{"id":137,"date":"2017-10-24T00:00:53","date_gmt":"2017-10-24T05:00:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/stories.astoundingoutpost.com\/?p=137"},"modified":"2017-10-24T00:00:53","modified_gmt":"2017-10-24T05:00:53","slug":"closing-time","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/2017\/10\/24\/closing-time\/","title":{"rendered":"Closing Time"},"content":{"rendered":"

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Eric Kenner was beginning to nod when the tires crunched on the gravelly side of the interstate.  He jumped awake and swerved back into his place, thankful that no one was around to see him.  Or hit him.  He had tried turning on the air conditioning to full blast, and that had helped for a little while.  Not long enough, though; Jenner was fading, and he knew it.  In his twenty-three years of driving big rigs, he had only fallen asleep on the road once \u2013 but of course, that was all it had taken, as they say.  His souvenirs from that little adventure came in the form of enough metal reinforcement (pins in the legs, pins in the spinal column, and of course, the ever popular four inch plate in the head) to get him special treatment at airports.  Since then, it had been his policy to quit driving as soon as he was even remotely tired; to pull into some hotel and just crash, even if he might only be an hour or two from his destination.<\/span><\/p>\n

Tonight was different because his destination had nothing to do with his job.  He had a feeling that if he didn\u2019t reach Myra by tonight, she would be gone forever.  If he stopped now, if he showed just one more sign of anger \u2013 even an unintentional one \u2013 it was probably curtains for them.  She had already started talking about moving out of their house and getting an apartment.  Eric had little doubt that if Myra did that, she wouldn\u2019t be moving in alone.  Not for the first time, he wondered whether or not he really had been better off not knowing about the man she was cheating with.  After all, before that, he had been happy, and had assumed that she was, too.  <\/span><\/p>\n

Now he knew the truth, and he was miserable.<\/span><\/p>\n

The first drops of rain spattering the windshield jerked him out of his thoughts of Myra, back to thoughts of the road.  He didn\u2019t mind driving in the rain most of the time, but then most of the time he was in his Peterbilt rig, and not in this dinky Honda Civic.  Plus, he knew that after a little while, rain falling on the windshield would likely become a soothing lullaby, which was the very last thing he needed right now.<\/span><\/p>\n

He glanced down at the cell phone lying in the passenger seat like the world\u2019s smallest child getting to sit up front.  He could call her.  If he told her that he was tired and needed to pull off to get some rest, she\u2019d understand.  After all, she\u2019d been there, holding his hand in the ICU and crying her eyes out as she stared at the damaged body of her husband.  She knew that if he said he needed sleep, he meant it.  Every time.<\/span><\/p>\n

But tonight, maybe she knew something else, Eric thought.  Maybe she also knew that she didn\u2019t love him anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n

So, no phone call.  Tonight he would make it home, and he would talk to her face to face.  If the stars aligned for him, if he could be very convincing, and most of all, if there still burned something inside her for him, he thought they might pull through.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

*          *          *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

He was fading again when he saw the smeared streak of halogen lights up ahead.  He snapped awake, mentally gauging the distance to them so he\u2019d be sure to catch the right exit.  What he felt now was more than tired.  It was an ache, the kind of soulless sorrow that comes from wanting to sleep and being unable to.  It seemed he could feel it in his bones, in his stomach, behind the eyes he so desperately wanted to close.  <\/span><\/p>\n

It was a gas station; he could see it more clearly now through the rain.  One of those middle-of-nowhere all-nighter joints, he supposed, and shuddered.  If there was one job more lonely than his own, surely it was being a clerk in one of these places.  He turned his blinker on, too soon, but it didn\u2019t matter.  It was almost two in the morning, and he hadn\u2019t seen another car in half an hour.  Raindrops fell, scattered, and were swept away by the windshield wipers as he pulled off the interstate, guiding his car mostly by the lights ahead, as if he were a mariner lost in a storm on a choppy sea, and the halogens ahead were the salvific lighthouse.<\/span><\/p>\n

He certainly felt lost tonight.<\/span><\/p>\n

The parking lot was rough; there were large cracks in the macadam which held sizable populations of weeds, these pushing up through as if to reclaim Earth for the flora.  Caught among them were bits of trash \u2013 part of a coffee cup, a cinnamon bun wrapper, a broken beer bottle \u2013 souvenirs, no doubt, from this hallowed establishment, carried to a temporary resting place by wind and circumstance.<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric pulled in, shut the car off, and just sat there for a long moment, hoping the rain would let up long enough for him to get out and go in without getting soaked.  It didn\u2019t happen.  He reached over into the passenger seat and picked up the cell phone, flipped it open.  He had two bars, which wasn\u2019t much, but it would be enough should he decide to call Myra.  He could do it; he wasn\u2019t sure how close the nearest hotel might be, but it had to be closer than home.<\/span><\/p>\n

Besides, this whole thing was probably a waste of time.  In all likelihood, it was too late to save the marriage anyway; best for him to get over it and begin the process of moving on.  <\/span><\/p>\n

He put the cell phone back in the seat and opened his door.  He would at least go inside and look around for something to wake him up, just to be able to say he tried.  Beyond that, he could ask the lonely clerk where the nearest hotel might be \u2013 where the nearest town might be, for that matter; he wasn\u2019t really sure there was much out here at all.  <\/span><\/p>\n

He was soaked the moment he stepped out of the car, and as soon as he shut the door he ran up to the awning, passing through the heavy sheet of drain water and gasping at the cold.  He almost ran head first into the payphone, and wouldn\u2019t that have been hilarious, he thought.  He took a moment to shake himself off, wringing his hands, running them through his hair, wringing them again.  Now his hair stood up in dripping spikes, and the skin of his palms was shriveled with moisture.  It occurred to him that he was wide awake now, and that he could probably go another twenty or thirty miles in this condition.  <\/span><\/p>\n

But no; he was here, so he might as well get something to drink.  Not coffee \u2013 Eric hated coffee \u2013 but something caffeinated.  Maybe a Coke.<\/span><\/p>\n

He walked to the front door, which was glass crisscrossed with black iron bars.  \u201cCharming,\u201d he muttered, and stepped in.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

*          *          *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

The music hit him first, the smell second.  Of the two, the music was more recognizable \u2013 he thought it was George Gershwin\u2019s \u201cRhapsody in Blue\u201d.  The smell, though familiar, eluded him.  It conjured strange scenes from his youth, existing as a cloudy ectoplasm enveloping the stage during certain scenes of the mostly-forgotten play of childhood.  It was inane, alien, yet powerfully close.  He both wanted to inhale deeply to explore its singular bouquet, and at the same time vomit it from his nose and thrust himself back into the night, where the rain-washed air would smell fresh and vivid and above all things right.<\/span><\/p>\n

This smell was not right.  It was wrong.<\/span><\/p>\n

He stepped across the threshold, and above him a small grouping of jingle bells shivered into action, hailing his arrival by cutting harshly across Gershwin\u2019s roving piano solo.  They died out quickly, and the sound of the rain was slowly enveloped by the sound of the door whooshing shut behind him.  Another tinkling of bells, and he was fully inside the store.<\/span><\/p>\n

Something else felt wrong about the place immediately.  Not only did it not smell right, but he seemed to be entirely alone.  No one stood behind the counter; there were no patrons in the aisles.  He hadn\u2019t seen any other cars in the parking lot, so he supposed that made sense, but\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be right there,\u201d a raspy voice said, and Eric jumped.  He looked in the direction the voice had come from, and saw an open door with the word \u201cOFFICE\u201d printed on it.  On this door were a multiplicity of signs, including such witticisms as \u201cTHE BEATINGS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL MORALE IMPROVES\u201d, and \u201cPROBLEM CUSTOMERS WILL BE TAKEN OUT BACK AND SHOT\u201d.  Oddly enough, these signs cheered Eric a little.  They seemed to take a little bit of the creepy out of it, in some way he couldn\u2019t quite put a finger on.<\/span><\/p>\n

He turned toward the first aisle, and was startled to see a man-sized hourglass.  Most of its sand \u2013 which was brown rather than the usual white \u2013 was in the bottom glass.  On the top glass was a sign written by hand: TIME UNTIL CLOSE.  This one seemed a bit less cheery than the ones on the office door.  Eric shuffled past it toward the rest of the aisle and began walking down it, his eyes catching on things here and there.  Car equipment on the first aisle: everything you could possibly need from jumper cables to air fresheners.  There were sunglasses and phone chargers, phone cards and sun visors, ice scrapers and ice chests.  It all seemed perfectly natural; if you were coming into this gas station, you were likely on some kind of long trip, and who in the world liked to take a long car trip sans those special accoutrements one could acquire most conveniently at a convenience store?<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric smiled, moving on.  He found that he had been wrong about the rain waking him up fully \u2013 he felt almost as tired now as he had in the car.  Maybe a Coke wasn\u2019t going to do the job.  As a general rule, he tried to stay away from caffeine pills and energy drinks (he secretly suspected that cancer or something equally vile resided within such products, and that to use them even sparingly was to take one\u2019s life in hand), but maybe tonight was the time for that rare exception.<\/span><\/p>\n

The end of the first aisle ended up being the porn section.  This was the part of any convenience store which he \u2013 and, he assumed, most self-respecting people \u2013 tried to skirt around, not because he had no interest in such things, but because it was uncouth.  Now, of course, it was just him and the as-yet absentee clerk.  The urge to look was primal, had been ever since he was a youth.  Around about the time that that smell reminds you of, wouldn\u2019t you say, a voice in his head intoned.  He took a faint sniff of the air, dismissed it, and looked at the porn rack, checking over his shoulder first to make sure that he wasn\u2019t being watched.  There was no sign of the clerk yet.<\/span><\/p>\n

What he saw surprised him; he had been expecting seedy stuff \u2013 this wasn\u2019t a bookstore, after all \u2013 but he hadn\u2019t been prepared for this.  In place of the Playboy and Penthouse brand of magazine there existed a rack of sadomasochist literature.  Magazines devoted to bondage and torture, leather and chains and spiked heels abounding.  Women with barely-blurred breasts caught in vise clamps; men holding paddles with what looked like blood on them.  There were faux vampire magazines; Goth dominatrix women with pointed teeth leering out from studded leather corsets.  There were even a couple of magazines in what looked like Russian Cyrillic; one showed a man hanging himself, one hand on the rope, the other in front of him and \u2013 but for the carefully-placed shrink wrap one could be certain \u2013 probably on his penis.  The other magazine featured three women, naked and not blurred out at all, sitting in a circle.  Scattered among them were fake body parts.  One of the women held a severed human arm up to her face, and was chewing on it.  Eric raised an eyebrow; evidently, cannibalism had entered the world of porn since the last time he\u2019d checked.<\/span><\/p>\n

He moved on down the aisle, coming to the cooler, and by way of the cooler, to the portion of the store devoted to alcohol.  Beer bottles and cans stood before him behind the glass walls of the cooler doors like rows of infantrymen, waiting only for orders.  It\u2019d be called the Charge of the Coors Light Brigade, he thought, smiling a little to himself.<\/span><\/p>\n

God, he was tired.  He brought his hands up to his eyes, rubbed them, stared at the beer.  <\/span><\/p>\n

Here was an idea: he could buy a twelve pack, grab some smokes (because it just wouldn\u2019t be proper drinking without a pack of smokes), find the nearest hotel room, and drink himself to sleep watching some shitty old movie.  Simple, beautiful, uncomplicated.  He had always suspected that he\u2019d make a pretty good alcoholic if he really applied himself to the task; here was the perfect opportunity to find out.<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a metallic clicking sound behind him, and Eric turned to see that the clerk had finally come out, and was locking the front door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSir,\u201d he said, walking slowly back up the aisle, wondering if this place would even have something as urbane as an energy drink for sale.  \u201cSir, I\u2019m still in here.  Sorry, I didn\u2019t know you were about to close.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The clerk turned slowly to face him, and Eric paused, mid-stride.  The man was tall and lanky, sporting a button-up shirt that seemed out of place here.  Eric noticed almost immediately that his left hand \u2013 and perhaps much of the arm that it connected to; it was impossible to tell with the shirtsleeve \u2013 was actually a prosthetic.  The clerk\u2019s pants, a faded but well-creased pair of black dress slacks, seemed to billow around him, as though his legs were thin as broomsticks.  His face was gaunt and pale, almost a gray color.  Eric only stopped staring two or three seconds after he realized he was staring and instead focused his gaze on the door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAh, there\u2019s always one or two,\u201d the clerk said in that gravelly voice, his grin revealing two rows of broken and mostly rotted teeth, which Eric didn\u2019t see because he was looking at the door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, well, sorry man,\u201d he stammered.  \u201cI, uh\u2026I was just looking for a quick energy drink or something.  Do you mind?\u201d  He risked a glance at the clerk, seeing not agitation on the man\u2019s face, but a kind of satisfaction.  The clerk adjusted a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and smiled, this time with his mouth closed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all, sir.  I\u2019ll just leave this other door unlocked for you.\u201d  He waved his prosthetic hand in the general direction of the OUT door, and made his way around the counter.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere, uh\u2026where do you keep \u2013 \u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThird aisle, all the way back to the cooler,\u201d the clerk said, and Eric noticed that the man was walking with a limp.  Whatever had happened to this guy, it had fucked him up pretty badly.  He went back the way he had come, this time passing the strange porn and the beer without looking at them.  Sure enough, he found a host of energy drinks, named for everything from hip-hop singers to illicit drugs.  Normally, he would have looked each one over \u2013 probably to see if the ingredients lists contained the word \u201ccancer\u201d \u2013 but not tonight.  The store was already closed and besides, he had an uneasy feeling about this place.  He grabbed the first thing his hand could find and shut the door.  <\/span><\/p>\n

The music changed as he was walking up, Gershwin giving way to some pop tune he didn\u2019t recognize.  So the guy has an eclectic taste in music, he thought, trying to fight the uneasiness and failing.  So sue him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAh, yes, the \u2018Dumpsta Diva 202\u2019, an excellent choice,\u201d rasped the clerk as Eric set the large pink can on the counter.  Eric hadn\u2019t even glanced at the name, but he did now.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a weird name for an energy drink,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI believe it\u2019s named for the rap singer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWonders never cease,\u201d Eric said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPardon me if I\u2019m being forward,\u201d the clerk said, \u201cbut I noticed you were looking at our fine selection of\u2026adult material.  Anything in particular catch your eye?\u201d  He leaned across the counter, and Eric suddenly realized that the strange smell was coming from him.  He still couldn\u2019t put a finger on what it was, but the memories it conjured up grew perceptibly sharper; he was in his early teens, and he was in school doing something.  But what?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSir?\u201d the clerk said, and Eric came back to the present.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHmm?  Uh\u2026no.  No, I didn\u2019t find anything interesting in the por\u2026 in the adult section.  Thanks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPity,\u201d the clerk said, reaching up to adjust his glasses.  When he did so, Eric saw a horrible thing.  The clerk\u2019s nose actually moved with the glasses.  It was a slight thing, but in it, Eric caught a glimpse of the dead black chasm that lay behind the man\u2019s prosthetic sniffer.  What the hell was wrong with this guy?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPity?\u201d Eric repeated dumbly.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d the clerk said, finishing with the glasses adjustment.  \u201cI sometimes enjoy conversing with\u2026shall we say, kindred spirits.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry to disappoint,\u201d Eric said, and looked down at his energy drink.  He had no memory of any popular singer who went by the moniker \u201cDumpsta Diva\u201d.  Knowing the current crop of famous people was Myra\u2019s bailiwick, not his.  But it seemed odd to him; surely even among the hip-hop community, there was such a thing as a modicum of class, wasn\u2019t there?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019re interested in hearing it, I\u2019ve got one of the Dumpsta Diva albums in my office.  She is\u2026off the chain, as I believe they call it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thanks,\u201d Eric said, feeling genuine alarm beginning to creep in on him.  \u201cI\u2019ll just take the drink.\u201d  He reached his right hand around and fished out his wallet.  With his left he went for his cell phone \u2013 just in case.  It wasn\u2019t there, of course; he had left it in the passenger seat.  <\/span><\/p>\n

No worries, he thought.  I\u2019ll just pay for this and be out of here.<\/span><\/p>\n

That was when he discovered that all he had was a fifty in his wallet.  He\u2019d neglected to take his credit card with him on this trip, since it had initially only looked like it was going to take him a few hours.  Now, he realized that even if he wanted to get a room somewhere to crash for the night, he probably wouldn\u2019t be able to.  That was okay; as long as he could get out of here, he thought he could make it the rest of the way home.  In fact, he realized, the small tendrils of fear that were encroaching on his mind had acted as the perfect wake-up \u2013 he felt fully alert now.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d the clerk said, staring down at the bill in Eric\u2019s hand.  \u201cNot only a late-comer, but a man with a large bill.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d Eric said, not feeling sorry at all, but not wanting to piss this strange apparition of a man off.  \u201cIt\u2019s all I\u2019ve got on me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you just assumed that I would be able to accept such a large bill at this late time of night,\u201d the clerk said.  \u201cIsn\u2019t that a little frightfully presumptuous?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric looked up to see the clerk smiling again, this time with his broken teeth showing for all the world to see.  It was in that moment that he finally realized what the smell was, and where he had smelled it before.  <\/span><\/p>\n

It was formaldehyde.  The scene flashed before his mental eye: ninth grade, the science lab, and a young Eric Jenner standing with his teammates over the partially-dissected remains of a pig fetus.  They had been kept in formaldehyde.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what,\u201d Eric said, backing away from the counter and slipping the fifty back into his wallet, \u201cI\u2019m sorry.  I think I\u2019ll just go.\u201d  His heart was pounding now, the not-quite-irrational fear swelling into terror of the clerk.  He backed away several more steps, his eyes not leaving the ruined man, and he bumped into something, nearly knocking it over.  He turned, only barely stifling a scream.  It was the huge hourglass; all the sand now rested in the bottom half, and the TIME UNTIL CLOSE sign taped to it flapped in the slight breeze caused by the disturbance.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose I\u2019ll just put this back for you, as well,\u201d the clerk said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, sorry\u2026I\u2026I\u2019ve just gotta go,\u201d Eric said, and bolted for the door.<\/span><\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t open.  Eric ran face-first into it, mashing his nose against the glass, and it did not open.  The panic exploded now and became a hot white heat that ate rationality and shat adrenaline.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the fuck?!\u201d he shouted, turning back to the counter.  But the clerk was no longer there.  Eric turned further, toward a steadily building wheezing sound, and saw the madman limping around the counter\u2019s far edge.  It took him a moment to realize that the wheezing was actually laughter; it was punctuated by little coughs, one of which produced a viscous black fluid which flowed from the corner of the clerk\u2019s mouth, falling onto and staining his shirt.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m terribly sorry,\u201d the clerk said, his grin on full power now.  \u201cI seem to have forgotten to leave that door unlocked.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t come near me, man!\u201d Eric said, jumping back.  This time, he did knock over the hourglass.  It fell seemingly in slow motion, crashing to the floor and shattering into thousands of pieces.  Eric, who had stumbled in the process of knocking it over, now leaped backward over what was left, as if it might form some sort of protective barrier.  It didn\u2019t, but he picked up a shard of glass, wielding it like a knife.  \u201cDon\u2019t you even come near me, asshole!  I don\u2019t know what the hell all of this is, but you need to just fucking cut it out!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSir,\u201d the clerk said, reaching for his glasses, \u201cthis is a family establishment.  I\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t tolerate foul language, let alone the brandishing of a weapon.\u201d  He removed the glasses and, consequently, the prosthetic nose, exposing two caves of blackened, desiccated flesh.  \u201cEven a weapon as ineffectual as that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you?\u201d Eric moaned.  He could feel his grip on the glass shard weakening; could feel his knees wanting to buckle, his blood turning icy in his veins.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA zombie, of course,\u201d the clerk answered simply.  \u201cBut you didn\u2019t want to know that, did you?\u201d  He stepped forward slowly, grinning again; the black stuff he\u2019d coughed up coated the bottom row of jagged teeth.  \u201cSee, now you\u2019re even more afraid than you were before, because you\u2019re thinking that I\u2019m either crazy \u2013 which is bad, or that I\u2019m telling the truth \u2013 which I assure you is much, much worse.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGet away from me!\u201d Eric shouted, renewing his grip on the glass shard so tightly that he could feel it cutting his hand; could feel the blood beginning to flow down his palm and onto his wrist.  \u201cLet me out of here or\u2026or I\u2019m going to call the police!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, but you can\u2019t call the police, of course, or you already would have.  Did you think I wouldn\u2019t notice when your hand went to your pocket?  You were looking for your cell phone, but of course it wasn\u2019t there.  I\u2019m betting it\u2019s out there,\u201d he gestured with his prosthetic arm toward the door behind him, \u201cin the car.  Sound plausible?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLook, what do you want?\u201d Eric said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTo eat your brains, what else?\u201d the clerk said.  \u201cHonestly, I\u2019m surprised you didn\u2019t get that one right off.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy\u2026my brains?\u201d Eric said.  \u201cMy fucking brains!\u201d  Now he was angry.  \u201cWhat is this shit?  Am I being \u2018Punk\u2019d\u2019 or something?\u201d  He glanced around, hoping to see the orchestrators of this particular prank coming out of the proverbial woodwork, knowing that he wasn\u2019t going to.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t know what that means,\u201d the clerk said, and began to lurch forward again.  \u201cNow, we can do this the hard way, or we can do it the really hard way.  In either case, my friend, please know that I\u2019m grateful for the nourishment which you are about to provide for me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you talking about, you crazy bastard!?\u201d Eric said, continuing to backup a step for every forward one the clerk took, as though they were locked in some malign form of dance \u2013 the hunter and the hunted, performing the two-step from hell.  \u201cLook, man.  You\u2019re not thinking right, okay?  If you\u2019ll just back off and let me use the phone, I can get you some help.  I know a doctor who specializes in these sorts of things.\u201d  He didn\u2019t; Eric Jenner couldn\u2019t even imagine a doctor who treated this kind of head case, and he sure as hell didn\u2019t know one.<\/span><\/p>\n


\n<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m not thinking right,\u201d the zombie clerk repeated, the rasp in his voice somehow conveying a perfect sense of contempt.  \u201cMy God, you can\u2019t even speak properly to save your life.  What has this old world come to?\u201d  He took another step forward, this one more of a lunge, and gave a harsh, barking laugh when Eric yipped and nearly fell over getting away from him.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cStop doing that!  Let\u2019s fucking talk about this, man!\u201d  Eric reached out a hand to steady himself, realizing only a second or two later that he was leaning on the porn rack.  He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his shirt.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI find it difficult to converse with someone whose elocution consists mostly of sentences like, \u2018Let\u2019s fucking talk about this, man\u2019.  When you\u2019ve been around as long as I have, when you\u2019ve absorbed as much of the knowledge of etymology \u2013 which in the pantheon of things known occupies such a tall pedestal \u2013 it becomes rather boring to talk to the uneducated.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow long have you been around?\u201d Eric said.  He was stalling, and the monster in front of him seemed to know it; he stopped advancing for a moment, raising his real hand in an accommodating gesture.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, all right,\u201d the zombie clerk said.  \u201cI\u2019ve got all night, and I\u2019d hate to deprive you of all chances to think of a possible means of escape.  Shall I tell you my life story?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, please,\u201d Eric said.  The zombie stared at him for a long moment, the grotesque grin hanging off his face like a necrotic dream \u2013 the vision poisoned into a nightmare.  <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

*          *          *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy name,\u201d he began, \u201cis \u2013 or was \u2013 Joseph Bellows.  I was born in the year eighteen ninety-seven, in Scranton, Ohio.  When I was twenty years old, I was killed in the trenches in France.  A bombshell went off a little too close to my left arm, tearing it off, and I bled to death before the corpsman could even get to me.  Ten days later, I woke up back in Scranton, inside a coffin in the First Baptist Church, to the tune of \u2018Amazing Grace\u2019 being played on the organ.  It was, of course, my funeral.  I never knew how it happened, but\u2026hey!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric bolted.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

*          *          *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

He ran, past the porn rack, past the beer, the oddly named energy drinks.  He ran wildly, seeing rows of soda to his left, aisles of chips and candy bars to his right.  As he neared the ice machine at the back corner of the store, he looked to his left and saw a door marked: EMPLOYEES ONLY.  Without hesitation, he slammed into it, and then realized that he had to turn the doorknob first.  Behind him, he could hear the creature coming for him, its pace increased, its breath wheezing not laughter now, but genuine exertion.  <\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve got to get out of here, his mind yammered at him, over and over.  I\u2019ve got to get out of here!  He burst through the employee door, praying that he would find an exit door right behind it.  No such luck; if this place had an exit door, it wasn\u2019t in the logical place at the back.  Instead, he saw what appeared to be a dry storage area, littered with massive beer carton forts and empty boxes.  Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and Eric suspected it had been decades since anyone besides the creature now chasing him had even been back here.  Or, at least, been back here and made it out alive.<\/span><\/p>\n

To his left was the door to the cooler.  It was old, with a pull-bar like that of an old refrigerator.  If he could get in there and somehow lock the door\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

He was in like a flash.  From outside in the store area, he could hear the thing bellowing at him.  He pulled the door closed, looking desperately for some kind of linchpin.  For the first time that evening, fate smiled down on him.  Not only was there a metal pin hanging down on a frail old chain, but there was a hole to stick it in.  Lightning-quick, he stuck it in, then backed away.  The terror did not leave him then, but it slowed a pace.  <\/span><\/p>\n

It was at least twenty-five degrees colder in here, and Eric was suddenly reminded that he was still drenched from the rain.  He hadn\u2019t realized he was shaking until now; the combination of fear and cold danced a furious clogging jig across his skin, and his teeth began chattering.  <\/span><\/p>\n

He heard the employee door opening, and then a banging on the cooler door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet me in!\u201d the zombie shouted, but he was laughing again, the wheezing quality of his breath an eerie mumbled drone in Eric\u2019s ears.  \u201cI promise it\u2019ll be quick if you let me in now.  I can smell your brains, though, and they\u2019re driving me crazy.  Be warned; if you wait too long, I won\u2019t be able to control myself.\u201d      <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow about you control yourself now and leave me the fuck alone!\u201d Eric yelled.  <\/span><\/p>\n

No response.  All he could hear now were the two ambient sounds of the cooler: that of the compressors pumping in the cold air, and that of his teeth chattering.  Then he heard the employee door again, and through the glass between the rows of drinks, he could see the clerk\u2019s figure lumbering out into the store proper.  He used his free hand to move aside some of the beer, then peered out.  The clerk was nowhere to be seen.  All that lay before him were the dirty floors and lonely subdivisions of various unneeded products; a cobweb spun of man, its design fiscally predatory.  <\/span><\/p>\n

All the lights went out.<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric started and sucked in breath, suddenly enveloped in utter blackness.  He dropped the shard of glass, heard it tinkle on the concrete floor.  He squatted, breathing heavily now, and felt for the thing, his eyes moving vainly back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.<\/span><\/p>\n

Finally they caught something.  It was faint, but it was there.  A dim glow presented itself, lighting around two sides of a black angle.  At first it didn\u2019t compute, and then he realized that whatever light it was, there was a box between it and him.  He reached forward, moved the beer aside, and peered out.  It was the streetlamp outside.  It should have been comforting, seeing that.  Instead, it made the panic within him grow.  If the only light coming in through the store window was the streetlamp, then the outside fluorescent lights were off, too.  This meant that, for all intents and purposes, the store was going to be unnoticeable to the outside world.  <\/span><\/p>\n

In that instant, the glass cooler door Eric was facing swung open, the magnetic lining giving off a pinched smooching sound, the hinge screaming a small scream.  Then a hand \u2013 a horrible, cold and bony hand \u2013 reached through and grabbed him by the arm.  Eric screamed, but it did no good.  The clerk\u2019s strength was amazing.  He yanked Eric forward, and Eric\u2019s face slammed into the metal rack above it.  He felt warm blood trickling down his forehead, and for a moment he was disoriented.  But then the creature was yanking him again, dragging him out of the cooler, knocking boxes of canned and bottled beer all over the place.<\/span><\/p>\n

Frantically, he felt around the floor with his other hand, but it was too late for the glass shard.  His torso was already partially wedged between the racks.  It was a tight fit, but as more and more beer fell out of the way, there became more room for him to fit through.  <\/span><\/p>\n

He flexed and unflexed his hand in the monster\u2019s grip, hoping against hope that it would slip through; no such luck.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCome on out, now, human,\u201d the creature rasped, and Eric could now tell a difference in its speech.  The words were slurred, as if the clerk had been drinking for half the evening, and they had an odd hollow echoing quality, as if they were words not so much spoken as merely produced.  \u201cI want your brains!  I need your brains!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGet away from me!\u201d Eric sobbed, unable to fight the pull of the monster as he was dragged the rest of the way through the cooler.  He spilled out onto the floor, landing atop and around a heap of broken bottles and burst cans.  Everywhere now there was the sound of fizzing, and the related but separate smells of alcohol and formaldehyde.  A split second later, the monster was on top of him, its bony knee pinning Eric to the floor.  Eric shrieked in pain as the knee drove into his kidney.  Then the thing grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up hard.    <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBRAINS!\u201d it croaked loudly, then sank its teeth into the hair and scalp.<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric screamed as the zombie bit in.  He felt the jagged teeth tearing skin from his head, and then grinding against something underneath.  Suddenly, it was the zombie\u2019s turn to utter a howl.  The teeth went away, and the knee at his back slackened.  Eric turned his aching head to look back and up at the monster.  It was clutching both hands \u2013 the real and the prosthetic \u2013 to its mouth, through which came a horrid, rusty screeching now.  He saw several of the thing\u2019s teeth fall out between the fingers, rolling down its shirt and leaving a trail of blackish ooze.<\/span><\/p>\n

The plate in his head.  The zombie had bitten into the steel plate.  <\/span><\/p>\n

With a sudden burst of energy borne of pure survival instinct, Eric twisted his body, hurling the ailing zombie to the side.  He got up on all fours, the throbbing pain in his scalp threatening to unman him.  But he had to get out of here.  He had to get to a doctor.  Had to get to the police.  Had to get home to Myra, even if she was cheating on him.  He glanced around at the broken beer bottles and found a suitable one.  Then he stood astride the zombie and held the jagged end of the bottle-neck up to its face.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cKeys,\u201d he said.  \u201cNow!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Wordlessly, its eyes wide and mysteriously dry over its empty socket of a nose, the zombie removed a hand long enough to reach down and grab its keys.  It handed them to him, then returned the hand to its mouth.<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric dealt it a solid kick in the chest, and was both surprised and horrified when his foot went through its sternum.  He had to pull it out, which took some effort.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFuck you, man,\u201d he said.  \u201cYou fucking deserved it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Then he turned and staggered away, toward the front of the store.<\/span><\/p>\n

Toward the locked door.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

*          *          *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

The rain felt surprisingly wonderful on his wounded scalp.  Despite his terror, he paused a moment just outside the protection of the store\u2019s awning to let it soak him down from head to foot.  He found, for that brief moment, that horror was overcome by revulsion, and he had to fight the urge to retch on the way to his car.  <\/span><\/p>\n

Behind him, through the glass door of the store, he heard the monster again, its rasping scream seeming to grow closer, as if it had gotten up to walk off the mortal wound Eric had dealt it.  That broke his paralysis.  He dropped the thing\u2019s keys in the parking lot, and reached for his own as he ran to his car.<\/span><\/p>\n

Once inside, he fumbled with the keys in the dark for a long, terrifying moment \u2013 the one streetlamp did not provide much light out here, either \u2013 before remembering the dome light.  Within five seconds, he was melting rubber getting back onto the interstate.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

*          *          *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

After only fifteen or twenty minutes of driving, he began to feel consciousness threatening to get away from him again.  This time, however, he thought that it was probably from the blood loss, considering that he probably had enough adrenaline running through his system now to light a football field.  <\/span><\/p>\n

He was tired.  He wanted to pull over and just sleep sitting up.  Only for a little while, and then he could continue on his way home, where Myra would be waiting for him.  Myra, he thought.  How am I ever going to convince her of this one?  Of course, Myra was low on the totem pole in terms of people he needed to see right now.  He had to get to a doctor.  Had to get to the police.<\/span><\/p>\n

He remembered the cell phone, and looked over to find it in its spot, just where he\u2019d left it.  He wondered now if the thing back there would have attacked him if he\u2019d managed to pull it out and call someone.  That was an unanswerable question, and he suspected that there would be a lot of those in this case.  He reached for the cell phone, felt his fingers close around it, then let it go.<\/span><\/p>\n

Myra was what mattered.  He didn\u2019t know why, exactly, but somehow the events of this evening had honed his focus to a sharp edge that he wouldn\u2019t have thought possible before.  <\/span><\/p>\n

Myra.<\/span><\/p>\n

Myra.<\/span><\/p>\n

Myra\u2019s\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

Myra\u2019s brains\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

END.<\/span><\/p>\n

By J.M. Jennings<\/span><\/p>\n

J.M. Jennings was born in 1983 in Wichita, Kansas. He is the author of four novels and dozens of short stories, and has also written a daily column for a website and occasional sketch comedy. He has lived all over the Midwest, and currently resides with his wife and two sons in Kansas.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

https:\/\/www.amazon.com\/J.M.-Jennings\/e\/B004XW7Z2C<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  Eric Kenner was beginning to nod when the tires crunched on the gravelly side of the interstate.  He jumped awake and swerved back into his place, thankful that no one was around to see him.  Or hit him.  He had tried turning on the air conditioning to full blast, and that had helped for…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"_kad_post_classname":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[9,2,8],"tags":[54,97,100,101,104],"class_list":["post-137","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-archives","category-astounding-stories","category-zombie-tales","tag-living-dead","tag-zombie","tag-zombie-short-stories-walking-dead","tag-zombie-stories","tag-zombies"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=137"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=137"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=137"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=137"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}