I’m sure everyone can remember their retail days. The periods of our lives when we worked long hours for shit pay and at the mercy of every dickhead who felt a soy sauce shortage was a legitimate reason to ruin someone’s shift. I’m still unfortunately eyeballs deep in that phase of my life. I sure wish that soccer moms with bad haircuts or thumb-shaped juice heads with little-man syndrome were the biggest of my problems. We all make jokes about working retail being Hell, some even compare it to purgatory. A between space where time passes at a painstaking crawl. It’s nothing compared to this.
I had my back pressed against a cold refrigerator in the appliance showroom. I was starting to get the hang of this disturbing version of hide and seek, but I was getting pretty tired of being the one hiding all the time.
I could hear the subtle, deep-throated clicking of the creature as it made its slow pursuit up the aisles, meticulously searching. It knew I was here, they always did. I could see the arch of its back over high shelves and its gangly limbs clinging to beams to keep its balance.
I held my hands over my mouth and tried to steady my breath as the creature made its clumsy advanced. A viscous sludge oozed from its skin sounding like tar when it dripped to the floor. The sludge, eating away at everything it touched like corrosive Piranha Solution. It smelled of hot Florida dumpster. Like burnt tire rubber, warm beer and melted plastic with the nose-curling sourness of spoiled food. I could feel the muscles in my gut sizing, threatening to eject the dry cereal I shoveled into my mouth this morning.
The refrigerators rattled as I saw a meaty clawed hand the size of a large dog cling to their tops followed by the sound of ragged breath. The smell grew heavier as the hand slapped from one fridge to another until it settled atop of mine. It sat there just long enough to wonder if I’d been found before it, along with the smell, vanished entirely.
I waited for my heart to move from hammering in my throat to back in my chest. I peek my head out from behind the fridge to see no one. I was alone again.
“Management nearly got you this time, man.”
Or at least I thought I was. I about pissed myself and quickly turned around to find a mannequin standing within shoe throwing distance in an ugly sweater and pair of fitted khakis.
“FRED! Jesus Christ! I told you to start announcing yourself!”
“I mean, I could have. But then you would have ended up as Sheryl’s lunch.”
I know what everyone would be thinking right about now. “This guy is hiding from monsters and talking to mannequins, he’s probably nuts,” and yeah… you’d probably be right. But consider this first— I work retail. I deserve to be crazy, so reserve all judgments for now.
The mannequin, Fred, swung his body from side to side, stiffly waddling over to me.
“What’d you do to make her mad this time? Breath too loud? Sit too long?”
I stood up and dusted the lint bunnies from my pants. “Fidgeting with a sign stickytab…” I said.
“Yeah, that’ll do it. She got Juan earlier, poor bastard didn’t even see her coming.”
Fred looked like a life-sized Ken Doll and spoke with a New York accent. His mouth never moved though. It was permanently fixed into a smile, filled with a row of perfectly straight, white painted teeth. But his eyes… those moved. They seemed to follow you. It was like one of those spooky old paintings where the eyes seemed to track you around the room, no matter where you went. It was a little creepy.
“Donkey tattoo Juan? I liked him. He didn’t give me as many stink-eyes as the others.”
“Well, he’s got no eyes to stink with anymore. Squashed like a watermelon, KER-SPLAT. Sheryl didn’t even stop to lookit’em.”
“Us? It won’t eat you. It'd be like eating a plastic bead,” I said as I began to re-face the water filters again.
“I mean. Yeah, but I’d give her indigestion for you if she ever does!” Fred made an attempt at putting his hands on his hips with an awkward, rubbery squeak.
If Fred had been endowed with the gift face muscles, he’d probably be wearing a shit-eating grin.
“It ain't easy being a Hero!”
I listened again to see if Sheryl was still around. Can never be too careful with Manager “Five Ears To The Ground” Sheryl. The screams in the distance told me it was somewhere in Household Chemicals which meant there was around six miles of store between us.
The hellscape where I work is called Thetamart. It was supposed to be like a super shopping center, best described as if a mall and Costco had a baby. But this baby was unfortunately disfigured so horribly it broke and disregarded the laws of the reality we live in. All that to say, ThetaMart is like a retail affair baby if H.P. Lovecraft was the mistress. It’s full of impossible creatures, monsters and products an insane person couldn’t even conjure in their strangest fever dreams.
Everything inside of ThetaMart is white— a stark, sterile white from floor to ceiling, with shelves that stand several tall men high. There’s the lingering smell of cheap plastic in here, and the only thing piercing the constant mind-numbing silence is the distant sound of tinny elevator music that seemingly comes from everywhere and nowhere. The tune feels so familiar, just not enough to place or follow. If that wasn’t chilling enough, the screams that abruptly break the silent hours when management is close by is frightening enough to start the heart of a dead man.
Which is why it was so strange when first, a momentary blanket of silence fell over the store, like what they do for memorials. It was an oppressive, drawn out stillness before being broken by a voice erupting from the invisible speakers.
“Max, there is a call waiting for you on—” The page was followed by a shrill garble that sounded like Jabba The Hutt was choking on rocks before it went silent again.
“What the fuck was that?”
“You got a page man, you gotta answer it.”
“How? There’s no phone in this department.”
The nearest working phone that I knew of was in electronics which was about six or so miles away. I'd just cut my losses and throw myself from the highest shelf. There was no way I'd make it without being maimed or eaten before getting there. As absurd as this place is, I don't think trekking over Toys and finding a Playskool Elmo & Friends Smartphone would cut it either.
“Well it won’t stop paging you till you answer it, and trust me. You’re gonna wanna answer it.”
“What… What happens if I don't?”
He doesn’t respond and instead stares silently for a moment.
He lunged forward and snatched my phone.
I swiped to get it back but Fred was quick for a guy with limited mobility.
“Sorry pal, you’ll thank me later!”
He began to speed-waddle away. I actually had to run after him just to keep up, which was impressive considering his legs only moved in two directions.
“Fred! Fred! I can’t— I can’t leave without my—“
He disappeared, heading deeper into the store.
Considering the short time I’ve been here I’ve learned a lot about this place and how it operates, sort of. In the grand scheme of it all, I probably know absolutely dip-squat. But because of these dubious guidelines, I’ve made it far enough to share this.
1. Stay away from the other associates. They may look like people or potential survival partners. Perhaps the last anchor you could hold steadfast to sanity with. But they are absolutely, definitely not. Far from it. Avoid them at all costs. They might have been human once, but they certainly aren’t anymore.
2. The areas that turn yellow, or the zones of the store that are more decrepit than the other areas and are more prone to Management activity. That’s what Sheryl is. The denizens of this place are known as Management. The higher the status, the nastier they are.
3. Be sure to follow the first two rules no matter what. It will make life a lot easier.
Funnily enough, Fred actually bestowed upon me a lot of the knowledge I’ve accumulated about this place. Which pissed me off even more when I had to actively choose to break all three rules.
“Fred! This isn’t funny! I don’t have time for your crap!”
I continued walking at a brisk pace, following the distant taps of hollow dress shoes. All around me the fluorescent lights became yellower, more tarnished. They flicker and hum overhead and some blown out completely.
There are pillows and overturned furniture, soggy boxes, and broken glass strewn about the linoleum. The smell of stale old couch stuffing and mildew penetrated the air and hung like a wet blanket making it slightly uncomfortable to breathe.
I walk beneath the hanging sign saying in bold blue letters, *Home and Decor*.
Oh crap. I found myself reconsidering how important my phone really was. I could just buy a new one. Sure, the other one isn’t even paid off yet. But is it really worth being eaten or squashed or… whatever it is monsters do to people? A scrawny college student sustained purely off of ramen and espresso can’t taste that good, right? Just when I talked myself into abandoning my phone with every puppy pic of my dog I had ever taken, I felt eyes fixed on me. I had been spotted.
I very slowly turn around to find looming over me, was Nosferatu.
Well, he’s not actually Nosferatu, but he could have had me fooled if this were a Spirit Halloween.
“Ralph. You look uh… alive, today.”
Ralph’s skin clung to his skeletal frame like wet toilet paper. The white of his eyes were as sunken and yellow as the lights around us, and his apron identical to mine covered in various stains of several concerning colors. I tried my best not to stare at them as he leaned down and hovered closer to my face.
His irises glistened a gross, milky white with something swirling behind their film.
“Why aren’t you in your department, Maxwell?”
Now would’ve been an amazing time to be great at lying, but I wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times.
My eyes began to frantically dart around for a sign or—
“Yeah, milk! Can’t have my bones breaking on the job right?”
I made an attempt at a playful punch, but Ralph was *so* much squishier than he should have been. I felt my stomach lurch when my fist sunk through his arm and into his torso like a damn slime-filled stress ball. Accept instead of alleviating stress he makes it so, so much worse.
He stared at me for a moment in unimpressed silence. Ralph was a supervisor. Not only that, but I managed to piss him off twice in my first week. Needless to say, he’s far from my biggest fan. He also makes me really uncomfortable.
“You are heading in the wrong direction…”
“O-oh really? Sheesh, I’m still getting turned around. Three weeks and I still have no sense of direction. Typical Max!”
“Well I better be on my way now. Looks like I’ve got a ways to walk.”
“I’ll call for assistance.”
“NO–“ *Lying isn't working, try being honest-*
“You’re gross—” *Too Honest!*
“I mean, grossly understaffed! You look like you are barely holding on with these dang staff shortages right? I don’t want to impose!” *Nailed it.*
He continued to eyeball me for a tiny eternity. All I could do was stand there and sweat. *Maybe if I don’t move he will leave… like a T-Rex*. Unfortunately, Ralph didn't follow predatory chicken rules. He took a step back and very, very slowly started opening his mouth. It stretched and cracked like the Conjuring House with osteoporosis. His teeth were rotting and twisted, and his tongue was a sickly purple color. If I wasn’t running on three hours of sleep and two RedBulls, I probably would have started screaming like a kid in a haunted Chuck E. Cheese. Just as Ralph took in an impressively deep breath to shriek or howl or whatever awful sound the supervisors make to summon managers, I saw my phone fly out of seemingly nowhere with the momentum of a bullet. It twirled wildly like an IOS throwing star and very effectively caved in the right side of Ralph's face.
He fell to the floor with a tragic plopping sound that reminded me of a soggy banana peel landing in a puddle.
Fred sprung out from behind a loveseat and started doing an awkward victory dance.
“Shoulda tried out for the Yankees!”
“Hopefully you have some reflexes to go with that throwing arm! You’re lucky I don’t do the same to you for running off with my phone!”
“Aww come on Maxy, I had to get you moving somehow.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I leaned down and plucked my phone from Ralph’s caved-in dome. It came free with a moist snick. Thankfully there was no grey matter or blood, just a gross and slightly greasy film where his skin and my phone made contact.
“If I have to touch one more bodily secretion that isn’t mine one more time this week….”
Fred slowly stuck his foot into Ralph’s side and laughed when the old man made a sound like a deflating sponge cake.
“Eh, you get used to it. Now let’s get this show back on the road.”
“Uh, no. I need to go back to appliances where it's safe. I haven't even been over here for five minutes and Ralph was ready to hand me a pink-slip from life.”
Fred somehow managed to blow a raspberry without his lips moving and pat my shoulder.
“He wishes he had the clearance to do that. All he can do is hoop and holler. Ain't that right, Ralphy?”
Ralph, now drooling, said nothing and only continued to make more squishy deflating noises.
“Oh yeah, I saw him get crushed by a shelf once. He’s even been sat on by Bonnie and still got up. He was totally fine too. I’m sure he enjoyed getting sat on more though, sly dog.”
“I know right? He’s all about that bass. I respect that.”
“Ew, n-no I mean does he just not die or… does he not have bones?”
He looked back down at Ralph, then back at me.
“Well he's got somethin’.”
“How the heck did he get a squash-proof card?”
“Ha! What, you want one too? Trust me, you don’t want what he’s got. Shit’s probably terminal.”
Fred did something that looked like he was trying to shrug. Trying and failing. He also had the nerve to take another swipe at me in an attempt to grab my phone again.
I jerked it away just in time and slapped his plastic hand away.
“If you don’t cut it out!- Why did you bring me here anyway!? You hate Home and Decor.”
Fred looked like he was about to say something, seemed to buffer then looked back down at Ralph one last time.
“Well, my original plan was to ask Grandpa Pudding here if he still happened to have a phone but I’d doubt he’d tell us now. Guess we go with plan B.”
“What’s plan B?” I asked. Fred answered this by taking another swipe at my phone. I stuck it in the air as high as I could manage.
“HEY! God you’re worse than a three-year-old today! What the hell man?!”
I’ve seen Fred do some pretty weird stuff, aside from the living mannequin thing. All it took was the fraction of a second for me to blink for Fred to be gone with my fucking phone again. I looked at my empty hand, then over my shoulder at him booking it down the aisles. Before I could sputter the creative string of swears I had threaded together just for Fred’s ears the store was plunged into silence again.
“Uh-oh.” It lasted a few seconds longer than before.
“Max there is a call waiting for you on—”
The horrible sound it made was louder. So much louder this time.
I slapped my hands over my ears and could feel the sound vibrating in my chest. It only lasted for a moment, but that's all it took to leave me with an annoying ring in my ears. *So that's what he meant.*
Now begrudgingly coming to terms that this shift was going to be a probably very dangerous trek across the store, I looked back at the now deflated Ralph. Within moments of being clocked with my phone, he looked like a snake was running around in a human suit and shed him at some point. I almost wanted to feel bad, but he was a dick and I thought better of it. I instead opted to start going through his pockets.
"Let’s see… food tokens, a box cutter, and some new blades. I’m sure those will come in handy."
I had made the mistake of losing my pocket knife on my first day to the disembodied appendages that live under the shelves in aisles 12 and 16. Don’t ask— that’s a story for another time. I clicked up the blade and the thing extended to almost four inches long.
“How many newbies like me have you used this thing on, Ralph? Cause I certainly haven’t seen you open any boxes.”
I stood, gave him one last squishy nudge with my foot, and went to go find that stupid mannequin…
The Home and Decor department almost reminded me a bit of a decrepit thrift store. The musty smell of old, used things and old, used people. Ralph fit in perfectly with the washed-out background that was bathed in piss yellow. But I also couldn’t help but wonder, why did this side of the store look as awful as it did? There were even water stains on the fiberglass ceiling tiles way up above. Everything I’ve seen of the store looked awful in some capacity, but the level of awfulness here was borderline ridiculous.
My job here had me stuck in a different department every shift, something referred to as a *Floater*. Basically, I was being trained in a bit of everything. The one who hired me told me that I would have this position until I found my place. I thought that statement was strange, because I was only supposed to be here for about four months. At one point I was certain I would stay longer. Twenty dollars an hour for a retail gig sounded like cake, but now I find myself wondering if I’ll even last that long.
“You’ve been standing there for an awfully long time, Maxwell.”
The sound of a woman’s voice hung itself in the air and arrested my attention, it was enough to snap me back into the moment so hard I nearly got whiplash. Wet and broken glass crunched under my feet as I spun. I pull out my new box cutter, holding it out in front of me like I could actually fight something if I needed to.
“It’s Max. And a guy can’t take a second to collect his thoughts?”
“Sure you can, but standing in the middle of an aisle muttering to yourself might be considered a little…crazy, wouldn’t you say?”
A massive spider, as big as a Volkswagen Beetle slowly peered over the shelves that had been covered in ugly pillows and rested atop of it. She had a shiny black body and long, sharp legs that still shimmered like obsidian spears in the low light and easily extended around 17 feet. Her eight eyes were a deep red, and her front two legs ending in unmistakably human hands with painted, manicured nails. Janis, from what I understand, is one of the vendors. She’s also one of the few creatures in here I don’t find myself running and screaming from, shockingly. She’s just kind of a bitch.
“Considering the things that go on here I’m not exactly concerned with what uh… people think of me,” I say slowly aiming the box cutter away. The giant arachnid almost seemed to smile smugly at me from her perch, her mandibles moving and twitching as she spoke.
“Oh, not enjoying your position? You seemed so enthusiastic a few weeks ago.”
“Why in God’s name do you think I would be enjoying this place? I just had a run-in with Ralph I’ll be trying to scrub from my mind for the next three weeks! And I had no idea the shit I’d have to deal with a few weeks ago! This is entrapment! It’s illegal! ”
Janis tapped her perfectly polished claws against the metal shelf like an irritated Disney villain, making annoying tink sounds.
“Still on that are we? Not the brightest color in the box. But a busted-broke college student down on his luck with $5 to his name… people like you thrive in extreme situations. You adapt. Not because you want to, but because you are in the unique position of not having any other choice.”
“I don’t want to adapt or change or anything! I just wanted a job!! Not to end up with a new list of phobias or nearly be killed every time I clock in! Twenty bucks an hour isn’t worth dying for!”
“Well seeing as how you were hired here, no one will miss you if did bite the dust. So make the best of the situation, learn. Maybe bitch less, it will make you more likable.”
“I know…I know it’s true. But you didn’t have to say it.”
“ThetaMart, as well as being a space between, has the ability to bring out something in people they would rather not look at. It changes them into something more—” She looked at a moldy pillow sitting beside her on the shelf, she huffed while pushing it away and it went tumbling to the floor with a wet plop.
“More compelling, I'd say. You get to break the monotony and forget how small you are.”
“I am perfectly comfortable with how small I am, thanks.”
“What a winner. I’m sure your girlfriend shares the same sentiment.”
“Was there a point to you Grudge-crawling up there, or are you just here to harass me?”
“I like having the high ground, and I wanted to give you a bit of friendly advice.”
“Well don’t leave me in suspense Obi-Wan.”
“He’s— …never mind. What is it?”
She sighed and slowly lowered herself down the shelf, creaking under her weight as she did so she lowered her voice to a whisper.
“You know how they tell you to stop and smell the roses?.”
She reached her hand down into my apron pocket and took out one of the food tokens I had lifted from Ralph. They were made of tarnished brass.
“You may want to skip it this time where you’re going. As for these…” She examined one of them closely.
“Heads or tails, little bug?”
“Uh…t-tails.” I said. She hummed and flicked the coin into the air, I watched the coin owl-eyed as it hovered above us for just a moment before she snatched it and slapped it down on the outer side of her hand. I shuttered reflexively at the quick motion, then felt embarrassed for doing so. Janis seemed to grin in amusement, peeked under her hand at the coin then extended it to me.
“Tails. Luck sways in your favor today. Use it wisely and you might see the end of your shift.” she said.
“You can’t really determine that with a coin. Luck isn’t real.”
“You are really going to look a giant talking spider in her face and say–” she lowered her voice a few octaves and said in the universal guy voice, you know the one “Luck isn’t real.” She did have a point. But to accept luck was real, was to accept my luck up until this point was actually kind of shit and I had no idea why or if I had any way to change it.
“Well if luck is real…it’d be nice to catch a break. But I’m not saying it is.”
“Whatever you say, Floater.”
She sighed and rubbed all eight of her eyes.
“That mannequin wanted me to pass this on to you…” She pulled out a pair of pink flower clippers from seemingly nowhere.
“Go to Garden & Live Goods. He’s waiting for you there. Like I said, avoid smelling the roses.”
She handed the clippers to me and tisked.
“Like, roses specifically or–.”
“Get to steppin’ I have work to do.”
I eyed the clippers. They made a satisfying snipping sound when I pulled the handles.
“Don’t mention it. Really.”
In typical spider fashion, she crept back up the shelf and disappeared over the other side. If every spider is as rude as she is I don’t know if I feel quite as bad as I used to when I would bring a shoe down on them.
I stuck the clippers in my apron, and began to head in the direction I was pretty sure was garden.
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
dededos