Part 1: https://redd.it/5505mm
Next year the store opened for the season on a Saturday, and as I was usually an early riser, I already had gotten quite a bit done by 10:00 when the doors opened. I thought to myself, amused, that I was their final customer last year and their first this year.
When that long awaited click of the lock signaled the start of the season, I was met by the witch. I blinked. I’ll admit to not having the photographic memory that chick from “Taxi” does, but by some fluke of recall I knew instantly that this was who had rang me up last year before the doors closed. And she was wearing the same costume!
OK. Seasonal workers go where they’re needed. And who was I to judge someone who would wear a costume to work if it were allowed? Me, of all people? And chances are if they did that, it would be the same costume at least once in a while. I almost expected a look of recognition, but I didn’t get one. I just got a normal, polite greeting.
I did my browsing- I found a new spooky music CD that I had heard about- it told an entire story of a night in a haunted house with just music and the occasional sound effects. The complete absence of music or any ambient noise prompted me to look through the CDs. But even if the silence was uncomfortable, the store itself looked awesome when the season was just getting started and not cleaned out at the end of it/ It felt like with the shelves neatly arranged last year to not highlight their ever-dwindling stock, it seemed far smaller than it was fully loaded and ready. Of course, the costumes go without saying, but I rarely bought a costume off the rack anyway. A dressing room had been set up, and the purples, oranges, and blacks of the little makeshift enclosure marked it as store-made or delivered. I looked into the mirror next to it, and thought it would be pretty funny if I didn’t see the witch in it but turned around to find her right behind me. But no, there she was in the mirror, walking around the store taking inventory. Her orange nails in her right hand scribbled away as she tapped the black painted thumb tapped the clipboard.
Next thing- I had to pee. The restroom actually was pretty nice. The white surfaces were all still completely white, no trash on the floor, and the hand dryer was strong enough to actually do the job. That and the urinal didn’t have a shit-scented urinal cake, like so many public restrooms seem to. So as I stepped out, I turned to the water fountain for a drink. I slowly processed what I saw as I retrieved that ten-month old memory:
There, on the water fountain, was a McDonald’s cup. I chuckled to myself at the coincidence, and picked it up and gave it a shake. Still cold- it even still had a little ice in it… and a tiny wad of used blue chewing gum stuck to the lid. Which was something I did- and as I dredged it up from the deep black moat of my memory I was pretty sure I had done that last November 2nd. That… that had to be a coincidence. McDonald’s is only the biggest fast food chain in the world, and putting your gum on your drink lid couldn’t have been that rare a habit- but before I could stop myself, I pried the lid off, and saw the distinct brown tinge of iced tea- not the generic black that could have been any of the different sodas they served.
Coincidence. But what I couldn’t discount was the fact that this cup still had the Halloween design on it. This was in early September. A cup of cold iced tea with a piece of blue gum on the lid. I nervously placed it back on the water fountain. The witch was watching me from the front of the store, but the sun was pouring through the front windows in a way that only her outline was visible, her expression and even her stance, inscrutable and hidden.
Remember how I said that my tolerance for real life spooky crap ends on November 1st? Maybe I should amend that. I have no end of love for constructed scares. That’s the kind of stuff that we indulge in to escape true weirdness, which I have no fondness for even in during the final days of October. I turned left out of that hallway, keeping my eyes off of her. I forced my thoughts onto the stock- I wanted a smoke machine, but it seemed like that’s the time to go to Wal-Mart, so I was weighing my options, whether or not I should cheap out…
And I heard it. A sob, coming from the back of the store… But it was quick, and as I stood frozen where I was, I didn’t hear it again.
I slowly turned, and saw a shape peering through the window of those same rubber doors. The light hit the clear plastic at just the right way to obscure the face. But for a second, it danced across in just the right way to suggest thick glasses.
It says a lot about my love for the holiday that I still managed to grab and pay for an item along with the CD that I had noticed when I entered as I “hurried out.” And I could have sworn the color of her nail polish on each hand matched the mirror image I had seen of her.
oOo “I bet you’re thrilled,” Lyndsey chuckled when I told her the whole story.
“You weren’t there,” I insisted. “There was something completely off about that place”
“You know the human brain is fallible, right? That every time you re-remember something you’re not remembering the original incident, but the last time you remembered it. A copy of a copy.”
“So let me just say it out loud: a lot of things about the inside of that store seemed to imply that no time has passed inside from when they closed to when they opened. That’s nuts, and that’s not the kind of ‘creepy’ I appreciate.”
“People who go into haunted houses want to have a good time. Doesn’t mean that if they shit their pants at a good scare that’s what they expected or wanted.”
Sometimes it helped having such as skeptical significant other. Sometimes it was infuriating. At the moment I was undecided which this was.
“Well, I get it. But you weren’t there. There was something so off about that place. I really wasn’t looking for it.”
“Maybe it’s bad wiring tricking you the way it tricks people into thinking they’re not alone when they are. Or carbon monoxide. But I guess there’s not much more I can say if you really want to believe it’s-“ and she finished her sentence by vocalizing the opening guitar chords from the theme to “Twin Peaks.”
OK, she had a point. I was content to let it go, but I had one more card to play: I just so happened to have a friend named Dale who worked as a security guard for the shopping complex- there was also a movie theater, a large chain hardware store at the other end of the lot, and a Wal-Mart, so he spent his evenings driving around in a company vehicle until 2 AM. I told him about the store, and what had happened. I actually told it in a “This would make a great first act for a horror movie” kind of way, and I downplayed how unnerved I was by both visits. He didn’t work there last year, but to my surprise, he wasn’t surprised.
“I’ve seen this maroon van there when my shift starts after they’re closed,” he chuckled. “Every time I’ve worked there for the past week. Not a marked vehicle with the chain’s name on it. Looks like Buffalo Bill’s van. And they’ve had blinds up the whole time I’ve worked there- just big black cloth covering every inch of the windows. I can still see a tiny bit of this dim light peeking through, and it pulses with this weird rhythm.”
“Well, that could be them just testing the wares."
“On that note-, guess what?” Dale asked. “I have to give every door a tug after closing to make sure they’re locked. And when I don’t find one locked, I get to walk around inside and make sure everything’s in order. I might be able to shed a little light on all this for both of us.”
“And you’re telling me you found their door unlocked?”
“Last night I did,” Dale explained. “It’s kind of a heavy door, so I lost my grip when I didn’t pull it as hard as I should have. Then it closed, and the lock secured when that happened. Trust me, I have to report the same doors at least two or three times a week. The same fuck-up employees don’t bother to check the door. They’ll forget again, trust me. When they do that, I’ll give you a call and let you know if I find anything weird.” We talked about more casual stuff after that, and when I hung up, I noticed something. It felt almost like an omen, or that someone had walked over my grave:
It was the decoration I had made out with. It had been one of those ground breakers, that you stick on your lawn. I thought I had gotten a zombie one. But in my rush to get out, I had gotten a witch one.
That night, just before 10, when I was re-reading Stephen King’s It for the umpteenth time rather than trying to whittle down the stack of unread books I had, when my phone buzzed. It was Dale.
U up? Call me.
I was, so I did. And Dale didn’t waste any time.
“Guess what door I found open?”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” I said, amused. “Go on in, tell me what you see.”
“Goin’ in.” And I heard the faint creak of hinges over the phone.
“Getting out my flashlight, so let’s see what I can see…” So I gave him a few seconds to look around, before he finally started his little narration:
“Well… first things first- they got a lot of shelves. All the way to the ceiling. Funny thing is they’re fully loaded- can’t make out what the boxes say, but you need my personal expertise to see how weird this is- there’s a clothing store here that doesn’t have this much stock. They even have one of those power jack lifters.”
“Hmmm. Maybe they handle regional orders through their website. It sounds pretty inefficient, but that’s the best I can come up with.”
“OK, they got their little enclosed office back here,” Dale continued. I heard the sound of a doorknob rattling. “Yep, it’s secure- fuck!”
“What? What is it?” Suddenly living a mini-horror movie vicariously through a friend wasn’t as amusing as I had thought.
“It’s a dummy,” he said at last. “Looks like a witch. It’s sitting in the office chair.” “A witch?” I asked flatly.
“No, it’s not your cashier witch. It’s got the green skin, pointy nose and pointy chin. And its arms and legs are all awkward- trust me, it’s a dummy.”
“Why would they put up a dummy in their office?” I wondered dumbly.
“Because it’s…funny?” Dale replied, chuckling. I suppose I was piling up the inane suppositions and queries, one after the other.
“OK, looking around, shining my light. I don’t know these stores inside and out- I’m looking for signs of forced entry or general mayhem ." The first thing he noted was rather odd:
“Heh, duffel bags,” he chuckled. “I didn’t think they made them that big. Three on the floor in the back of the supply room. One to the side, empty.”
“What’s in them?” I asked.
“Sorry, bud. Can’t do that. Client property. Anyway, I think I’ve seen all I can here, so I’ll head out to the sales floor. Look, let’s save our hearts the collective trouble and be ready for any of the noise making shit still being turned on.”
“Right. And don’t mistake any of those life-size characters as the real thing.”
“Stepping out on the sales floor. Looks dark enough- no lights from the stock stick out to me. Looks like they remembered to shut everything off.
“Hey, cool,” he said. “It’s a trick mirror. It’s got some kind of a zombie in it screaming at me.” A pause. “Yeah, it’s not even one for sale, it’s the full length one they have outside of the dressing room in the corner of the store.”
And even over the phone I could gear the tapping of his finger on the mirror.
“Whoa, there!” He half-screamed, half-laughed.
“It looked like it was jumping out at me! And looking square at me for a second, too! That’s some great hologram shit!”
“Dale, that doesn’t sound right. A hole-in-the-wall chain store in a run-down city is not going to have that kind of crap just for shits and giggles. That stuff is expensive. The 2Pac hologram costs like $50,000 a show!”
“Well,” he sighed. “Everything else checks out in here, so there’s no point in arguing about it now. Not like I’m allowed to take the mirror off the wall and look and see whether they have a ‘dead rapper’ setting. Last thing to do is to check the bathrooms.” And I heard the doors loudly swing open. There was a clattering noise, and a long silence.
“Could you not do that to me, Dale?” Still, nothing. The noise hadn’t been loud, but really, I was turning over the stuff about the mirror in my head. Either Dale was exaggerating, or there was a new full-length mirror added since I had been in there that really was a trick mirror. But for right now, I really wanted this pause to be nothing more than that.
“Dale?” And then came a contented sigh from a few feet away from the phone, and the sound of a urinal flushing.
“Sorry, you know me, man. No talking mid-stream.”
I was finally starting to get embarrassed about how nervous I had been, and I only half-listened when he looked in the women’s restroom. He finally said he was getting ready to leave through the back door through which he had came when he said it:
“I’m going to have to call you back,” he said simply. “The witch in the office is gone.” And he hung up. My mouth was dry, and I was left reminding myself over and over again that Dale liked his jokes. About the only thing he liked about Halloween was the go-ahead for pranks. I thought about calling him back and immediately berating him for trying such a lame gag, but I also knew he’d just ignore the call, all the better to sell the prank.
So I waited. I waited another hour, before my eyes got heavy, and I tried to convince myself it was just one of his jokes.
When I woke up, I was certain there would be a voicemail or a text from Dale- but I was nervous every moment of my approach to where I had left my phone, and I was relieved to see the blue notification light blinking- but when I pulled up the text, it was from my service provider telling me the payment I had made had been processed. Nothing from Dale. I called and it immediately went to voicemail. I left a message and a text after hanging up for good measure. Three days without nothing. I went to his house and knocked, not getting an answer, and I didn’t see his car in the driveway. I finally called his company and asked if he was OK. When I explained I was a little worried about him, the receptionist explained that he had remotely clocked out of his shift that night, as per procedure, using the company cel phone provided for his post at the scheduled time and had called the office immediately upon its opening for the day and told them he was resigning. When I asked if the receptionist knew it was him, she confirmed she had spoken directly to him, and that the next day he had left his uniforms hanging on the office door during the night to be collected. The receptionist asked me to pass on that he was one uniform short, or it would be docked from his final paycheck.
So that was that. I hung up, baffled. So he was OK, but things still weren’t right. I would assume he got a new job, but if he dropped off his uniforms first thing in the morning, then he had to have gotten the news between 2 and whenever his office opened. Which didn’t seem likely- I would assume he would have told me he had another job lined up.
My phone rang before I went deeper into these musings- it was Dale.
“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded.
“Got a new job.” He didn’t sound flat, robotic, hypnotized- whatever you want to call it. But it was a more subdued cheer than was normal for him. I suddenly had an idea that I hoped wasn’t true: “Where?” And of course:
“At the Halloween shop. I talked to them the next day about a position that opened.”
“You talked to them? What, did you call them?” This wasn’t the first thing I wanted to ask, but that bad feeling was only getting worse. I needed information, so I grit my teeth and made him start from the beginning. We would get to what had happened in the store.
“I told them they weren’t securing their doors properly, and they offered me a job. Pay’s real good.”
“Who’s ‘they?’ The manager? Is that the witch?”
“You know, ‘they!’ The store!” And that cheerful tone seemed strained, like buttons on a shirt resisting their owner’s recent weight gain.
“They got real interested in you when I told them about you, and how much you love the holiday. I think another position has opened up and the store said you’re welcome to come on down and apply.”
“Uh, Dale, I’m not rich, but that place would be kind of a step down, pay-wise.”
“That’s too bad, because I know the store would love to have youI had a favor to ask of you- I need to re-home Mouser.”
“What? You love that cat. What’s wrong?”
“Too busy. He needs a lot more TLC than I can give him.”
“Wait a minute, you’re going to be too busy to take care of something that doesn’t need to be walked and sleeps most of the day?”
“I’m going to be working a lot. I don’t have enough time to take care of him.”
“Uh, Dale, you answered my question with two new sentences that are just re-phrases of the last two sentences you spoke to me!”
“Guess you need to stop making me repeat myself!” And this time that cheerfulness seemed to be that of a bad actor. “Why don’t you come by my house next time you’re around- key’s under the mat, and you can pick up the deed to my house on the kitchen counter. It’s all signed and ready- I figure I’ll save myself the trouble of putting it on the market and just let you have it."
It took me a few seconds to process what Dale was saying, and he remained patiently silent on the other end, waiting for my response. After three seconds of sputtering:
“You inherited that house from your grandfather! You’re not even going to fucking sell it?!”
"As Pop-pop passed and in turn passed it to me, so too must it now pass on to you.” A graveness was creeping into his voice. “Stop by and see me at the shop anytime between now and eleven-two.” And he hung up. I thought dumbly: Anytime? Are you saying you’re going to work open to close every day between now and the end of the season?
I didn’t want the answer to that.
True to his word, the deed to his house was in his kitchen. I noticed how rundown the place was; it needed a new coat of paint, the kitchen cabinets were sagging as well as the floor beneath them. The handle to the refrigerator had broken off. The kitchen tiles were peeling in places. A window in his office was cracked, his kitchen faucet dripped, and there were holes in the base of the storage shed in his back yard. All this was at first glance; then there was the crack in the foundation of his basement wall.
I was shocked at the many empty liquor bottles in the recycling tub. I never even got the slightest hint Dale was a drinker.
Then I noticed the photo album on the living room table. It was open to pictures of Dale’s old girlfriend. They had broken up three years before. And there was the empty tumbler on the end table next to the couch that smelled of whiskey. Three years, man. You never mentioned her once to me after you broke up, but here you are still carrying a torch. Hidden sadness was a running theme throughout this house. I won’t say any more of what I found, but I was starting to realize whatever had happened to Dale in that store, this abrupt change didn’t come out of nowhere.
And there was the cat, of course. Mouser was a tuxedo cat who had gotten along just fine with me. He was that rarest of miracles- he didn’t turn into a fur tornado when I pulled out his cat crate, and actually got inside without a problem. I loaded him up and his litter box, toys, bowls, and food. For a few minutes I just sat in my car, trying to figure out what to do with this house. I knew I was going to find Dale and get him the help he needed. I was ruminating over all of this, resigned to think that the store was only incidental in all of this, when I saw it:
A maroon van was idling down the street. Or rather, a ‘varying-shades-of-maroon-and-rust’ van. I stopped where I was as it slowly made its way past the house, the driver invisible to me. Because I remembered something Dale had said when we first talked about the store:
“I’ve seen this maroon van there when my shift starts after they’re closed.
Submitted October 01, 2016 at 07:43PM by DustiinMC http://ift.tt/2dgmI4r nosleep
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