Working at a home improvement store was never my dream job, but it pays the bills. For just over minimum wage, I get to enjoy the backbreaking work of unloading freight trucks day in and day out. Only to then obscenely cram shelves with the product as to not indulge in the self-torment of exerting more energy putting the leftovers up with a ladder. Then going home to remove my increasingly torn clothes and lay on a hard twin mattress that encourages the aches and pains to further inflame my body for the next day. Ya, it's not a dream job, but it pays the bills.
If you could consider it lucky, I mostly worked in a department that I enjoyed due to my previous intrigue in a malicious get rich scheme, gardening. There was heavy lifting to be had within the garden aisles, anyone would often work up a sweat. But my current attire, a shabby hoddie with the pockets ripped a gap, told my equally discouraged coworkers otherwise. Donning my gloves and latching onto my squeaky pallet jack, I pulled the heavy load closer to the sliding doors. The tracks slowly creaked apart as a gust of night frost brushed against my cheeks.
I lugged the small wooden fertilizer carrier into the reverse Hell that is Ohio winter. This action was without regret as the pleasure I felt when my body ceased to perspire was borderline euphoric. My inhalation of relief felt as if the tiny ice crystals crashing to the ground were traveling down my diaphragm and finding permanent residence in my lungs. As the rubber edges of the metal-framed doors reconciled behind me, my eyelids did the same and felt a moment of peace. However, in opening my eyes, it dawned on me that the many tall lamp lights around the vicinity weren't on.
It wasn't the first time they'd been disabled after closing hours for whatever reason management could conjure up, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But that combined with the darkness of daylight savings in this godforsaken state made for increasingly difficult work conditions. Continuing my mental accounts of good fortune, the merchandise I was toting resided down the first aisle on the right. Turning back and gripping the metal handle with both hands, I struggled to begin the momentum of the load once again. Thankfully, the polymer tires began to roll and I made my way down the straightaway.
Though, as I realigned my eyes with my destination, my abrupt stop was not of my own accord. I even knew better as my ankle had suffered many of injury due to ill-prepared hand-jack slowing methods, today would just be another bruise added to the list. But even the pain was not enough to warrant a movement, as the balls in my head stayed locked to a moving figured within the shadows. Though the steadily moving entity seemed to merge with the darkness at times, it remained apparent that it was still there, and it was moving closer to me. The creaking and snapping of what seemed to be bones echoed over the howling wind.
"Who's there?" I calmly exclaimed through my chattering teeth, as my mind ran through the many scenarios of my coworkers pranking each other many times before. But as a proper response time grew ever distant, I began to take steps back beside the pallet towards the door. The sound of cracking bones rang out louder and more violent as if they'd began snapping in half. A groan wailed out of an ajar jaw as the unnaturally slim arms of the assumed person began to contort in a wrapping motion around its own torso.
As the being approached closer, the outline of their boney digits became more distinct. I immediately wished they hadn't as I witnessed their right hand digging into the left side of their face, atop the location of the cheekbone. The regurgitation of the potato chips I had earlier was the least of my concern as the sound of skin ripping reverberated against my eardrums. The sound of continuous dripping into the forming pools of blood against the slab was taking cracks at my dwindling sanity like the ticking of a clock. My posture refused to hold as my sneakers clapped against the ground in the direction of the mechanical doors leading back inside.
After grabbing onto the first coworker I could find, we headed back outside, flashlights in hand. There was no sign of the thing I had encountered still lurking around within the gated area. My coworker, Mark, had just waved it off as some kind of animal after jokingly accusing me of handling paraphernalia. He motioned towards my pallet and patted my shoulder before heading inside. But, even though he was back to the daily grind, I could not help but remain behind, for the pools of blood still reside.
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from Short Stories
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