I have a completely rational fear of rain. I have a panic attack whenever I hear thunder. I don't watch the news for fear of ruining my entire week when the meteorologist announces that showers are coming. Hell, all it takes is a single drop from above or the smell of rain or the sight of a single gray cloud to get my heart racing.
And it's all because of what happened last summer.
I used to work overnight security at a big retail store. The pay was pretty good, I didn't have to deal with asshole customers, and the only real security issue I had ever dealt with was when I caught a couple of teenagers smoking pot out behind the building. To say that I was satisfied with my job is an understatement.
Being a large retail company, our store would get a truck every night of the week save Monday and Thursday. Thus, I was never in the building alone. But it was not like I had co-workers that I could grab-ass with to make the night go faster. The overnight replenishment team consisted mostly of foreigners, a few elderly people, and one autistic boy who was a few years younger than me. His name was Bobby.
Bobby was a good kid. Nineteen years old, he was very tall, with long, greasy black hair, brown eyes that peered at you from behind comically large spectacles, and always carried his SpongeBob lunchkit with him to work. Bobby had a routine that he had never strayed from, not once, during the entire two year span that I had been working with him. He would ride the bus to work, getting there a little too early to start his 12-8 shift. Without fail, he would go to the timeclock at 11:54 and clumsily punch in his work ID. Being too early, the timeclock would reject his code, and issue three loud, obnoxious beeps.
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
Bobby would mutter something under his breath and then shuffle over to the breakroom, which was adjacent to the hall in which the timeclock was perched. He would open the door, go to the refrigerator, and put his lunchkit inside. He would then return to the timeclock and, the time now being 11:55, successfully punch in and cheerily head to work. I would see him scarcely for the rest of the night, sometimes only seeing him during the lunch hour, when he would retrieve his lunchkit and eat whatever goodies his mother had packed for him. Like I said before, Bobby was a good kid; He would greet every person he passed in the building by name, with a big smile on his face. Everyone except me. I had once forgotten my own lunch at home; Knowing that Bobby usually had a plethora of snacks in his lunchkit, I didn't think he would notice if I took one little bag of Lays potato chips. I was wrong. Though Bobby didn't say anything, he stared me down through the entire lunch period; I guiltily ate his chips, trying to ignore him by looking at the TV. Bobby did not eat anything in his lunchkit that night. From that night on, I felt as though the kid was holding a grudge against me. He would usually go out of his way to avoid speaking to me and would never make eye contact.
On that fateful night, I remember cursing when I heard the thunder start up outside. I didn't mind the rain then, but on that particular day I had fucked up my windshield wipers and I knew that the long drive home would be hell. I tried waiting it out, even when the night crew left for the day. When I realized that the rain was only getting worse, I sighed and grabbed my car keys, praying that I didn't end up driving off a bridge. I ran to my car and got inside, trying the damaged wipers in vain. After another deep breath, I began my commute home.
When I say that it was raining cats and dogs, I mean, it was raining cats and dogs. It hadn't stormed like this in a while. It was only natural that this happened when I least needed it to. Squinting at the windshield did me no good; The sun was nowhere near close to coming up, and the darkness mixed with the showers were a hellish combination. I never saw the walking figure in front of me.
My car jerked, something rolling up the hood and then flying into the air. I immediately slammed on the brakes, put my car in park, and hopped out, hoping that I'd hit a deer or something. Looking at the road, I saw nothing but mud and puddles. There was no one else around. I looked to my left and saw that I was on the bridge. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that whatever-or whoever-I had hit had possibly gone tumbling over the side. I stared down into the rushing waters, seeing no sign of life. When I stepped back, my foot trodded on something. Looking down, I saw the yellow SpongeBob lunchkit. Lightning struck above me as I felt the sudden urge to vomit. No, then there would be DNA evidence...I had to leave. And quick. I jumped back into my car and sped off. Yes, I know, I'm a terrible person. I should have called for help, or turned myself in. But I didn't. I am not made for prison. I think I did what most people would do if there were no witnesses around.
Bobby's mother called the authorities when he didn't make it home. They found his lunchkit by the bridge, but Bobby's body was never recovered. I got the small dent on the front of my car repaired at the same time I got my wipers fixed. Though I felt horrible, I thought that life would go on. I was wrong.
Two weeks later, I made it into work only to discover that the truck for the night had been cancelled. Another storm was rearing its ugly head, and the truck driver had been in an accident. That meant that I would have the store all to myself. This was fine by me; I wasn't afraid of the rain. The solitude of a rainy night at work sounded appealing. I went about my routine, checking the surveillance, walking around the store, checking fire exits and front and back doors. Then I went to the breakroom and collapsed in a chair, deciding to check out a few posts on Reddit. I was just finishing a story when I heard it. There was movement outside in the hallway. I remember nearly falling out of my chair, sitting straight up and looking at the door to the breakroom. Something...wet...was out there. You know the sound that someone makes when they walk on tile after coming in from the rain? That was what it sounded like, but worse. This person had to have been soaked head to toe. I cursed, wishing that I had stayed in the surveillance room. Then I would know for sure who was out in the hall. I reached down, touching the handgun at my waist. I had never imagined that I might have to use it. I listened closely to the wet footsteps...no...shuffling. My eyes widened in disbelief, just as a particularly loud roll of thunder crashed outside. I could hear the water dripping off of whoever was in the hallway as they slowly but surely shuffled their way towards me. I gripped the gun tightly, not yet pulling it from the holster. Then, I heard the buttons on the timeclock. It sounded as though a seal or something was sloppily pressing down on the buttons. In absolute horror, I glanced down at my phone. It was 11:54.
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
I had lost my breath. Everything seemed frozen. I could not move, think, or speak. And then, just as I had been dreading, I heard the shuffling again. And it was headed for the breakroom door.
I made a mad dash for the breakroom emergency exit. I slammed through it, setting off the alarm, and ran like hell to my car. I opened the door, got in, and drove off without a single glance behind me. I quit a few hours later, calling my store manager. I don't know if maybe someone saw me on that rainy night last summer. Maybe they had played a prank on me, maybe I had quit my well-paying job for no reason. Maybe I had just been too tired and my imagination had been playing pranks on me. Or maybe Bobby had come back to work. Whatever the case, I dread the rain.
Submitted June 25, 2016 at 02:28AM by AsDeathBeckons http://ift.tt/28TiUlT nosleep
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