling white teeth. The second thing I noticed was his eyes. I couldn’t quite tell what color they were, because they were enveloped by his pupils. One pupil appeared larger than the other, but they were both too big. I immediately wondered if he was on something, although his crisp suit suggested otherwise.
“Good evening,” I said, choking on the words, quickly taking off my headphones. “I’m sorry, how long were you standing there?”
He didn’t answer my question, he just placed a few things down on the counter. Two little bottles of vodka, those 90 proof ones with a million different flavors, and a tuna sandwich wrapped up in plastic. Then he pointed. At first I thought he was pointing at me, and my blood went cold, but then I followed his gaze to the shelves of cigarettes behind me.
“American Spirits,” he said. His voice was crisp and clear, just like his suit. “Please.”
I swallowed. Something about him deeply unnerved me. He had the demeanor and gait of a plastic surgeon, someone a little out of touch with reality. Someone with a little too much work done. Why was he at a gas station in the middle of nowhere this early in the morning, in such a nice suit? I swore I had been gazing sleepily out the windows at the empty parking lot moments before - why hadn’t I seen him get here?
“Good choice,” I mumbled, glancing at him nervously as I reached for the cigarettes behind me. I didn’t want to turn my back to him, for some reason. “Those are my favorites.”
He nodded, his smile growing a tiny bit bigger.
I rung him up as quickly as I could. “Twenty-four bucks, please.”
He dug in his pocket, and then handed over the money in cash. When I took it, I noticed a slight dark red tint under his fingernails. I followed his hand with my eyes up to his neck, where he scratched at somewhere his collar concealed. When his hand moved, I saw more red staining the white fabric in a few tiny splotches.
“Hey, man… are you alright?” I asked reluctantly. “Are you hurt or something? Do you need me to call someone?”
The man’s smile didn’t falter, but he mouthed something very quickly, almost like he was trying to speak but the words wouldn’t come out. I could hear the faint sound of a whisper. I squinted at his lips and leaned closer, trying to make out what it could be.
“Do I seem happy to you?”
He spoke so abruptly, and I was focusing so intently on his mouth, that I nearly jumped again. “What?”
“Would you think that my life is good, and will remain good?”
I looked him over. Nice clothes, big smile. He looked successful. But I didn’t know about happy.
“Sure.”
He stared at me for another few seconds. His pupils seemed to contract a little, and his eyes bore into me. However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away.
“Take care of yourself!” He said cheerfully, and then he gathered up his purchases and he left.
After that, I felt shaky. I didn’t want to stay there at the counter, in case he came back, so I slinked out back, clumsily putting on my jacket with one arm and feeling for my box of American Spirits.
It took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to light up, my body awkwardly leaning against the wall and my knobby knees crammed against my chest. I couldn’t wait to get my cast off.
As I smoked and tried to calm down, I found myself staring straight ahead, into the dark woods that surrounded the gas station. The trees towered over me, completely still except for the slight sway caused by the chilling breeze that hummed through the air. In those trees, I could make out a strange shape, one that moved a little differently from the other foliage. It almost looked like a person.
When I finally got home at 6:30, I was so relieved I almost cried. I slumped back on my bed, watching the dim sunlight start to creep through my bedroom blinds. That was another con of the night shift: I didn’t get to sleep until it was bright outside.
I rolled onto my good side, taking my phone out of my pocket and scrolling through a few notifications from ...
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