"How the fuck can you actually think about selling trash like this!"
Inside a dimly lit, ordinary convenience store, an elderly woman was currently berating an unfortunate employee with the fury of a storm and the vocabulary of a foul drunk. Her voice slice through the quiet night like a blade, barbaric and cruel. Each word was a new form of torture, flung with venomous intent, and every attempt the young man made to respond was immediately cut short.
"Do you even feel anything when charging ten fucking dollars for some drinks, you bum!"
Her crooked finger jabbed the air like a weapon, aiming directly at the young man in the dull blue uniform behind the counter. She glared with such disdain it was almost palpable, saliva spraying with every curse she spat out. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, flickering now and then, doing little to soften the sharp lines on her scowling face.
Bennett, the employee, stood frozen like a poorly paid statue, a pained smile stretched across his face so tightly it looked like it might snap. He didn't argue. He didn't snap back. But he was still pissed off.
'Great. Her breath wasn't filthy enough, now she's basically a goddamn sprinkler.'
Bennett was nothing if not patient. Customers could scream, swear, even throw things - he wouldn't flinch. There was a simple reason for that: reacting just made things worse. That much he'd learned early on in his life. A reaction meant confrontation, escalation, more drama - basically everything he avoided like the plague. And besides, with his job on the line, it wasn't even an option.
Still, he tried. That same strained smile lingered on his lips as he spoke, measured and polite.
"I'm really sorry, ma'am. But like I said, I don't control the prices. It's store policy. My hands are tied."
The old woman scoffed in a way that somehow communicated both disgust and disbelief. She stood still for a moment, eyes darting around the store, muttering to herself under her breath in some half - formed language of curses. Eventually, she began packing the items she'd laid on the counter. Bennett dared to hope - maybe, just maybe - she was about to leave.
But before he could savor her departure, she snatched up one of the energy drink bottles, turned on her heel, and hurled it at him with surprising force for someone her age.
His reflexes barely saved him. He lurched to the side, the bottle sailing past his head and bursting against the wall behind him. Sticky liquid sprayed in every direction, drenching the counter and floor with cheap, fluorescent yellow sugar water.
'Oh, for fuck's sake.'
Suppressing a scowl that was fighting its way to the surface, he turned slowly to the woman. The smile had gone stale, more grimace than grin now, but it was still there.
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
She stared at the mess she'd made, then back at him. Something flickered in her eyes - shame? No, that would be too easy. Maybe recognition, some brief moment of clarity. Either way, she said nothing more, dropped the remaining items on the counter, and stormed out without so much as a backward glance. The bell above the door jingled mockingly in her wake.
Silence returned.
Bennett leaned back against the clean side of the wall, sagging with a long, exhausted sigh.
'Just as I was about to clock out too. Of course. Mercy really is too much to ask for.'
The scowl finally broke free from its hiding place, directed squarely at the pile of abandoned energy drinks still resting on the counter.
'Didn't even put them back on the shelf. Figures.'
For a while, he just stood there, staring at the mess as if willing it to disappear. When that didn't work, he rubbed his temples, sighed again, and hopped over the counter. He disappeared into the back room, grabbed the mop and bucket, and returned to clean up the sticky chaos.
It took time, but eventually the store looked barely presentable again. The energy drink still left a weird lemon - chemical tang in the air, but at least the floor wasn't sticky anymore.
Back behind the register, he resumed his post: a lone idiot in a store that never closed.
'Thank God it's night.'
That was the one thing that gave him any peace. The small-town convenience store rarely got customers at night, and most who did come in just silently entered and left. That old woman had been a horrible exception.
The minutes stretched on.
Time moved strangely in the dead of night - slow and quiet. A couple of people wandered in. One bought cigarettes without a word. Another grabbed some snacks and left with barely a nod. Bennett handled it all on autopilot, his mind drifting somewhere between exhaustion and numb routine. The hum of the lights, the soft whirr of the fridge, and the occasional creak of the building were the only companions left to keep him grounded.
Eventually, the silence deepened again. No more customers. Just the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional buzz of a streetlight outside flickering against the dark.
Then, his phone vibrated.
A shrill little alarm went off, paired with a text: Shift End – 5:24 AM.
Why 5:24 specifically? Even he didn't know. His boss was... special to say the least. The man rarely showed his face, barely spoke to anyone, and never explained anything. In a place like this - where most gossip could stretch for generations - that kind of mystery should've made him a legend. Instead, no one cared. No one wanted to care. And that was somehow more disturbing.
Bennett changed into his own clothes in the tiny back room just as his replacement shuffled in - a bleary - eyed student, same as him. They exchanged a nod: a solemn, wordless agreement that neither of them wanted to be here.
Once outside, Bennett paused. The early morning air was cool, almost crisp. The sky overhead was still blanketed in night, the stars sharp and bright, and the moon loomed heavy and full above the sleepy town.
"Damn. Moon's still holding strong, huh. Might actually even catch some sleep before uni."
With a small, tired smile, he pulled out his phone, popped in an earbud, and tapped his music app. But instead of his usual playlist, a soft rainfall began to play. A calm, artificial lullaby.
Unlocking his bike, he set off down the street.
As expected, the roads were empty.
Even the lights were still out, which was a little odd given the hour, but nothing that crazy. It was Sunday, after all. Most people were buried deep in their beds, clinging to the last few hours of freedom before Monday pulled them back into the meat grinder that is the middle class.
Bennett scoffed at the quiet homes and shuttered windows, his thoughts soaked in tired bitterness and maybe just a tiny hint of envy.
'Must be nice.'
He passed by the familiar landmarks of his life: the old high school, the quiet café, the tiny veterinary clinic owned by the sweet old lady who lived next door. Everything in this town seemed preserved in time - small, predictable, and ordinary.
Almost painfully so.
But he wasn't thinking about that right now.
Right now, the only thing on Bennett's mind was the comfort of sleep, the temporary escape from the world of work, study, and everything in between.
After coming to a quiet stop, Bennett slid off his bike and wheeled it toward the aging, half - rusted rack out front. He locked it with an absent flick of his wrist - the motion second nature by now - and shouldered his bag with a tired grunt. The promise of rest was so close he could practically taste it.
The stairs leading up to the apartment complex creaked beneath his weight, each step a little more warped than the last. Paint peeled along the walls in brittle curls, and the overhead light buzzed with a tired, dying hum. Still, this place was home - cheap, cramped, and half - forgotten by time, but home nonetheless.
As he ascended, familiar doorways passed by on either side. The first belonged to Ms. Darrow, the surprisingly energetic old woman who somehow still called this rundown place home, despite clearly having the means to do better. Bennett had never asked why. Maybe she liked the quiet. Or maybe she liked being the most competent person in around her - which, frankly, wasn't a high bar in this place.
The next door down belonged to someone he barely knew. A woman, maybe late twenties, who rarely left her apartment and never made a sound. He'd seen her once, maybe twice - just enough to register her face in the blur of forgettable neighbors. He hadn't cared then, and he didn't care now. People came, people went. That's how it always went.
Still… as he passed her door, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest. A pinch of pressure. Not quite pain. More like the ghost of something old and unfinished. Something better left untouched. He didn't slow his step, but his jaw tightened.
The hallway seemed darker than usual.
He paused for a second, glancing up at the flickering lights above. It wasn't just dim - it was growing dim. With every step toward his flat, the shadows stretched a little longer, the air felt a little heavier. A dull throb had begun to settle just behind his eyes.
"Seriously? Come on man." he muttered, rubbing at his temple.
The onset was familiar. A low pulse, slow and rhythmic, pressing against the inside of his skull like it was trying to make space for something that didn't belong. It wasn't the worst he'd had, not yet - but it was enough to make the world feel slightly off center.
Migraines weren't strangers to him. They came with stress, with exhaustion and thanks to uni, both had been in steady supply.
Finally, he reached the end of the hall. His door, 2F, sat like always just next to the window that overlooked the street. Usually, it gave a decent view - just enough moonlight to remind him the outside world still existed.
Tonight, though... the view was empty.
He slowed, turning slightly toward the window. A frown crept onto his face.
No moon.
The sky was still there - he could make out the shape of it, the endless stretch above - but the moon itself was simply gone. Not hidden behind clouds. Not shrouded in fog. Just... absent. The stars were still present, but their light had dimmed to a faint shimmer, barely enough to cast shadows. The entire landscape outside looked smudged, like someone had turned the contrast way down on reality itself.
A chill slipped down his spine.
He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Still no moon. Still that strange, washed - out sky.
"Probably just the angle," he muttered, forcing a shrug.
He didn't buy it.
Not really.
Still, he turned back toward his door, unwilling to entertain the unease prickling at the back of his mind. There were a thousand reasons why the sky might look off. Light pollution. Dirty windows. Lack of sleep. Take your poison.
He reached for the doorknob, eager to bury himself in the familiar clutter of his apartment - and forget the world outside for a few blissful hours.
But the moment his fingers wrapped around the cold metal something changed.
It was subtle. No sound. No flash of light. Just a shift. Inside.
Like the air in his lungs suddenly weighed more. Like the ground beneath his feet wasn't quite as solid. Like the space around him had just… tilted, almost imperceptibly, but enough to make his balance stutter.
The headache pulsed - sharp now. Immediate. His eyes watered.
And for the briefest of moments, he saw movement at the edge of his vision.
He flinched and let go of the handle.
Silence.
No footsteps. No creaking floorboards. Just the sound of his own breath, slow and shallow, as the weight of the moment pressed in.
Then, from beyond the door - something.
Not a voice. Not a knock. Just... a presence. Like something on the other side had felt him. And was waiting.