Night shift at the Supermart (Part 1)
Far up north, there is a convenience store that’s open 24 hours a day, all around the year, except on Christmas. It’s easy to spot from a distance, even half buried in the snow – a red, rectangle shaped building with a glowing neon sign above the automatic doors. The crimson letters spelling SUPERMART.
The store’s parking lot is an ice-covered death trap designed by Satan himself, where at least one person slips, falls and hurt themselves once a week. The forest behind the store is just like the dark and scary woods that the Grimm brothers warned you about as a kid, and I don’t recommend going on walks out there. We got bears here, and a couple of elks that don't seem to be that afraid of the bright eyes of a fast-moving car in the winter.
There is also Fat Tony, an obese, sugar addicted raccoon that has made it a habit to take a dive in our dumpster. We put locks on it, but the little shithead must have gotten his hands on a lockpicking kit or something. He gets in anyway. The only way to deal with him is to spot him in time, and rush at him with a broom while screaming like some madwoman.
Four shelves line the interior of the Supermart, creating five small aisles between the left and right wall. On the ceiling are three security cameras and in one of the corners is an old, black payphone. We sell pretty much everything here that the average household needs: diapers, snacks, coffee, knives, black tape, cleaning tools, rope, shovels and bags that don’t leak.
I work the night shift. 9 pm to 6 am. You’ll usually find me sitting by the cash register near the entrance – pink hair, slim waist, small boobs – reading a magazine or swiping my phone.
Cell reception is shit out here (reason why we still have a payphone, I guess), but the wifi still works to some degree. Meaning I can look at guys' abs and fantasise that I’m on a hot beach in a bikini somewhere, and not in the freezing hell that is Alaska.
Now, the idea of a 24-hour convenience store in the middle of nowhere might sound a bit idiotic to some. You might be thinking, what sort of dumbass goes grocery shopping at three in the morning? Not many, sure, but some of them do. It’s usually the other night workers; the ambulance nurses, police officers, garbage men, that visit me, however. Coming in to get themselves a pack of cigarettes, or a bag of donuts or a microwave meal. Something small to get them through their shifts.
It’s not bad work. Looking after the Supermart. But I would lie if I said that it doesn’t get to me. You know what I mean if you ever worked in any kind of remote place over a long period of time. It’s the emptiness and silence that does it.
When you work alone like this you start to imagine things. Darkness takes root. Time and space slowly start to lose its grip, and you start to become unsure of what reality really is. Does the world outside the store really exist, or if it’s just some long, bad dream you had?
What I am trying to say is this, weird things happen here. The sort of things that don’t fit into a police report, and that you can’t really talk with your therapist about (I can’t at least). Things that you only can share with complete strangers over the internet.
There was that one time a thin man with a hook for a hand came into the store. I’m not kidding. A hook. I thought he was going to rob me when he walked up to the counter, before handing me a five-dollar bill and, with a low, gruff voice, asked for a scratch card.
“Today is my lucky day”, he said to me. “God told me so.”
I gave him a card, he did pay after all, and he began to scratch it with his hook. He didn’t win, and with an inhuman scream ate the card before storming out.
Now that I think back on it, I’m pretty sure that was just a dream. But I am not certain. Could have been someone on drugs, I guess.
Another time, I saw a deer get run over by a truck near the parking lot. It hit the payment and disappeared underneath the wheels. Driver didn’t stop either. He just kept driving like nothing happened, the red lights gone a few seconds later. I grabbed my phone, ready to call someone.
And that’s when the deer stood up again.
It was dark, so I couldn’t really see that well, but the way it moving didn’t seem right to me. Its legs twisting outwards, head spinning the wrong way. The deer looked at me with its black, empty eyes before turning around and sprinting into the woods.
There are also pools of black water forming on the floor sometimes. I’m not exactly sure where it comes from. My current theory is that the heat from the store is melting the snow on the roof, which then finds its way in through a small crack, turning black when passing through the roof’s insolation, and dripping down on the floor. The problem with that theory, is that the black pools don’t form in the same spot. It’s always different. And I have never seen, or heard any sound of, leaking water.
Then there are the other strange night visitors, the weird junk we keep in storage, the urban myths about Supermart having a secret basement, and the snowmen out in the parking lot that appear from time to time when I’m not looking. I know it’s just kids playing, but it’s odd that I never see them put old Frosty together; that’s he’s already standing there when I peek outside, ready to come to life.
If I were to tell you of every unnerving and frightening encounter I had inside this store, real or make-believe, my fingers would be bleeding before I was done. And if you are wondering, yes, I am typing all of this on my phone while at work. Just something to do while waiting for the next customer.
And to try distracting myself from the fact that while I was restocking the shelf behind the counter, someone built a new snowman. A scarf around its neck, top hat on its head and its twig arm raised in a greeting gesture. I don’t trust it.
Anyway, I guess I can tell you a story or two, but I should really get back to work for now. Just checked the security feed and it turns out Fat Tony is getting ready for his nightly swim.
Wish me luck.