The snow comes down thick and fast. When I left my parents’ house, it had been nothing more than a dusting; the flakes were small and swirling, aimless. I’d been convinced they wouldn’t stick.
An hour later and still thirty minutes from home, the snowflakes are as big as cotton balls. The wind is eerily still, and the snow plummets toward the ground straight and fast like dive bombers. The road is blanketed with white, and I haven’t climbed above 15 miles an hour in the last fifteen minutes. Thankfully, I’m the only car stupid enough to be on the road.
A light illuminates the dark a few dozen yards down the road as I round the bend. It feels like a miracle to see it: a small convenience store all lit up in its fluorescent glory with a neon sign in the floor-to-ceiling window that reads OPEN.
I almost debate driving by it, trying to make it home, but my wheels lock up and I slide a bit through the snow, and that’s all the convincing I need to switch my turn signal on and pull into the parking lot.
It’s covered with snow, so I park as best I can without guidelines. Thankfully, there’s not a single other car in the parking lot. I park and reach into the cup holder for my phone.
The screen is dark, and when I try to wake it up, nothing happens. I rummage through the glovebox and the center console for a charging cable and come up empty. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath and look back toward the store. I kill the engine, shove my dead phone in my pocket, and step out into the cold.
The snow crunches underfoot as I hustle toward the store. As I approach, the sliding doors open automatically, and I’m greeted by a blast of warm air as I stomp the snow off of my boots on the wide grey welcome mat.
It’s a normal store, more like an off-brand 7/11 than a grocery store. It’s a large, square room with marbled white floor and white cinderblock walls and puffy white ceiling tiles. There are rows and rows of snacks, drinks, and travel-sized toiletries all laid out neatly, but what really catches my attention is a counter at the back of the shop with machines built to dispense hot coffee and cocoa.
I beeline over to it and start to fix myself a coffee that’s almost more creamer than anything else. I hold it between my hands, inhale its bittersweet aroma, and then grab a bag of Hot Cheetos on the way to the front counter.
There’s no one there. I look around at the offerings on the counter and see a cheap USB charging cable that will fit my phone. I grab it off the rack and drop it onto the counter beside my Cheetos. A few minutes pass, and I tap the little silver bell so someone can hear that I’m waiting.
No one comes.
Something settles heavily in the pit of my stomach—unease.
“Hello?” I call out, leaning forward on the counter. I try to peer into the back room. “Is there someone back there? Can I use your phone to call my wife?”
I rock back onto my heels and worry my lip between my teeth. For a moment, all I do is listen. I hear nothing apart from the buzz of the lights overhead, not even a radio playing in the background.
I walk back toward the front doors and can’t help but feel like someone is watching me. They slide open as normal, and I step out so I can look at the hours on the sign. Sure enough, it cheerfully tells me, “Open 24 Hours!”
The doors close behind me once I’m back inside, but I hesitate to move further in. I tell myself, Maybe the clerk’s just got headphones on in the breakroom. I test the counter hinge and lift it without issue and then knock on the door to the back room before opening it up and finding that it’s empty.
This is the same moment I mutter, “Fuck it!” and hunt along the back counter for a telephone. I find one, pick it up off its cradle, and dial my wife’s number.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Honey, it’s me.”
“Kit! Thank god. Where the hell are you? Your mom texted and said you left an hour ago.”
“I’m sorry. The snow got worse, and my phone died, so I pulled off into that little convenience store on Route 6.”
She’s quiet for a long time and eventually says, “What snow?”
“…The huge blizzard that blew in out of nowhere? It’s been hammering for, like, thirty minutes. I nearly skidded off the road.”
“There’s no snow here, Kit.”
I have trouble computing this but eventually say, “Maybe it just hasn’t blown toward the house yet. It hasn’t been too windy.”
“Maybe…”
“Something weird is happening in this store, too,” I say. “There’s no one here. No cars in the lot, no tire treads, no one in the back room, nothing.”
“What? And it was unlocked?”
“Completely. I just walked in like normal.”
“Not gonna lie, but you’re starting to scare me a little.”
“How do you think I feel, Alissa! I’m wigged out!”
“Should I try to come get you in the truck? Or try to find someone who can come grab you?”
“Would you mind?”
“Of course not. Let me see what I can find. Otherwise I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
The line goes dead, and I hang the phone up again. The knot of anxiety in my chest loosens now that Alissa knows what’s going on, but that creepy-crawly feeling remains.
Crash!
The sound of shattering glass makes me shriek with surprise, and I take three big steps back until I’m pressed into the corner where the counter meets the wall. It sounded like the glass had completely exploded in the back corner of the shop.
I should leave. I should go back out to my car and lock the doors until Alissa arrives. But I’m white, which means my natural instincts tell me to check it out.
Once out from behind the counter, I walk along the rows until I can see the corner where the glass has broken. One of the drink case doors is completely obliterated, nothing more than glittering shards across the tile. No blood, no trace of anything or anyone except glass.
There’s a bathroom at the end of the row, too: door open, just slightly ajar. The sliver of exposed bathroom is dark. The glass under my feet pierces the air as I walk over it until I can push the bathroom door all the way open.
It’s empty. Inside, there’s a toilet, a sink, and a mirror all against the wall furthest from me.
I realize, suddenly, there is a huge, dark shape looming behind me in the mirror.
My pulse sounds too loud in my ears as I whirl around to confront the figure.
There is no one there.
Fight or flight finally kicks in completely, and I run through the aisles toward the door, skidding at the last second so I can grab the USB cable before running back out to my car. The doors chime pleasantly as they open, announcing my exit, and I leap into my car and lock the doors before the dark shape can get me.