Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:05):
The parking lot stretched endlessly under sickly orange sodium lights,
asphalt still radiating heat from the day. I pulled into
a spot near the back, James already climbing out of
his beat up Honda beside me. The Walmart loomed ahead
like some corporate cathedral, its blue and yellow facade garish
against the night sky, windows glowing with that harsh fluorescent
(00:29):
light that seemed to repel rather than welcome. Can't believe
we're actually doing this, James said, stretching his arms above
his head. His sandy hair caught the light as he
grinned at me with that easy confidence that had gotten
us through four years of friendship. Night shift at Walmart.
Our parents would be so proud. I locked my car
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and shouldered my backpack, trying to match his enthusiasm. It's
just for the summer. College isn't paying for itself. The
truth was I needed this job more than James did.
His parents had money, Mine had medical bills and a mortgage.
They were still fighting. The parking lot felt too quiet,
too empty, with only a handful of cars scattered across
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the vast expanse of painted lines. The automatic doors slid
open with a mechanical wheeze, and cold air hit us
like a wall. Inside the store felt different than during
the day. Too bright, too quiet, too vast. Our footsteps
echoed on the polished floor as we made our way
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toward the customer service desk, passing empty aisles that seemed
to stretch into darkness. The ceiling lights hummed with an
intensity that made my eyes water, casting everything in stark
relief that somehow made the shadows seem deeper. You boys,
the new night shift. The voice belonged to a woman
in her fifties, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail,
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dark circles under her eyes, like she'd been working nights
for years. Her name tag read Linda. She looked us
up and down with the weary assessment of someone who'd
seen too many new faces come and go. That's us,
James said, flashing his most charming smile. Nate and James
ready to stalk some shelves and earn our keep. Linda's
(02:20):
smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Dave's waiting for you
in the breakroom through the doors down the hall. Can't
miss it, she paused, studying us both with an expression
I couldn't quite read word of advice. Listen to everything
Dave tells you, every single word. Don't think you know better.
(02:41):
The employee corridor was a stark contrast to the customer areas.
Beige walls, cheaper lighting, the smell of industrial cleaning supplies
mixed with old coffee. The breakroom smelled like burnt coffee
and industrial disinfectant. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows
across mismatched table and chairs that had seen better decades.
(03:02):
A handful of other employees sat scattered around, a thin
guy with nervous eyes who kept glancing at the clock,
A middle aged woman picking at her nails with methodical precision.
A younger girl who couldn't have been much older than us,
but looked like she'd aged years in whatever time she'd
been here. You must be our newbies. The voice belonged
(03:23):
to a man emerging from what looked like a manager's office.
Dave was probably forty average height, but solid, with the
kind of weathered face that suggested he'd seen things he
didn't talk about. His polo shirt was pressed, his hair neat,
but his eyes held a seriousness that seemed out of
place for a retail manager. There was something about the
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way he carried himself that reminded me of my uncle
who'd done two tours in Afghanistan. Alert, careful, like he
was always listening for something, James and Nate, I said,
extending my hand. His grip was firm, calloused, and he
held eye contact a beat longer than normal, like he
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was trying to read something in my face. Welcome to
the night shift, Dave said, gesturing for us to sit
at one of the plastic tables. I know you boys
just want to get started earn your pay checks, but
first we need to go over some protocols, some rules
that might seem strange, but they exist for your safety
and the safety of every one who works here. James
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leaned back in his chair, already looking bored. Rules like
don't steal merchandise and show up on time. We got
it covered, boss, Different kinds of rules, Dave said, his
tone carrying a weight that made James sit up straighter.
He pulled out a stack of laminated cards from his folder.
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The plastic was yellowed with age, the text slightly faded,
like it had been printed and reprinted many times. Seven
rules that every night shift employee must follow no exceptions,
no excuses, No I forgot. He placed the first card
on the table with the deliberate care of someone handling
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something important. The text was typed in simple black font,
but something about seeing it written down made my skin crawl.
Rule one, the lights out protocol. At exactly two thirty
a m all lights will dim automatically throughout the store.
When this happens, you must remain completely motionless in your
assigned aisle for exactly fifteen minutes. Do not speak, do
(05:30):
not move, and do not make eye contact with anything
that moves in the darkness. The thin guy, his name
tag said Marcus, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his nervous
eyes darting between Dave and the exit. The girl Lisa
stared at her hands like they were the most interesting
things in the world. Rule two. Dave continued placing another
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card down with the same careful precision. Intercom silence. If
your name is called over the intercom between midnight and
five am, never respond. If it repeats three times, start
humming Happy Birthday until it stops calling your name. James snorted,
but it sounded forced. Seriously, this is like some weird
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hazing thing, right, like telling the new guy to get
a left handed screwdriver. Dave's eyes hardened, and the temperature
in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Rule
three the forbidden aisle. Never stock clean or enter aisle
thirteen pet supplies after eleven PM. If customers ask about it,
direct them to management immediately. I found myself leaning forward
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despite my skepticism. There was something in Dave's voice, a
weight that suggested these weren't just corporate nonsense or elaborate pranks.
The other employees were too quiet, too focused, like they
were listening to a safety briefing before heading into a
war zone. Rule four the reflection rule. Avoid looking directly
into security monitors, phone screens, or any reflective surfaces while alone.
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If you see something that shouldn't be there, look away
immediately and count to thirty without looking back. Rule five
the clean up call. If you hear the phrase clean
up on aisle followed by a number and no spill
actually exists, do not investigate radio management with false call
received and continue your assigned tasks. The middle aged woman, Janet,
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according to her name tag, was nodding along like she'd
heard this presentation before several times. Her nail picking had
become more aggressive. Rule six the customer after hours. If
a customer enters after two a m. Wearing all black
or all white, do not engage with them. Notify management
immediately via walkie talkie channel nine, using the code phrase
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special assistance needed. Rule seven, Dave said, placing the final
card on the table with deliberate care, like he was
setting down something that might explode. The storage room door.
The storage room door in electronics must remain closed at
all times. If found open, close it immediately without looking inside.
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If something prevents it from closing, evacuate the area and
call management. Silence settled over the break room like dust
after an explosion. The fluorescent lights continued their incessant humming,
and I could hear the distant sound of the store's
ventilation system cycling on and off. James was the first
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to speak, but his usual cockiness had faded. Okay, I'll
bite what happens if we break these rules? Dave gathered
the cards with movements that were too precise, too controlled.
There have been incidents with previous employees who didn't follow protocol.
We have a high turnover rate on the night shift.
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He looked directly at both of us, his gaze shifting
between James and me. These rules exist for your safety.
Break them at your own peril. I noticed that none
of the other employees were making eye contact when the
rules were discussed. Marcus was actually trembling slightly, and Lisa
had gone completely pale. Janet had stopped picking at her
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nails and was now gripping the edge of the table.
Any questions, Dave asked, though his tone suggested he didn't
particularly want any. Yeah, James said, his voice smaller than before.
Are you serious about all this, because this is either
the weirdest orientation ever or you're all incredible actors pulling
(09:40):
some kind of elaborate prank on the new guys. Dave
stood up, tucking the cards back into his folder with
the same careful precision. Nate, you'll be assigned to electronics,
James grocery. Your shift supervisors will show you your sections
and give you your individual tasks. Remember these protocols are
(10:01):
not suggestions, their requirements. Follow them exactly. As we filed
out of the break room, I caught Linda's eye through
the customer service window. She mouthed something that looked like
be careful before quickly looking away. Electronics occupied the back
corner of the store, a maze of televisions displaying colorful
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screen savers, computers, and gaming displays that cast flickering light
across the polished floor. My supervisor, Tom was a guy
in his thirties with a receding hair line and the
weary expression of someone who'd been doing this job too long.
His eyes had that same careful quality as Dave's. Always scanning,
always alert, Pretty straightforward work, he said, handing me a
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box cutter and pointing to a cart full of merchandise.
Stock the shelves, face the products forward, Keep everything neat
and organized. Your section runs from here to the pharmacy wall,
he gestured, toward the far end of the electronics department,
a distance that seemed much longer than it should have.
I spent the first hour getting familiar with my assigned area,
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learning where everything belonged. The work was mindless, scan a barcode,
find the right hook or shelf, hang, or place the item.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was fundamentally
wrong about this place. It wasn't anything I could put
my finger on, just a persistent sense of unease that
made my shoulders tense. The store felt too large, too empty.
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My footsteps echoed strangely on the polished floor, creating sounds
that seemed to carry further than they should. I kept
catching movement in my peripheral vision, shadows that shifted when
they shouldn't, reflections that didn't match what was actually there
that turned out to be nothing when I looked directly
at them. The fluorescent lights seemed dimmer than they should be,
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creating pools of shadow between the aisles that seemed to
move when I wasn't looking directly at them. Around eleven fifteen,
I found myself near the boundary of my section, close
to where the pharmacy met the main store. From here,
I could see down several aisles, including one that made
me stop and stare and growing unease, Aisle thirteen pet supplies.
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It looked wrong in ways I couldn't articulate, not dramatically different.
The shelves were still there, still stocked with dog food
and cat toys and aquarium supplies, but the lighting seemed
dimmer somehow, the shadows deeper and more substantial. The air
itself looked thicker, like I was seeing it through water.
As I watched a bag of dog food fell from
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a middle shelf, hitting the floor with a dull thud
that seemed to echo longer than it should have. Weird
draft in here tonight, Tom said, appearing beside me with
the silent efficiency that all the night shift workers seemed
to possess. But he wasn't looking at asle thirteen. He
was deliberately, obviously not looking at it, his gaze fixed
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somewhere else entirely. Should we clean that up? I asked,
pointing toward the fallen merchandise, not our section. Tom said quickly,
more quickly than the situation warranted. And besides, it's after eleven,
remember the rules. He walked away before I could ask
any more questions, leaving me standing there with the uncomfortable
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certainty that I'd just witnessed something I wasn't supposed to see.
James found me around eleven thirty, pushing his own card
of merchandise from the grocery section. His usual cocky grin
had faded completely, replaced by something that looked almost like fear.
This place is seriously messing with my head, he said,
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keeping his voice low and glancing around like he was
worried about being overheard. I swear I keep hearing things
like footsteps in the next aisle, over voices, having conversations
just quiet enough that I can't make out the words.
But every time I check, there's nobody there. Tell me
about it, I said, Relief flooding through me at having
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someone else acknowledged the strangeness. I just watched a bag
of dog food fall off the shelf in Aisle thirteen
by itself, no earthquake, no vibration, just fell. James's expression
grew more serious, and I could see him processing this information.
Marcus pulled me aside earlier, when Tom wasn't looking, said
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to take the rules seriously, that they aren't jokes or hazing. Apparently,
last month, some guy named Robert broke rule too answered
when his name was called over the intercom what happened
to him. Marcus wouldn't say exactly, just that Robert doesn't
work here anymore, and Dave won't talk about what happened.
But Marcus looked scared when he told me about it,
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really scared. We worked in relative silence after that, each
focused on our own sections, but making sure to stay
within sight of each other. The stores at me sphere
seemed to grow heavier as the night progressed, like the
air itself was becoming denser. The air conditioning created strange
whistling sounds through the vents that almost sounded like voices
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whispering just below the threshold of understanding, and the security
cameras mounted throughout the store seemed to track our movements
more obviously than they should have, their mechanical turning two deliberate,
too focused. At five minutes to midnight, Dave's voice crackled
over the intercom system with crystal clarity. Attention night shift employees,
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night shift is now officially active. Remember your protocols. The
words echoed through the empty store, bouncing off the high
ceiling and seeming to linger in the air longer than
they should have. I felt a chill run down my
spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning
and everything to do with the weight of those words
and what they implied. Then, just as the clock on
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the electronics department wall clicked to twelve acis with an
audible mechanical sound, I heard it, Nate. The voice was soft,
barely a whisper, coming through the ceiling speakers with perfect clarity.
It sounded like it was meant just for me. I froze,
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remembering rule two between midnight and five am, never respond
if your name is called over the intercom. Nate. The
voice came again, slightly louder, this time with an odd
electronic quality that made my skin crawl. That was two times.
If it called my name a third time, I needed
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to start humming happy Birthday until it stopped Nate three times.
I began to hum the familiar melody, my voice barely
audible even to myself in the vast emptiness of the store.
The tune felt absurd and inadequate against whatever was calling
my name, but I kept humming, following the rule exactly
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as Dave had explained it. As I hummed, something changed
in the quality of the voice. It became distorted, taking
on an electronic quality that was definitely not human, stretching
my name into something that sounded hungry and frustrated. After
what felt like an eternity but was probably only thirty seconds,
silence returned to the store. But it wasn't the same
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silence as before. This was heavier, more expectant, like something
was waiting to see what would happen next. The store
felt different after midnight. The fluorescent light seemed dimmer, casting
longer shadows between the aisles, and every sound echoed with
unnatural clarity. I stood frozen in the electronic section, my
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heart still racing from the distorted voice that had called
my name over the intercom. The humming of Happy Birthday
had stopped it, just like Rule two said it would,
but the silence that followed felt heavy with expectation. James
appeared from the grocery section, his usual swagger RepA placed
by something more cautious. His face was pale under the
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harsh lighting, and he kept glancing up at the nearest
speaker like he expected it to start talking again. Did
you hear that? He whispered, moving closer so his voice
wouldn't carry Someone calling your name three times? A chill
ran down my spine. James had heard it too, but
according to the rule, I wasn't supposed to respond. I'd
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followed the protocol exactly. But what would have happened if
I hadn't. The distorted quality of that final call suggested
nothing good. Must have been Dave doing some kind of test,
I said, though neither of us believed it. The voice
had been wrong in ways I couldn't articulate, Too hollow,
too hungry. Yeah, maybe, James said, but he didn't sound convinced.
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This whole place is starting to get to me. It's
like the building itself is watching us. We returned to
our sections, but the atmosphere had fundamentally changed. Every creak
of the building settling, every hum of the refrigeration units,
every distant sound of merchandise shifting on shelves seemed amplified
and deliberately placed. I found myself checking over my shoulder, constantly,
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expecting to see something that shouldn't be there. The work
felt different too. My hands moved automatically, stalking phone chargers
and cable adapters, but my mind was focused on the
environment around me. The security cameras mounted above seemed to
track my movement more obviously now, their mechanical turning too
deliberate for automated systems. The fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, just
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enough to create brief pockets of deeper shadow that seemed
to move independently. Around twelve thirty, I was restocking phone
cases when movement caught my eye. One of the security
monitors mounted above the electronics counter was cycling through different
camera feeds, and for just a moment, I saw something
that made my blood freeze in my veins. A figure
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in all blod was walking down Aisle thirteen, tall, impossibly thin,
moving with an unnatural gait that seemed too fluid, too
wrong for human anatomy. Its movements were jerky and strange,
like a marionette being operated by someone who didn't quite
understand how joints worked. The time stamp showed the feed
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was live, happening right now. Rule four echoed in my mind.
Avoid looking directly into security monitors while alone. But I
was already looking, already seeing something I shouldn't. The figure
turned toward the camera, and where its face should have
been was only shadow, not darkness, but actual emptiness, like
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looking into a void shaped like a person. I forced
myself to look away, counting to thirty, just like the
rule instructed. My hands were shaking as I gripped the
edge of the counter, forcing myself to stare at the
floor tiles and count each number slowly, seven, twenty eight,
twenty nine, thirty. When I looked back, the monitor showed
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an empty pet supplies aisle, fluorescent lights humming over neat
rows of dog food and cat toys. But something was different.
The merchandise that had fallen earlier was gone, cleaned up
by invisible hands. My hands were still shaking as I
grabbed my walkie talkie. Tom, you there. Static crackled for
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several seconds before Tom's voice came through, sounding strained, what's up, Nate?
I need you to check i'le thirteen thought I saw someone.
I couldn't bring myself to describe what I'd actually seen.
A pause that lasted too long. You know the rules
about a'sle thirteen after eleven, right, nobody goes in there.
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I'm not asking you to go in. Just look from
the end from a distance. Another pause, longer. This time
I could hear muffled sounds through the radio, like Tom
was moving around isles empty has been all night. His
voice carried a weight that suggested this wasn't the first
time he'd had this conversation with a new employee. I
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clipped the radio back to my belt, my hands still
trembling slightly. The rational part of my mind insisted I'd
imagined it that the stress of the new job and
the bizarre orientation had created hallucinations. But the rest of me,
the part that had grown up on horror movies and
ghost stories knew better. I'd seen something real, something that
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existed in the spaces between normal and nightmare. The next
hour passed in a haze of mundane tasks, punctuated by
moments of inexplicable dread. Items would fall from shelves and
other sections, creating distant crashes that echoed through the store.
The intercom would crackle to life with static that almost
sounded like whispered conversations. The temperature seemed to fluctuate ran,
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creating cold spots that raised goosebumps on my arms despite
the consistent air conditioning. James found me around one point fifteen,
pushing his cart with considerably less enthusiasm than when we'd started.
His confident demeanor had eroded, further, replaced by something that
looked almost like fear. This place is seriously messing with
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my head, he said, keeping his voice low and constantly
glancing around like he was worried about being overheard. I
keep hearing things in the next aisle over footsteps, voices
having conversations, just quiet enough that I can't make out words,
But every time I check, there's nobody there. Tell me
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about it, I said, Relief flooding through me at having
someone else acknowledge the wrongness. I saw something on the
security monitor earlier, something in Aisle thirteen that definitely wasn't human.
James's expression grew more serious, and I could see him
processing this inform against his natural skepticism. Marcus pulled me
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aside earlier when Tom wasn't looking, said to take the
rules seriously, that they aren't jokes or corporate hazing. Apparently,
last month, some guy named Robert broke rule two answered
when his name was called over the intercom what happened
to him. Marcus wouldn't say exactly, just that Robert doesn't
work here anymore, and Dave won't talk about what happened.
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But Marcus looked genuinely scared when he told me, like
really scared, not the kind of scared you get from
a prank gone wrong. Before I could respond, the intercom
crackled to life with crystal clarity clean up on i'le seven.
We both froze. James was assigned to grocery, which included
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i'le seven, but rule five was explicit. If you hear
clean up on ale and no spill exists don't investigate
radio management with false call received and continue your tasks.
There's no spill in seven, James said, his voice tight
with growing anxiety. I was just there twenty minutes ago.
Everything was perfect. Then radio it in like the rule says,
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false call received. Remember, But James was already walking toward
the grocery section, curiosity and stubborn pride overriding caution. I
need to see for myself. This is getting ridiculous. I
followed reluctantly, my stomach twisting with dread. Every instinct I
had was screaming that this was a mistake, that we
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should follow the rules exactly as Dave had explained them.
But James was my best friend, and I wasn't going
to let him face whatever this was alone. Aisle seven
stretched before us under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Cereal boxes
and breakfast items lined the shelves in perfect rows, exactly
as they should be. No spill anywhere, no reason for
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a clean up call. But at the far end of
the aisle, barely visible in the shadows between the ceiling lights,
stood Marcus. He was completely motionless, facing away from us,
arms hanging at his sides like a marionette. With cut strings.
He'd been standing there for who knows how long, not moving,
not responding to our approach, not even appearing to breathe normally,
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Marcus James called softly, his voice echoing strangely in the
confined space of the aisle. You okay, man, No response.
Marcus didn't even acknowledge we were there. As we got closer,
I could see that something was fundamentally wrong with the
way he was standing. His posture was too rigid, too perfect,
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like a statue rather than a living person. His breathing
was barely perceptible, and when it did come, it was
too slow, too measured, like he was in some kind
of trance, Marcus James said, again, reaching out to touch
his shoulder. That's when Marcus turned around, and I saw
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something that would haunt my dress for years to come.
His eyes were completely black, pupils dilated so wide they
consumed the iris, entirely reflecting the fluorescent lights like dark mirrors.
When he spoke, his voice carried an echo that seemed
to come from somewhere else, entirely, somewhere deep and hollow
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and hungry. They're waking up, he whispered, and his voice
was layered with harmonics that human vocal chords couldn't produce.
They've been sleeping so long, but now they're waking up
and they're hungry. Dave appeared as if from nowhere. Flanked
by Tom and Janet, they moved with practiced efficiency, each
taking one of Marcus's arms and guiding him away from us.
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Marcus didn't resist, but he didn't seem entirely present either.
His black eyes never left my face as they led
him past us, and his mouth continued moving soundlessly. What
happened to him, James demanded, his voice cracking with stress.
Dave's expression was grim kind of professional mask someone wears
when delivering terrible news. Marcus broke protocol. He's being reassigned
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to a different position. Reassigned where What kind of reassignment
turned someone's eyes black? That's not your concern, Dave said,
his voice carrying a finality that discouraged further questions. You
boys need to focus on your own assignments and remember
the rules. Follow them exactly, no matter what you see
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or hear. As they led Marcus away, I caught a
glimpse of his face one more time, for just a moment.
His black eyes seemed to focus on me with desperate clarity,
and his mouth formed words I could barely make out,
don't let them in. James and I stood alone in
Aisle seven, the fluorescent lights humming overhead like angry insects.
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The store felt colder, now heavier, as if something vast
and malevolent had stirred in the shadows and was slowly
awakening to our presence. Jesus Christ, James breathed, running his
hands through his hair. What the hell was that? That
wasn't human behavior. People don't just stand motionless for unknown
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amounts of time with their eyes turned completely black. I
couldn't answer, because I didn't have an answer. All I
knew was that the rules weren't just corporate policies or
elaborate pranks designed to scare new employees. They were protection
against something real, something that wanted in, and Marcus had
let it in. At exactly two am, Dave's voice crackled
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over the walkie talkie system, reaching every employee simultaneously. Lights
out protocol initiates in thirty minutes. All employees report to
assigned positions immediately. James and I exchanged worried glances as
the store's atmosphere grew noticeably heavier, like the air itself
was becoming denser. The fluorescent life heights seemed dimmer now,
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and the shadows between the aisles appeared to be moving independently,
shifting and writhing like living things. We'd made it through
the first test, but the night was far from over,
and somewhere in the store's growing darkness, Marcus's words echoed,
They're waking up. Dave's warnings still echoed through the walky talkie.
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When I slipped back into Electronics, the air had turned
thick and damp, as if the store's ventilation had started
recycling someone else's breath. James lingered at the end of
the main aisle, forcing a grin. He didn't feel fifteen minutes,
he said, tapping his watch, How bad can it be?
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Neither of us answered. We just drifted apart, the way
swimmers separate before a storm, each pretending the water is safe.
Two twenty a m. I straightened the last row of
US B hubs, keeping one eye on the digital clocks
fixed above every fire exit. They all ticked in perfect
a corporate heartbeat, counting down to something none of us wanted.
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Around me. The other employees migrated to their assigned aisles.
Lisa crossed herself before vanishing into toys. Janet folded her
hands like she planned to pray. Tom rehearsed deep breaths,
jaw clenched so tight. I heard his teeth scrape. At
two twenty nine, the brightness in the ceiling fixtures bled away,
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not a flicker, but a slow draining, like color leaving film.
The final second stretched forever, then everything slid into charcoal twilight.
The hum of fluorescence cut out. Silence arrived so suddenly
my ear drum's hurt. I locked my knees, arms pinned
to my sides. Fifteen minutes. Rule one was simple on paper,
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unbearable in practice. The darkness wasn't complete. Emergency diodes cast
weak yellow puddles that made the shadows look thicker. Within seconds,
those shadows moved. Something glided across the far end of
the aisle, too tall to be human, its outline rippling
like heat above asphalt. I focused on the scuffed tile
(32:10):
two feet in front of my shoes and counted my
heart beat. Forty beats maybe fifty passed before the thing
stopped opposite me. I felt pressure, as though its gaze
were a hand pushing against my cheek. My eyes watered,
but I didn't blink. Far off, metal shelves rattled, plastic squealed.
A deep breath that wasn't mine, scraped the air behind
(32:32):
my shoulder. Sweat trickled down My spine moved no farther.
Time lost meaning until the store's PA system crackled with
a single distorted note. Light rushed back, color flooding like
a reversed Sunrise two forty five A m Rule one ended.
I forced my legs to unlock, every muscle, aching like
(32:55):
I'd sprinted miles down the aisle. The space where Tom
should have stood was empty. His pallette still blocked the
floor box cutter, resting on top, as if he'd set
it down mid motion. Three other aisles held abandoned carts.
None of the missing workers answered radio calls. A shrill
beap burst through my headset storage room doors open, James said, voice,
(33:18):
shaky electronic side. My stomach lurched. Rule seven. I found
him near the loading bay, staring at the metal door
I'd checked an hour ago. It gaped inward overhead light,
flickering frigid air, rolled out, carrying a smell like old pennies.
We close it, I whispered, no looking, no stepping inside.
(33:41):
James nodded, yet his sneakers inched forward. Whoever's gone might
be hurt. He reached the threshold before I grabbed his sleeve.
You remember Marcus, I hissed. The name alone made him flinch,
but stubborn pride won. He pulled free and slipped past
the frame. I couldn't abandon him. Holding my breath, I
(34:04):
crossed into the gloom. The storage room was bigger than
I remembered, aisles of overstok, receding into darkness that swallowed
the emergency lights. Cardboard crushed under each step, muffling nothing ahead.
A ring of figures stood between towering pallets, Tom Linda,
two employees whose names I never learned, faces, blank eyes,
(34:26):
bottomless wells. They formed a perfect circle around a stain
that writhed like oil in water. The stain rose, resolving
into a shape stitched together from multiple faces, each mouthing
silent screams. The thing's limbs were long, jointed, wrong, ending
in hands that split into fingers, then into smaller fingers. Still,
(34:49):
it hooked one limb under James's arm before either of
us could run. He shouted, sound strangled as it left
his throat. Skin around his eyes went gray. I surged forward.
Tom blocked me. His expression tranquil and horrible. Contract is broken,
he said, voice layered like Marcus's had been. Payment required.
(35:11):
James's scream warped into static. The entity pressed its shifting
faces against his inhaling, Colors drained from him, hair, skin,
even the blue of his shirt leached into the creature,
until James looked like an overexposed photograph. His eyes turned black.
When the monster let go, he remained upright inside the circle,
(35:33):
another statue in their grotesque display. I stumbled back, bile rising.
The door loomed behind me, but Janet filled the gap,
smile Serene. I ducked beneath her arm slammed shoulder first
into the metal. As I burst into the main store,
the fire alarm light strobed painting aisles in violent red.
(35:54):
Three thirty a m. Rules felt shredded, but memory of
them was all I had. I bolted left, away from
reflective cabinet glass, away from the intercom speakers that whispered
half words. Footsteps multiple sets followed, slow and deliberate. They
didn't need to hurry. They knew the labyrinth better than
(36:16):
I ever would. Sprinting past infants, I caught a glimpse
in a hanging mirror. The sail's floor had transformed into
a nightmarish duplicate. End caps bled, rust, ceiling tiles sagged
like wet paper, and shadow figures crawled along the beams.
Seeing it nearly froze me, but I jerked my gaze
away at the last second and counted to thirty. As
(36:38):
I ran at the pharmacy junction, the p a crackled, Nate,
help me. James's voice. Rule two kicked hard, yet the
voice used only one repetition my name elongated vowels stretching
like taffy before the system died again. A laugh followed,
low and bubbling from everywhere at once. I needed allies.
(37:02):
The manager's office had reinforced doors and security locks. If
anyone survived, they'd be there. I skirted Ale thirteen. The
pet isle no longer looked like pets. Cages rattled though
nothing visible touched them, and raced down Seasonal. Every motion
censer registered me a split second late, lights blooming only
(37:23):
after I passed, leaving black behind. Janet stepped from hardware
with a claw hammer raised. Her eyes were pitch pits,
but tears streamed down her cheeks. It's easier if you
stop running, she whispered. They only need one rule broken.
I ducked under the swing, metal skimmed my hair. Sparks
flew where the hammer met an end cap. I shoved
(37:44):
past heart, threatening to rip. Free security doors appeared ahead,
small rectangle of yellow emergency glow. Dave cracked the door
at my frantic knock. Two survivors crouched inside, Lisa clinging
to a hand held radio, and Arturo, a night janitor
i'd met during break. Dave sealed the lock while Lisa
(38:05):
wiped blood from a split lip. Anyone else, he asked,
Tom's gone? Janets turned James. My voice broke. I pressed
knuckles to teeth and forced words through. Something in the
storage room took him. All the rules they're failing. Dave's
shoulders sagged, resolved, draining. They're not failing. Too many violations
(38:30):
mean the contract lapses. The rules don't cage the entities.
They bargain with them. Tonight we lost the bargain. Then
what do we do? Hold out until dawn? He said,
sliding a shotgun from under his desk. Sunrise resets the terms.
We keep every rule we still can. His eyes flicked
(38:53):
to the monitors. Static devoured half the feeds. The rest
showed impossibilities, aisles straight uching into infinity. Mannikins breathing. A
radio hiss drew our attention. Channel nine Special Assistance needed
A voice mimicked monotone and cold, followed by wet, chewing sounds.
(39:14):
Lisa almost answered before Dave slapped the radio from her hand.
They mimic, don't respond, He growled three point fifty am.
Thuds shook the office door, first knuckles, then palms, then
something sharper. The hinges groaned. Dave herded us toward the
supply closet plan already in mind. Service corridor leads to
(39:38):
the garden center. He whispered, glass roof with luck, will
see dawn through it. He keyed a back panel. The
hidden door slid open on a dim hallway, smelling of mildew.
We slipped through, locking it behind the corridor ran the
length of the building, pipes sweating overhead. Halfway down, metal screamed.
(39:58):
Ceiling panels bulge as something crawled above, matching our pace
at the exit ladder. Lisa froze, pointing letters, oozed down
the concrete wall, forming words in slick black liquid. Follow James.
She sobbed. Arturo pulled her up the ladder and I followed.
(40:18):
Dave last with the gun. We emerged among plastic lawn
furniture stacked like gravestones. Outside panes showed the sky still black,
horizon hinting purple. We barricaded the interior gate with grills
and pallets. For a moment, quiet wind rustled fake palm leaves.
(40:39):
Somewhere a real owl hooted. Then James stepped into view
beyond the chain link, smiled, gentle eyes, twin voids. Nate,
You're safe now, he called, come out. You never broke
a rule. His voice was exactly right every cadence of
four years, friendship. My throat tightened. Dave chambered around. It
(41:02):
isn't him, I knew, but it hurt like truth. The
James thing pressed palms against the wire. Shadows pooled around
his feet, rising to his waist like ink in water.
Behind him, others emerged Tom Janet Marcus, faces stretched in
eager hunger. They spoke in chorus one rule, Nathan break
(41:26):
one and it's painless our Turo's resolve snapped. He hurled
a chair, shouted curses, and darted for the gate. Before
we could stop him, claws of darkness speared through the mesh,
dragging him off his feet. His scream died mid breath.
Blood spotted the cement, then vanished, soaked up by shadows.
(41:47):
Lisa collapsed. I pulled her behind a display of potting soil,
pretending the bags were walls. Dave fired once. The blast
blew a hole in the James Thing's shoulder. Tar, not blood,
splattered the concrete, and the face simply re arranged itself
whole again. Four a m. Two hours until dawn. The
(42:08):
shotgun held four shells. Fear held the rest of us,
but the rules some still stood, thin armour between us
and oblivion. I recited them under my breath like scripture,
clinging to the idea that survival was just disciplined obedience.
Outside the glass roof, night finally looked fragile, edges paling
(42:30):
by degrees we could barely perceive, but enough for hope
to wedge into my chest and stay. Four a m.
The garden center felt like a trap disguised as sanctuary.
Artificial plants cast twisted shadows under emergency lighting, and every
plastic leaf rustled with movements that had nothing to do
with ventilation. Dave crouched behind a display of ceramic planters,
(42:54):
shotgun balanced across his knees, counting shells with the grim
precision of a man calculating his own death. Two hours,
he whispered, more to himself than to us. Sunrise at six.
The entities can only maintain full manifestation until then. Lisa
huddled against a bag of mulch tears, cutting tracks through
(43:15):
the dust on her cheeks. She hadn't spoken since watching
Arturo get dragged through the fence, hadn't even acknowledged the
James things still pressed against the chain link fifteen feet away.
Its face wore my best friend's smile, but shadow pooled
around its feet like spilled ink, and those black eyes
held nothing human. Nate. It called voice, perfectly matching four
(43:40):
years of shared jokes and late night conversations. You're scared,
I understand, but you don't have to be alone. I
forced myself not to respond. Rule two held even here,
even when the voice belonged to someone I'd trusted with
my life. The thing wearing James's face, tilted its head
(44:00):
with familiar curiosity. Remember sophomore year when you got food
poisoning from the cafeteria sushi. I stayed up all night
making sure you didn't choke. The memory was real, perfect
in every detail. Only James could know about the way
I'd gripped his wrist when the fever spiked, terrified of
dying alone in a dorm room. I'm still here, Nate,
(44:24):
I'm still your friend. My throat tightened, but Dave's hand
found my shoulder. It harvests memories when it takes someone,
he said, quietly. Everything James knew, It knows everything, he felt,
it can mimic. The store beyond the garden Center had
transformed completely. Through the interior windows, I watched aisles stretch
(44:47):
impossibly long, ceialing tiles melting like wax, and figures that
might have been customers or employees shambling between displays of
merchandise that shifted and crawled when observed directly. The fluorescent
lights strobed in patterns that hurt to look at, casting
shadows that moved independently of their sources. How long has
(45:09):
this been happening? I asked, Dave's laugh held no humor
twenty three years, ever since they built this place on
the Hendrix farm. He gestured toward the store with his chin.
Old Tom Hendrix claimed the land was cursed, said his
cattle wouldn't graze in certain spots, found dead birds arranged
(45:29):
in patterns he couldn't explain. Corporate bought him out anyway,
cheaper than finding clean land. And you've been fighting this
for twenty three years. Fighting's the wrong word managing. Maybe
the rules worked as long as everyone followed them, but
tonight he shook his head. Too many violations, the contracts void.
(45:52):
Lisa finally spoke, voice hoarse from crying what contract the
entities agreed to stay dormant in a exchange for specific
behaviors they feed on. Rule violations grow stronger with each
broken protocol. Seven rules kept them contained, But break enough
and they're free to hunt. A new sound joined the
(46:13):
James things, pleading other voices, dozens of them, all calling
my name from different locations around the garden center. Some
I recognized Tom from electronics, Janet from grocery, even Linda
from customer service, all speaking in that same hollow, harmonized
tone that made my skin crawl. The eighth rule, Dave
(46:34):
said suddenly, his eyes widening, like he'd just remembered something crucial.
There's an eighth rule. They never wanted us to know
what eighth rule. The entities cannot directly harm someone who
hasn't broken any protocols. They can trick you, manipulate you,
terrorize you, but they can't touch you unless you violate
(46:55):
the rules yourself. I thought back through the night, calling
my name, I'd hummed instead of responding the security monitor,
I'd looked away and counted to thirty every supernatural encounter.
I'd followed the protocols exactly as Dave had explained them.
I haven't broken any rules, I whispered. Then you can
(47:19):
walk out of here, Dave said, right through them. They
might try to scare you, might show you things that'll
haunt your dreams forever, but they can't physically stop you.
What about you and Lisa? Dave's expression darkened. I broke
rule four earlier tonight, looked into a security monitor too long,
saw things that weren't there, lost my protection. He turned
(47:42):
to Lisa, What about you? She sobbed harder. I answered,
when they called my name just once, right after Marcus disappeared,
I forgot about the rule. For ten seconds. The weight
of their words settled over me like a burial shroud.
I was the only one still protected, the only one
who could leave. But that meant abandoning them to whatever
(48:03):
weighted in the stores transformed shadows. I can't just leave you.
You have to, Dave said firmly. Twenty three years I've
managed this place, lost more good people than I can count.
If someone doesn't survive to tell the story, to warn others,
than everyone who died tonight dies for nothing. Five point
fifteen am, the voices outside grew louder, more insistent. The
(48:28):
James thing had been joined by a dozen others, all
pressing against the fence, all wearing faces I recognized. They
spoke in unison, now a chorus of corruption that made
the Garden Center's walls vibrate. Join us, Nathan, break just
one rule. It's so much easier on the other side.
Dave pressed the shotgun into my hands. Four shells left.
(48:52):
Use them if you have to, but remember they'll try
to make you break the rules. Stay focused on the protocols,
no matter what they show you. I stood on shaking legs,
checking my watch forty five minutes until sunrise. The main
exit was on the opposite side of the store, which
(49:12):
meant crossing the entire nightmare that had been a normal
retail space hours ago. But if Dave was right about
the eighth rule, I could make it. Wait, Lisa whispered,
grabbing my arm. Take this. She pressed her employee badge
into my palm. My sister works for corporate. If you survive,
(49:32):
tell her what really happens here. Tell her about the rules.
I clipped the badge to my shirt, next to my own,
two small pieces of plastic that felt heavier than armor.
Dave unlocked the interior gate, and I stepped into hell.
The store had become a living thing. The floor pulsed
beneath my feet like a heartbeat, and the walls breathed
(49:53):
with a rhythm that didn't match human lungs. Aisles stretched
in directions that violated basic geometry, and products writhed on
shelves that grew and split like cancer cells. The air
tasted of copper and decay, but I walked forward, keeping
my eyes fixed on the distant glow of the main entrance.
(50:13):
The entities flanked me on both sides, dozens of them now,
all wearing familiar faces, all speaking in voices. I knew
they reached out with grasping fingers, but their hands stopped
inches from my skin, repelled by some invisible barrier. Look
at us, Nathan, they pleaded, just looked directly at us.
For five seconds. That's all we ask. I kept walking,
(50:38):
reciting the rules under my breath like a mantra. No
eye contact with moving shadows, no response to voices calling
my name, no looking into reflective surfaces, no investigating false alarms.
In Aisle seven, the James thing materialized beside me, matching
my pace perfectly. It looked exactly as he had it
(51:00):
orientation twelve hours ago. Sandy hair confident grin that Ratty
University T shirt he'd warned to impress nobody. Only the
eyes gave it away, black holes that seemed to pull
light out of the world. Remember when we were kids,
it said conversationally. You were always the careful one, always
(51:20):
following rules, always afraid to take risks. I used to
think it held you back. I didn't respond, but tears
ran down my cheeks. The thing noticed and smiled with
James's mouth. I was wrong, though, your caution kept you
alive tonight. You followed every protocol, trusted every word. Dave said,
(51:43):
never let curiosity or pride override your survival instinct. I'm
proud of you. The words were James's, perfectly chosen to
cut deepest. I stumbled, but kept walking. But that's the
thing about rules, isn't it. There be broken just one
s Nate, break just one rule, and you can join me.
(52:05):
We can be friends forever, the way we always planned.
I was halfway across the store. Now the main entrance
glowed brighter, and through the windows I could see the
faintest hint of dawn touching the eastern horizon. Twenty minutes,
maybe less. The James thing stepped in front of me,
forcing me to stop. Its face cycled through expressions. I
(52:26):
remembered James laughing at a stupid movie, James crying when
his grandfather died, James grinning as we got accepted to
the same college. Perfect mimicry of five years of friendship.
You're going to leave me here, it said, And now
it sounded hurt, betrayed. After everything we've been through, You're
(52:48):
just going to walk away. My resolve cracked. This wasn't
just some monster wearing James's face. It had his memories,
his personality, his capacity for making me feel guilty about
things that weren't my fault. For a moment, I almost
reached out. Then I noticed its reflection in a nearby
freezer door. While the James things spoke with perfect human emotion,
(53:12):
its reflection showed only writhing shadow, multiple faces, screaming silently
in an endless void of hunger. I closed my eyes
and pushed past, refusing to look back, even when it
called my name in James's voice, even when it sobbed
with the exact sound my best friend made when his
parents got divorced. Junior year five forty five a m.
(53:34):
The automatic doors were ten feet away. Beyond them, the
parking lot held the same cars we'd parked twelve hours ago,
looking impossibly normal under street lights that flickered like dying candles.
The eastern sky showed the first hint of genuine dawn,
not the false light I'd been hoping for all night.
I broke into a run, legs pumping despite exhaustion that
(53:57):
went deeper than muscle and bone. The door sensed my
approach and slid open with their familiar mechanical wheeze. Cold
morning air hit my face like a benediction. Behind me,
the entity's voices rose to a chorus of rage and frustration,
but they couldn't follow. Invisible lines held them inside their
(54:18):
domain of shadow and corporate fluorescence. I stumbled into the
parking lot, fell to my knees on asphalt that felt
solid and real, and watched the sun climb over the
horizon with tears streaming down my face. The wal mart
behind me flickered like a mirage, reality reasserting itself as
sunlight touched the building's facade. Through the windows, I could
(54:41):
see normal aisles, normal merchandise, normal fluorescent lights humming over
empty shelves. A few early shift employees were already pulling
into the parking lot, ready to start another ordinary day
of retail work. None of them would remember Dave or Lisa,
or any of the others who'd vanished into the stores
hungry darkness. By tomorrow, there would be new employees, new
(55:04):
faces to learn the rules that kept the night shift bearable,
and eventually, inevitably, someone would break protocol again. I walked
to my car on unsteady legs, carrying the weight of
James's death, and the knowledge that some places exist in
the spaces between normal and nightmare, sustained by corporate efficiency
(55:25):
and human hubris. The rules weren't just guidelines. They were
all that stood between the ordinary world and something vast
and patient and eternally hungry. As I drove away, I
could see the wal Mart in my rear view mirror,
bright and cheerful in the morning sun, already preparing for
another day of business as usual. But I knew what
(55:47):
waited there when darkness fell again. And I knew that,
somewhere in the shadows between the aisles, something wearing my
best friend's face was learning to be more patient, more persuasive,
more human. The rules would hold for now, But rules,
as James had always said, were made to be broken.
The parking lot stretched endlessly under sickly orange sodium lights,
asphalt still radiating heat from the day. I pulled into
a spot near the back, James already climbing out of
his beat up Honda beside me. The Walmart loomed ahead
like some corporate cathedral, its blue and yellow facade garish
against the night sky, windows glowing with that harsh fluorescent
(00:29):
light that seemed to repel rather than welcome. Can't believe
we're actually doing this, James said, stretching his arms above
his head. His sandy hair caught the light as he
grinned at me with that easy confidence that had gotten
us through four years of friendship. Night shift at Walmart.
Our parents would be so proud. I locked my car
(00:49):
and shouldered my backpack, trying to match his enthusiasm. It's
just for the summer. College isn't paying for itself. The
truth was I needed this job more than James did.
His parents had money, Mine had medical bills and a mortgage.
They were still fighting. The parking lot felt too quiet,
too empty, with only a handful of cars scattered across
(01:12):
the vast expanse of painted lines. The automatic doors slid
open with a mechanical wheeze, and cold air hit us
like a wall. Inside the store felt different than during
the day. Too bright, too quiet, too vast. Our footsteps
echoed on the polished floor as we made our way
(01:34):
toward the customer service desk, passing empty aisles that seemed
to stretch into darkness. The ceiling lights hummed with an
intensity that made my eyes water, casting everything in stark
relief that somehow made the shadows seem deeper. You boys,
the new night shift. The voice belonged to a woman
in her fifties, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail,
(01:57):
dark circles under her eyes, like she'd been working nights
for years. Her name tag read Linda. She looked us
up and down with the weary assessment of someone who'd
seen too many new faces come and go. That's us,
James said, flashing his most charming smile. Nate and James
ready to stalk some shelves and earn our keep. Linda's
(02:20):
smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Dave's waiting for you
in the breakroom through the doors down the hall. Can't
miss it, she paused, studying us both with an expression
I couldn't quite read word of advice. Listen to everything
Dave tells you, every single word. Don't think you know better.
(02:41):
The employee corridor was a stark contrast to the customer areas.
Beige walls, cheaper lighting, the smell of industrial cleaning supplies
mixed with old coffee. The breakroom smelled like burnt coffee
and industrial disinfectant. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows
across mismatched table and chairs that had seen better decades.
(03:02):
A handful of other employees sat scattered around, a thin
guy with nervous eyes who kept glancing at the clock,
A middle aged woman picking at her nails with methodical precision.
A younger girl who couldn't have been much older than us,
but looked like she'd aged years in whatever time she'd
been here. You must be our newbies. The voice belonged
(03:23):
to a man emerging from what looked like a manager's office.
Dave was probably forty average height, but solid, with the
kind of weathered face that suggested he'd seen things he
didn't talk about. His polo shirt was pressed, his hair neat,
but his eyes held a seriousness that seemed out of
place for a retail manager. There was something about the
(03:45):
way he carried himself that reminded me of my uncle
who'd done two tours in Afghanistan. Alert, careful, like he
was always listening for something, James and Nate, I said,
extending my hand. His grip was firm, calloused, and he
held eye contact a beat longer than normal, like he
(04:05):
was trying to read something in my face. Welcome to
the night shift, Dave said, gesturing for us to sit
at one of the plastic tables. I know you boys
just want to get started earn your pay checks, but
first we need to go over some protocols, some rules
that might seem strange, but they exist for your safety
and the safety of every one who works here. James
(04:26):
leaned back in his chair, already looking bored. Rules like
don't steal merchandise and show up on time. We got
it covered, boss, Different kinds of rules, Dave said, his
tone carrying a weight that made James sit up straighter.
He pulled out a stack of laminated cards from his folder.
(04:46):
The plastic was yellowed with age, the text slightly faded,
like it had been printed and reprinted many times. Seven
rules that every night shift employee must follow no exceptions,
no excuses, No I forgot. He placed the first card
on the table with the deliberate care of someone handling
(05:06):
something important. The text was typed in simple black font,
but something about seeing it written down made my skin crawl.
Rule one, the lights out protocol. At exactly two thirty
a m all lights will dim automatically throughout the store.
When this happens, you must remain completely motionless in your
assigned aisle for exactly fifteen minutes. Do not speak, do
(05:30):
not move, and do not make eye contact with anything
that moves in the darkness. The thin guy, his name
tag said Marcus, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his nervous
eyes darting between Dave and the exit. The girl Lisa
stared at her hands like they were the most interesting
things in the world. Rule two. Dave continued placing another
(05:52):
card down with the same careful precision. Intercom silence. If
your name is called over the intercom between midnight and
five am, never respond. If it repeats three times, start
humming Happy Birthday until it stops calling your name. James snorted,
but it sounded forced. Seriously, this is like some weird
(06:15):
hazing thing, right, like telling the new guy to get
a left handed screwdriver. Dave's eyes hardened, and the temperature
in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Rule
three the forbidden aisle. Never stock clean or enter aisle
thirteen pet supplies after eleven PM. If customers ask about it,
direct them to management immediately. I found myself leaning forward
(06:38):
despite my skepticism. There was something in Dave's voice, a
weight that suggested these weren't just corporate nonsense or elaborate pranks.
The other employees were too quiet, too focused, like they
were listening to a safety briefing before heading into a
war zone. Rule four the reflection rule. Avoid looking directly
into security monitors, phone screens, or any reflective surfaces while alone.
(07:04):
If you see something that shouldn't be there, look away
immediately and count to thirty without looking back. Rule five
the clean up call. If you hear the phrase clean
up on aisle followed by a number and no spill
actually exists, do not investigate radio management with false call
received and continue your assigned tasks. The middle aged woman, Janet,
(07:28):
according to her name tag, was nodding along like she'd
heard this presentation before several times. Her nail picking had
become more aggressive. Rule six the customer after hours. If
a customer enters after two a m. Wearing all black
or all white, do not engage with them. Notify management
immediately via walkie talkie channel nine, using the code phrase
(07:52):
special assistance needed. Rule seven, Dave said, placing the final
card on the table with deliberate care, like he was
setting down something that might explode. The storage room door.
The storage room door in electronics must remain closed at
all times. If found open, close it immediately without looking inside.
(08:14):
If something prevents it from closing, evacuate the area and
call management. Silence settled over the break room like dust
after an explosion. The fluorescent lights continued their incessant humming,
and I could hear the distant sound of the store's
ventilation system cycling on and off. James was the first
(08:34):
to speak, but his usual cockiness had faded. Okay, I'll
bite what happens if we break these rules? Dave gathered
the cards with movements that were too precise, too controlled.
There have been incidents with previous employees who didn't follow protocol.
We have a high turnover rate on the night shift.
(08:56):
He looked directly at both of us, his gaze shifting
between James and me. These rules exist for your safety.
Break them at your own peril. I noticed that none
of the other employees were making eye contact when the
rules were discussed. Marcus was actually trembling slightly, and Lisa
had gone completely pale. Janet had stopped picking at her
(09:19):
nails and was now gripping the edge of the table.
Any questions, Dave asked, though his tone suggested he didn't
particularly want any. Yeah, James said, his voice smaller than before.
Are you serious about all this, because this is either
the weirdest orientation ever or you're all incredible actors pulling
(09:40):
some kind of elaborate prank on the new guys. Dave
stood up, tucking the cards back into his folder with
the same careful precision. Nate, you'll be assigned to electronics,
James grocery. Your shift supervisors will show you your sections
and give you your individual tasks. Remember these protocols are
(10:01):
not suggestions, their requirements. Follow them exactly. As we filed
out of the break room, I caught Linda's eye through
the customer service window. She mouthed something that looked like
be careful before quickly looking away. Electronics occupied the back
corner of the store, a maze of televisions displaying colorful
(10:22):
screen savers, computers, and gaming displays that cast flickering light
across the polished floor. My supervisor, Tom was a guy
in his thirties with a receding hair line and the
weary expression of someone who'd been doing this job too long.
His eyes had that same careful quality as Dave's. Always scanning,
always alert, Pretty straightforward work, he said, handing me a
(10:46):
box cutter and pointing to a cart full of merchandise.
Stock the shelves, face the products forward, Keep everything neat
and organized. Your section runs from here to the pharmacy wall,
he gestured, toward the far end of the electronics department,
a distance that seemed much longer than it should have.
I spent the first hour getting familiar with my assigned area,
(11:06):
learning where everything belonged. The work was mindless, scan a barcode,
find the right hook or shelf, hang, or place the item.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was fundamentally
wrong about this place. It wasn't anything I could put
my finger on, just a persistent sense of unease that
made my shoulders tense. The store felt too large, too empty.
(11:29):
My footsteps echoed strangely on the polished floor, creating sounds
that seemed to carry further than they should. I kept
catching movement in my peripheral vision, shadows that shifted when
they shouldn't, reflections that didn't match what was actually there
that turned out to be nothing when I looked directly
at them. The fluorescent lights seemed dimmer than they should be,
(11:51):
creating pools of shadow between the aisles that seemed to
move when I wasn't looking directly at them. Around eleven fifteen,
I found myself near the boundary of my section, close
to where the pharmacy met the main store. From here,
I could see down several aisles, including one that made
me stop and stare and growing unease, Aisle thirteen pet supplies.
(12:14):
It looked wrong in ways I couldn't articulate, not dramatically different.
The shelves were still there, still stocked with dog food
and cat toys and aquarium supplies, but the lighting seemed
dimmer somehow, the shadows deeper and more substantial. The air
itself looked thicker, like I was seeing it through water.
As I watched a bag of dog food fell from
(12:36):
a middle shelf, hitting the floor with a dull thud
that seemed to echo longer than it should have. Weird
draft in here tonight, Tom said, appearing beside me with
the silent efficiency that all the night shift workers seemed
to possess. But he wasn't looking at asle thirteen. He
was deliberately, obviously not looking at it, his gaze fixed
(12:59):
somewhere else entirely. Should we clean that up? I asked,
pointing toward the fallen merchandise, not our section. Tom said quickly,
more quickly than the situation warranted. And besides, it's after eleven,
remember the rules. He walked away before I could ask
any more questions, leaving me standing there with the uncomfortable
(13:22):
certainty that I'd just witnessed something I wasn't supposed to see.
James found me around eleven thirty, pushing his own card
of merchandise from the grocery section. His usual cocky grin
had faded completely, replaced by something that looked almost like fear.
This place is seriously messing with my head, he said,
(13:43):
keeping his voice low and glancing around like he was
worried about being overheard. I swear I keep hearing things
like footsteps in the next aisle, over voices, having conversations
just quiet enough that I can't make out the words.
But every time I check, there's nobody there. Tell me
about it, I said, Relief flooding through me at having
(14:04):
someone else acknowledged the strangeness. I just watched a bag
of dog food fall off the shelf in Aisle thirteen
by itself, no earthquake, no vibration, just fell. James's expression
grew more serious, and I could see him processing this information.
Marcus pulled me aside earlier, when Tom wasn't looking, said
(14:26):
to take the rules seriously, that they aren't jokes or hazing. Apparently,
last month, some guy named Robert broke rule too answered
when his name was called over the intercom what happened
to him. Marcus wouldn't say exactly, just that Robert doesn't
work here anymore, and Dave won't talk about what happened.
But Marcus looked scared when he told me about it,
(14:49):
really scared. We worked in relative silence after that, each
focused on our own sections, but making sure to stay
within sight of each other. The stores at me sphere
seemed to grow heavier as the night progressed, like the
air itself was becoming denser. The air conditioning created strange
whistling sounds through the vents that almost sounded like voices
(15:11):
whispering just below the threshold of understanding, and the security
cameras mounted throughout the store seemed to track our movements
more obviously than they should have, their mechanical turning two deliberate,
too focused. At five minutes to midnight, Dave's voice crackled
over the intercom system with crystal clarity. Attention night shift employees,
(15:34):
night shift is now officially active. Remember your protocols. The
words echoed through the empty store, bouncing off the high
ceiling and seeming to linger in the air longer than
they should have. I felt a chill run down my
spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning
and everything to do with the weight of those words
and what they implied. Then, just as the clock on
(15:57):
the electronics department wall clicked to twelve acis with an
audible mechanical sound, I heard it, Nate. The voice was soft,
barely a whisper, coming through the ceiling speakers with perfect clarity.
It sounded like it was meant just for me. I froze,
(16:17):
remembering rule two between midnight and five am, never respond
if your name is called over the intercom. Nate. The
voice came again, slightly louder, this time with an odd
electronic quality that made my skin crawl. That was two times.
If it called my name a third time, I needed
(16:37):
to start humming happy Birthday until it stopped Nate three times.
I began to hum the familiar melody, my voice barely
audible even to myself in the vast emptiness of the store.
The tune felt absurd and inadequate against whatever was calling
my name, but I kept humming, following the rule exactly
(16:58):
as Dave had explained it. As I hummed, something changed
in the quality of the voice. It became distorted, taking
on an electronic quality that was definitely not human, stretching
my name into something that sounded hungry and frustrated. After
what felt like an eternity but was probably only thirty seconds,
silence returned to the store. But it wasn't the same
(17:20):
silence as before. This was heavier, more expectant, like something
was waiting to see what would happen next. The store
felt different after midnight. The fluorescent light seemed dimmer, casting
longer shadows between the aisles, and every sound echoed with
unnatural clarity. I stood frozen in the electronic section, my
(17:42):
heart still racing from the distorted voice that had called
my name over the intercom. The humming of Happy Birthday
had stopped it, just like Rule two said it would,
but the silence that followed felt heavy with expectation. James
appeared from the grocery section, his usual swagger RepA placed
by something more cautious. His face was pale under the
(18:03):
harsh lighting, and he kept glancing up at the nearest
speaker like he expected it to start talking again. Did
you hear that? He whispered, moving closer so his voice
wouldn't carry Someone calling your name three times? A chill
ran down my spine. James had heard it too, but
according to the rule, I wasn't supposed to respond. I'd
(18:26):
followed the protocol exactly. But what would have happened if
I hadn't. The distorted quality of that final call suggested
nothing good. Must have been Dave doing some kind of test,
I said, though neither of us believed it. The voice
had been wrong in ways I couldn't articulate, Too hollow,
too hungry. Yeah, maybe, James said, but he didn't sound convinced.
(18:51):
This whole place is starting to get to me. It's
like the building itself is watching us. We returned to
our sections, but the atmosphere had fundamentally changed. Every creak
of the building settling, every hum of the refrigeration units,
every distant sound of merchandise shifting on shelves seemed amplified
and deliberately placed. I found myself checking over my shoulder, constantly,
(19:14):
expecting to see something that shouldn't be there. The work
felt different too. My hands moved automatically, stalking phone chargers
and cable adapters, but my mind was focused on the
environment around me. The security cameras mounted above seemed to
track my movement more obviously now, their mechanical turning too
deliberate for automated systems. The fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, just
(19:38):
enough to create brief pockets of deeper shadow that seemed
to move independently. Around twelve thirty, I was restocking phone
cases when movement caught my eye. One of the security
monitors mounted above the electronics counter was cycling through different
camera feeds, and for just a moment, I saw something
that made my blood freeze in my veins. A figure
(19:59):
in all blod was walking down Aisle thirteen, tall, impossibly thin,
moving with an unnatural gait that seemed too fluid, too
wrong for human anatomy. Its movements were jerky and strange,
like a marionette being operated by someone who didn't quite
understand how joints worked. The time stamp showed the feed
(20:20):
was live, happening right now. Rule four echoed in my mind.
Avoid looking directly into security monitors while alone. But I
was already looking, already seeing something I shouldn't. The figure
turned toward the camera, and where its face should have
been was only shadow, not darkness, but actual emptiness, like
(20:42):
looking into a void shaped like a person. I forced
myself to look away, counting to thirty, just like the
rule instructed. My hands were shaking as I gripped the
edge of the counter, forcing myself to stare at the
floor tiles and count each number slowly, seven, twenty eight,
twenty nine, thirty. When I looked back, the monitor showed
(21:07):
an empty pet supplies aisle, fluorescent lights humming over neat
rows of dog food and cat toys. But something was different.
The merchandise that had fallen earlier was gone, cleaned up
by invisible hands. My hands were still shaking as I
grabbed my walkie talkie. Tom, you there. Static crackled for
(21:29):
several seconds before Tom's voice came through, sounding strained, what's up, Nate?
I need you to check i'le thirteen thought I saw someone.
I couldn't bring myself to describe what I'd actually seen.
A pause that lasted too long. You know the rules
about a'sle thirteen after eleven, right, nobody goes in there.
(21:53):
I'm not asking you to go in. Just look from
the end from a distance. Another pause, longer. This time
I could hear muffled sounds through the radio, like Tom
was moving around isles empty has been all night. His
voice carried a weight that suggested this wasn't the first
time he'd had this conversation with a new employee. I
(22:16):
clipped the radio back to my belt, my hands still
trembling slightly. The rational part of my mind insisted I'd
imagined it that the stress of the new job and
the bizarre orientation had created hallucinations. But the rest of me,
the part that had grown up on horror movies and
ghost stories knew better. I'd seen something real, something that
(22:36):
existed in the spaces between normal and nightmare. The next
hour passed in a haze of mundane tasks, punctuated by
moments of inexplicable dread. Items would fall from shelves and
other sections, creating distant crashes that echoed through the store.
The intercom would crackle to life with static that almost
sounded like whispered conversations. The temperature seemed to fluctuate ran,
(23:00):
creating cold spots that raised goosebumps on my arms despite
the consistent air conditioning. James found me around one point fifteen,
pushing his cart with considerably less enthusiasm than when we'd started.
His confident demeanor had eroded, further, replaced by something that
looked almost like fear. This place is seriously messing with
(23:21):
my head, he said, keeping his voice low and constantly
glancing around like he was worried about being overheard. I
keep hearing things in the next aisle over footsteps, voices
having conversations, just quiet enough that I can't make out words,
But every time I check, there's nobody there. Tell me
(23:42):
about it, I said, Relief flooding through me at having
someone else acknowledge the wrongness. I saw something on the
security monitor earlier, something in Aisle thirteen that definitely wasn't human.
James's expression grew more serious, and I could see him
processing this inform against his natural skepticism. Marcus pulled me
(24:04):
aside earlier when Tom wasn't looking, said to take the
rules seriously, that they aren't jokes or corporate hazing. Apparently,
last month, some guy named Robert broke rule two answered
when his name was called over the intercom what happened
to him. Marcus wouldn't say exactly, just that Robert doesn't
work here anymore, and Dave won't talk about what happened.
(24:26):
But Marcus looked genuinely scared when he told me, like
really scared, not the kind of scared you get from
a prank gone wrong. Before I could respond, the intercom
crackled to life with crystal clarity clean up on i'le seven.
We both froze. James was assigned to grocery, which included
(24:47):
i'le seven, but rule five was explicit. If you hear
clean up on ale and no spill exists don't investigate
radio management with false call received and continue your tasks.
There's no spill in seven, James said, his voice tight
with growing anxiety. I was just there twenty minutes ago.
Everything was perfect. Then radio it in like the rule says,
(25:11):
false call received. Remember, But James was already walking toward
the grocery section, curiosity and stubborn pride overriding caution. I
need to see for myself. This is getting ridiculous. I
followed reluctantly, my stomach twisting with dread. Every instinct I
had was screaming that this was a mistake, that we
(25:33):
should follow the rules exactly as Dave had explained them.
But James was my best friend, and I wasn't going
to let him face whatever this was alone. Aisle seven
stretched before us under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Cereal boxes
and breakfast items lined the shelves in perfect rows, exactly
as they should be. No spill anywhere, no reason for
(25:53):
a clean up call. But at the far end of
the aisle, barely visible in the shadows between the ceiling lights,
stood Marcus. He was completely motionless, facing away from us,
arms hanging at his sides like a marionette. With cut strings.
He'd been standing there for who knows how long, not moving,
not responding to our approach, not even appearing to breathe normally,
(26:17):
Marcus James called softly, his voice echoing strangely in the
confined space of the aisle. You okay, man, No response.
Marcus didn't even acknowledge we were there. As we got closer,
I could see that something was fundamentally wrong with the
way he was standing. His posture was too rigid, too perfect,
(26:38):
like a statue rather than a living person. His breathing
was barely perceptible, and when it did come, it was
too slow, too measured, like he was in some kind
of trance, Marcus James said, again, reaching out to touch
his shoulder. That's when Marcus turned around, and I saw
(26:58):
something that would haunt my dress for years to come.
His eyes were completely black, pupils dilated so wide they
consumed the iris, entirely reflecting the fluorescent lights like dark mirrors.
When he spoke, his voice carried an echo that seemed
to come from somewhere else, entirely, somewhere deep and hollow
(27:19):
and hungry. They're waking up, he whispered, and his voice
was layered with harmonics that human vocal chords couldn't produce.
They've been sleeping so long, but now they're waking up
and they're hungry. Dave appeared as if from nowhere. Flanked
by Tom and Janet, they moved with practiced efficiency, each
taking one of Marcus's arms and guiding him away from us.
(27:42):
Marcus didn't resist, but he didn't seem entirely present either.
His black eyes never left my face as they led
him past us, and his mouth continued moving soundlessly. What
happened to him, James demanded, his voice cracking with stress.
Dave's expression was grim kind of professional mask someone wears
when delivering terrible news. Marcus broke protocol. He's being reassigned
(28:07):
to a different position. Reassigned where What kind of reassignment
turned someone's eyes black? That's not your concern, Dave said,
his voice carrying a finality that discouraged further questions. You
boys need to focus on your own assignments and remember
the rules. Follow them exactly, no matter what you see
(28:29):
or hear. As they led Marcus away, I caught a
glimpse of his face one more time, for just a moment.
His black eyes seemed to focus on me with desperate clarity,
and his mouth formed words I could barely make out,
don't let them in. James and I stood alone in
Aisle seven, the fluorescent lights humming overhead like angry insects.
(28:53):
The store felt colder, now heavier, as if something vast
and malevolent had stirred in the shadows and was slowly
awakening to our presence. Jesus Christ, James breathed, running his
hands through his hair. What the hell was that? That
wasn't human behavior. People don't just stand motionless for unknown
(29:14):
amounts of time with their eyes turned completely black. I
couldn't answer, because I didn't have an answer. All I
knew was that the rules weren't just corporate policies or
elaborate pranks designed to scare new employees. They were protection
against something real, something that wanted in, and Marcus had
let it in. At exactly two am, Dave's voice crackled
(29:38):
over the walkie talkie system, reaching every employee simultaneously. Lights
out protocol initiates in thirty minutes. All employees report to
assigned positions immediately. James and I exchanged worried glances as
the store's atmosphere grew noticeably heavier, like the air itself
was becoming denser. The fluorescent life heights seemed dimmer now,
(30:01):
and the shadows between the aisles appeared to be moving independently,
shifting and writhing like living things. We'd made it through
the first test, but the night was far from over,
and somewhere in the store's growing darkness, Marcus's words echoed,
They're waking up. Dave's warnings still echoed through the walky talkie.
(30:22):
When I slipped back into Electronics, the air had turned
thick and damp, as if the store's ventilation had started
recycling someone else's breath. James lingered at the end of
the main aisle, forcing a grin. He didn't feel fifteen minutes,
he said, tapping his watch, How bad can it be?
(30:42):
Neither of us answered. We just drifted apart, the way
swimmers separate before a storm, each pretending the water is safe.
Two twenty a m. I straightened the last row of
US B hubs, keeping one eye on the digital clocks
fixed above every fire exit. They all ticked in perfect
a corporate heartbeat, counting down to something none of us wanted.
(31:04):
Around me. The other employees migrated to their assigned aisles.
Lisa crossed herself before vanishing into toys. Janet folded her
hands like she planned to pray. Tom rehearsed deep breaths,
jaw clenched so tight. I heard his teeth scrape. At
two twenty nine, the brightness in the ceiling fixtures bled away,
(31:24):
not a flicker, but a slow draining, like color leaving film.
The final second stretched forever, then everything slid into charcoal twilight.
The hum of fluorescence cut out. Silence arrived so suddenly
my ear drum's hurt. I locked my knees, arms pinned
to my sides. Fifteen minutes. Rule one was simple on paper,
(31:48):
unbearable in practice. The darkness wasn't complete. Emergency diodes cast
weak yellow puddles that made the shadows look thicker. Within seconds,
those shadows moved. Something glided across the far end of
the aisle, too tall to be human, its outline rippling
like heat above asphalt. I focused on the scuffed tile
(32:10):
two feet in front of my shoes and counted my
heart beat. Forty beats maybe fifty passed before the thing
stopped opposite me. I felt pressure, as though its gaze
were a hand pushing against my cheek. My eyes watered,
but I didn't blink. Far off, metal shelves rattled, plastic squealed.
A deep breath that wasn't mine, scraped the air behind
(32:32):
my shoulder. Sweat trickled down My spine moved no farther.
Time lost meaning until the store's PA system crackled with
a single distorted note. Light rushed back, color flooding like
a reversed Sunrise two forty five A m Rule one ended.
I forced my legs to unlock, every muscle, aching like
(32:55):
I'd sprinted miles down the aisle. The space where Tom
should have stood was empty. His pallette still blocked the
floor box cutter, resting on top, as if he'd set
it down mid motion. Three other aisles held abandoned carts.
None of the missing workers answered radio calls. A shrill
beap burst through my headset storage room doors open, James said, voice,
(33:18):
shaky electronic side. My stomach lurched. Rule seven. I found
him near the loading bay, staring at the metal door
I'd checked an hour ago. It gaped inward overhead light,
flickering frigid air, rolled out, carrying a smell like old pennies.
We close it, I whispered, no looking, no stepping inside.
(33:41):
James nodded, yet his sneakers inched forward. Whoever's gone might
be hurt. He reached the threshold before I grabbed his sleeve.
You remember Marcus, I hissed. The name alone made him flinch,
but stubborn pride won. He pulled free and slipped past
the frame. I couldn't abandon him. Holding my breath, I
(34:04):
crossed into the gloom. The storage room was bigger than
I remembered, aisles of overstok, receding into darkness that swallowed
the emergency lights. Cardboard crushed under each step, muffling nothing ahead.
A ring of figures stood between towering pallets, Tom Linda,
two employees whose names I never learned, faces, blank eyes,
(34:26):
bottomless wells. They formed a perfect circle around a stain
that writhed like oil in water. The stain rose, resolving
into a shape stitched together from multiple faces, each mouthing
silent screams. The thing's limbs were long, jointed, wrong, ending
in hands that split into fingers, then into smaller fingers. Still,
(34:49):
it hooked one limb under James's arm before either of
us could run. He shouted, sound strangled as it left
his throat. Skin around his eyes went gray. I surged forward.
Tom blocked me. His expression tranquil and horrible. Contract is broken,
he said, voice layered like Marcus's had been. Payment required.
(35:11):
James's scream warped into static. The entity pressed its shifting
faces against his inhaling, Colors drained from him, hair, skin,
even the blue of his shirt leached into the creature,
until James looked like an overexposed photograph. His eyes turned black.
When the monster let go, he remained upright inside the circle,
(35:33):
another statue in their grotesque display. I stumbled back, bile rising.
The door loomed behind me, but Janet filled the gap,
smile Serene. I ducked beneath her arm slammed shoulder first
into the metal. As I burst into the main store,
the fire alarm light strobed painting aisles in violent red.
(35:54):
Three thirty a m. Rules felt shredded, but memory of
them was all I had. I bolted left, away from
reflective cabinet glass, away from the intercom speakers that whispered
half words. Footsteps multiple sets followed, slow and deliberate. They
didn't need to hurry. They knew the labyrinth better than
(36:16):
I ever would. Sprinting past infants, I caught a glimpse
in a hanging mirror. The sail's floor had transformed into
a nightmarish duplicate. End caps bled, rust, ceiling tiles sagged
like wet paper, and shadow figures crawled along the beams.
Seeing it nearly froze me, but I jerked my gaze
away at the last second and counted to thirty. As
(36:38):
I ran at the pharmacy junction, the p a crackled, Nate,
help me. James's voice. Rule two kicked hard, yet the
voice used only one repetition my name elongated vowels stretching
like taffy before the system died again. A laugh followed,
low and bubbling from everywhere at once. I needed allies.
(37:02):
The manager's office had reinforced doors and security locks. If
anyone survived, they'd be there. I skirted Ale thirteen. The
pet isle no longer looked like pets. Cages rattled though
nothing visible touched them, and raced down Seasonal. Every motion
censer registered me a split second late, lights blooming only
(37:23):
after I passed, leaving black behind. Janet stepped from hardware
with a claw hammer raised. Her eyes were pitch pits,
but tears streamed down her cheeks. It's easier if you
stop running, she whispered. They only need one rule broken.
I ducked under the swing, metal skimmed my hair. Sparks
flew where the hammer met an end cap. I shoved
(37:44):
past heart, threatening to rip. Free security doors appeared ahead,
small rectangle of yellow emergency glow. Dave cracked the door
at my frantic knock. Two survivors crouched inside, Lisa clinging
to a hand held radio, and Arturo, a night janitor
i'd met during break. Dave sealed the lock while Lisa
(38:05):
wiped blood from a split lip. Anyone else, he asked,
Tom's gone? Janets turned James. My voice broke. I pressed
knuckles to teeth and forced words through. Something in the
storage room took him. All the rules they're failing. Dave's
shoulders sagged, resolved, draining. They're not failing. Too many violations
(38:30):
mean the contract lapses. The rules don't cage the entities.
They bargain with them. Tonight we lost the bargain. Then
what do we do? Hold out until dawn? He said,
sliding a shotgun from under his desk. Sunrise resets the terms.
We keep every rule we still can. His eyes flicked
(38:53):
to the monitors. Static devoured half the feeds. The rest
showed impossibilities, aisles straight uching into infinity. Mannikins breathing. A
radio hiss drew our attention. Channel nine Special Assistance needed
A voice mimicked monotone and cold, followed by wet, chewing sounds.
(39:14):
Lisa almost answered before Dave slapped the radio from her hand.
They mimic, don't respond, He growled three point fifty am.
Thuds shook the office door, first knuckles, then palms, then
something sharper. The hinges groaned. Dave herded us toward the
supply closet plan already in mind. Service corridor leads to
(39:38):
the garden center. He whispered, glass roof with luck, will
see dawn through it. He keyed a back panel. The
hidden door slid open on a dim hallway, smelling of mildew.
We slipped through, locking it behind the corridor ran the
length of the building, pipes sweating overhead. Halfway down, metal screamed.
(39:58):
Ceiling panels bulge as something crawled above, matching our pace
at the exit ladder. Lisa froze, pointing letters, oozed down
the concrete wall, forming words in slick black liquid. Follow James.
She sobbed. Arturo pulled her up the ladder and I followed.
(40:18):
Dave last with the gun. We emerged among plastic lawn
furniture stacked like gravestones. Outside panes showed the sky still black,
horizon hinting purple. We barricaded the interior gate with grills
and pallets. For a moment, quiet wind rustled fake palm leaves.
(40:39):
Somewhere a real owl hooted. Then James stepped into view
beyond the chain link, smiled, gentle eyes, twin voids. Nate,
You're safe now, he called, come out. You never broke
a rule. His voice was exactly right every cadence of
four years, friendship. My throat tightened. Dave chambered around. It
(41:02):
isn't him, I knew, but it hurt like truth. The
James thing pressed palms against the wire. Shadows pooled around
his feet, rising to his waist like ink in water.
Behind him, others emerged Tom Janet Marcus, faces stretched in
eager hunger. They spoke in chorus one rule, Nathan break
(41:26):
one and it's painless our Turo's resolve snapped. He hurled
a chair, shouted curses, and darted for the gate. Before
we could stop him, claws of darkness speared through the mesh,
dragging him off his feet. His scream died mid breath.
Blood spotted the cement, then vanished, soaked up by shadows.
(41:47):
Lisa collapsed. I pulled her behind a display of potting soil,
pretending the bags were walls. Dave fired once. The blast
blew a hole in the James Thing's shoulder. Tar, not blood,
splattered the concrete, and the face simply re arranged itself
whole again. Four a m. Two hours until dawn. The
(42:08):
shotgun held four shells. Fear held the rest of us,
but the rules some still stood, thin armour between us
and oblivion. I recited them under my breath like scripture,
clinging to the idea that survival was just disciplined obedience.
Outside the glass roof, night finally looked fragile, edges paling
(42:30):
by degrees we could barely perceive, but enough for hope
to wedge into my chest and stay. Four a m.
The garden center felt like a trap disguised as sanctuary.
Artificial plants cast twisted shadows under emergency lighting, and every
plastic leaf rustled with movements that had nothing to do
with ventilation. Dave crouched behind a display of ceramic planters,
(42:54):
shotgun balanced across his knees, counting shells with the grim
precision of a man calculating his own death. Two hours,
he whispered, more to himself than to us. Sunrise at six.
The entities can only maintain full manifestation until then. Lisa
huddled against a bag of mulch tears, cutting tracks through
(43:15):
the dust on her cheeks. She hadn't spoken since watching
Arturo get dragged through the fence, hadn't even acknowledged the
James things still pressed against the chain link fifteen feet away.
Its face wore my best friend's smile, but shadow pooled
around its feet like spilled ink, and those black eyes
held nothing human. Nate. It called voice, perfectly matching four
(43:40):
years of shared jokes and late night conversations. You're scared,
I understand, but you don't have to be alone. I
forced myself not to respond. Rule two held even here,
even when the voice belonged to someone I'd trusted with
my life. The thing wearing James's face, tilted its head
(44:00):
with familiar curiosity. Remember sophomore year when you got food
poisoning from the cafeteria sushi. I stayed up all night
making sure you didn't choke. The memory was real, perfect
in every detail. Only James could know about the way
I'd gripped his wrist when the fever spiked, terrified of
dying alone in a dorm room. I'm still here, Nate,
(44:24):
I'm still your friend. My throat tightened, but Dave's hand
found my shoulder. It harvests memories when it takes someone,
he said, quietly. Everything James knew, It knows everything, he felt,
it can mimic. The store beyond the garden Center had
transformed completely. Through the interior windows, I watched aisles stretch
(44:47):
impossibly long, ceialing tiles melting like wax, and figures that
might have been customers or employees shambling between displays of
merchandise that shifted and crawled when observed directly. The fluorescent
lights strobed in patterns that hurt to look at, casting
shadows that moved independently of their sources. How long has
(45:09):
this been happening? I asked, Dave's laugh held no humor
twenty three years, ever since they built this place on
the Hendrix farm. He gestured toward the store with his chin.
Old Tom Hendrix claimed the land was cursed, said his
cattle wouldn't graze in certain spots, found dead birds arranged
(45:29):
in patterns he couldn't explain. Corporate bought him out anyway,
cheaper than finding clean land. And you've been fighting this
for twenty three years. Fighting's the wrong word managing. Maybe
the rules worked as long as everyone followed them, but
tonight he shook his head. Too many violations, the contracts void.
(45:52):
Lisa finally spoke, voice hoarse from crying what contract the
entities agreed to stay dormant in a exchange for specific
behaviors they feed on. Rule violations grow stronger with each
broken protocol. Seven rules kept them contained, But break enough
and they're free to hunt. A new sound joined the
(46:13):
James things, pleading other voices, dozens of them, all calling
my name from different locations around the garden center. Some
I recognized Tom from electronics, Janet from grocery, even Linda
from customer service, all speaking in that same hollow, harmonized
tone that made my skin crawl. The eighth rule, Dave
(46:34):
said suddenly, his eyes widening, like he'd just remembered something crucial.
There's an eighth rule. They never wanted us to know
what eighth rule. The entities cannot directly harm someone who
hasn't broken any protocols. They can trick you, manipulate you,
terrorize you, but they can't touch you unless you violate
(46:55):
the rules yourself. I thought back through the night, calling
my name, I'd hummed instead of responding the security monitor,
I'd looked away and counted to thirty every supernatural encounter.
I'd followed the protocols exactly as Dave had explained them.
I haven't broken any rules, I whispered. Then you can
(47:19):
walk out of here, Dave said, right through them. They
might try to scare you, might show you things that'll
haunt your dreams forever, but they can't physically stop you.
What about you and Lisa? Dave's expression darkened. I broke
rule four earlier tonight, looked into a security monitor too long,
saw things that weren't there, lost my protection. He turned
(47:42):
to Lisa, What about you? She sobbed harder. I answered,
when they called my name just once, right after Marcus disappeared,
I forgot about the rule. For ten seconds. The weight
of their words settled over me like a burial shroud.
I was the only one still protected, the only one
who could leave. But that meant abandoning them to whatever
(48:03):
weighted in the stores transformed shadows. I can't just leave you.
You have to, Dave said firmly. Twenty three years I've
managed this place, lost more good people than I can count.
If someone doesn't survive to tell the story, to warn others,
than everyone who died tonight dies for nothing. Five point
fifteen am, the voices outside grew louder, more insistent. The
(48:28):
James thing had been joined by a dozen others, all
pressing against the fence, all wearing faces I recognized. They
spoke in unison, now a chorus of corruption that made
the Garden Center's walls vibrate. Join us, Nathan, break just
one rule. It's so much easier on the other side.
Dave pressed the shotgun into my hands. Four shells left.
(48:52):
Use them if you have to, but remember they'll try
to make you break the rules. Stay focused on the protocols,
no matter what they show you. I stood on shaking legs,
checking my watch forty five minutes until sunrise. The main
exit was on the opposite side of the store, which
(49:12):
meant crossing the entire nightmare that had been a normal
retail space hours ago. But if Dave was right about
the eighth rule, I could make it. Wait, Lisa whispered,
grabbing my arm. Take this. She pressed her employee badge
into my palm. My sister works for corporate. If you survive,
(49:32):
tell her what really happens here. Tell her about the rules.
I clipped the badge to my shirt, next to my own,
two small pieces of plastic that felt heavier than armor.
Dave unlocked the interior gate, and I stepped into hell.
The store had become a living thing. The floor pulsed
beneath my feet like a heartbeat, and the walls breathed
(49:53):
with a rhythm that didn't match human lungs. Aisles stretched
in directions that violated basic geometry, and products writhed on
shelves that grew and split like cancer cells. The air
tasted of copper and decay, but I walked forward, keeping
my eyes fixed on the distant glow of the main entrance.
(50:13):
The entities flanked me on both sides, dozens of them now,
all wearing familiar faces, all speaking in voices. I knew
they reached out with grasping fingers, but their hands stopped
inches from my skin, repelled by some invisible barrier. Look
at us, Nathan, they pleaded, just looked directly at us.
For five seconds. That's all we ask. I kept walking,
(50:38):
reciting the rules under my breath like a mantra. No
eye contact with moving shadows, no response to voices calling
my name, no looking into reflective surfaces, no investigating false alarms.
In Aisle seven, the James thing materialized beside me, matching
my pace perfectly. It looked exactly as he had it
(51:00):
orientation twelve hours ago. Sandy hair confident grin that Ratty
University T shirt he'd warned to impress nobody. Only the
eyes gave it away, black holes that seemed to pull
light out of the world. Remember when we were kids,
it said conversationally. You were always the careful one, always
(51:20):
following rules, always afraid to take risks. I used to
think it held you back. I didn't respond, but tears
ran down my cheeks. The thing noticed and smiled with
James's mouth. I was wrong, though, your caution kept you
alive tonight. You followed every protocol, trusted every word. Dave said,
(51:43):
never let curiosity or pride override your survival instinct. I'm
proud of you. The words were James's, perfectly chosen to
cut deepest. I stumbled, but kept walking. But that's the
thing about rules, isn't it. There be broken just one
s Nate, break just one rule, and you can join me.
(52:05):
We can be friends forever, the way we always planned.
I was halfway across the store. Now the main entrance
glowed brighter, and through the windows I could see the
faintest hint of dawn touching the eastern horizon. Twenty minutes,
maybe less. The James thing stepped in front of me,
forcing me to stop. Its face cycled through expressions. I
(52:26):
remembered James laughing at a stupid movie, James crying when
his grandfather died, James grinning as we got accepted to
the same college. Perfect mimicry of five years of friendship.
You're going to leave me here, it said, And now
it sounded hurt, betrayed. After everything we've been through, You're
(52:48):
just going to walk away. My resolve cracked. This wasn't
just some monster wearing James's face. It had his memories,
his personality, his capacity for making me feel guilty about
things that weren't my fault. For a moment, I almost
reached out. Then I noticed its reflection in a nearby
freezer door. While the James things spoke with perfect human emotion,
(53:12):
its reflection showed only writhing shadow, multiple faces, screaming silently
in an endless void of hunger. I closed my eyes
and pushed past, refusing to look back, even when it
called my name in James's voice, even when it sobbed
with the exact sound my best friend made when his
parents got divorced. Junior year five forty five a m.
(53:34):
The automatic doors were ten feet away. Beyond them, the
parking lot held the same cars we'd parked twelve hours ago,
looking impossibly normal under street lights that flickered like dying candles.
The eastern sky showed the first hint of genuine dawn,
not the false light I'd been hoping for all night.
I broke into a run, legs pumping despite exhaustion that
(53:57):
went deeper than muscle and bone. The door sensed my
approach and slid open with their familiar mechanical wheeze. Cold
morning air hit my face like a benediction. Behind me,
the entity's voices rose to a chorus of rage and frustration,
but they couldn't follow. Invisible lines held them inside their
(54:18):
domain of shadow and corporate fluorescence. I stumbled into the
parking lot, fell to my knees on asphalt that felt
solid and real, and watched the sun climb over the
horizon with tears streaming down my face. The wal mart
behind me flickered like a mirage, reality reasserting itself as
sunlight touched the building's facade. Through the windows, I could
(54:41):
see normal aisles, normal merchandise, normal fluorescent lights humming over
empty shelves. A few early shift employees were already pulling
into the parking lot, ready to start another ordinary day
of retail work. None of them would remember Dave or Lisa,
or any of the others who'd vanished into the stores
hungry darkness. By tomorrow, there would be new employees, new
(55:04):
faces to learn the rules that kept the night shift bearable,
and eventually, inevitably, someone would break protocol again. I walked
to my car on unsteady legs, carrying the weight of
James's death, and the knowledge that some places exist in
the spaces between normal and nightmare, sustained by corporate efficiency
(55:25):
and human hubris. The rules weren't just guidelines. They were
all that stood between the ordinary world and something vast
and patient and eternally hungry. As I drove away, I
could see the wal Mart in my rear view mirror,
bright and cheerful in the morning sun, already preparing for
another day of business as usual. But I knew what
(55:47):
waited there when darkness fell again. And I knew that,
somewhere in the shadows between the aisles, something wearing my
best friend's face was learning to be more patient, more persuasive,
more human. The rules would hold for now, But rules,
as James had always said, were made to be broken.
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