'Shopmart'
by
Eric S. Brown
tapped his fingers nervously on the streering wheel. Tonight was the first night of his new job.
He stared through the dusty glass of the windshield at the beaming red letters which ran across
the top of the new super shopping center.
"Shop-mart. Satisfaction guaranteed. Open 24 hours, seven days a week."
He slid on the red vest he'd been given earlier in the day at his orientation and stepped out
of his car. Even when he'd came here as a customer, the gigantic parking lot had filled with
him awe.
It was 10:45 PM, late enough for most of the small town of Sylva to be in bed, preparing for
work or school on Monday morning, yet he counted over a hundred cars under the pale glow of the
lot's lights before he gave up his count in frustration.
John despised working and hoped the night shift would require less of him than the rushed hours
of the day. The sea of cars around him increased his nervousness about his first night and filled
him with a sense of dread. He may have to actually do something after all.
The glass doors slid open as he approached, welcoming him to his new nighttime home. The customer
greeter nodded as he passed by, most likely laughing inwardly at the "new guy". John
made his way to the rear of the store and entered the personnel/storage area. Mr. Stephson stood
beside the unloading docks as other employees labored to unload the night's stock delivery under
his supervision. When he noticed John walk in, he turned and extended his hand in greeting. "John,
I'm glad you made it. You'd be surprised how many people sit through orientation just to get
paid those few hours and leave never to be seen again," Stephson laughed.
John took the offered hand and shook it firmly. Stephson's flesh felt cold and clammy in his
grip. "I need the money for more than just a few hours." John joked.
Stephson led John further into the back of the store. "We have a staff meeting at the beginning
and end of every shift. Just to kind of update everyone and keep the whole staff informed of
what's going on, on a day to day basis. You're excused from tonight's meeting, this being your
first night with us, but I will expect to see you at all the others."
Stephson said firmly. John tried to hide his hatred of "staff meetings" and merely
answered, "Yes, sir."
"Your office is in here." Stephson opened a door half concealed by a stack of crates.
Inside was a lone chair surrounded by more than fifty monitors showing scenes from across the
entire store. "You've worked security before, so I am sure you the job. I won't waste time
explaining things to you. Get in there and start protecting us from shoplifters,"
Stephson laughed and turned to leave John to his work, but suddenly he stopped in his tracks,
looking at John with cold hard eyes, all remnants of his previous kindness gone, and warned,
" Remember your job here is to catch thieves and stop trouble before it starts with the
customers, nothing more. Keep everything else to your self no matter how odd or unusual it may
seem. Are we clear?"
Shaken by the cryptic and strange warning, John nodded his agreement quickly, wishing Stephson
would just go away. As Stephson left the room, John shut the door and sat down in the chair.
He spun in it a few times and smiled. It was comfortable enough alright. Then he settled in and
started watching the screens. His eyes drifting from one to another until they all seemed to
blur into one. An old woman pushed a cart through the produce section. A young man roamed hardware
searching for the proper kind of motor oil for his car after using a computer display to find
the type. Long lines of people waited at the front checkout lanes in a hurry to get home. John
stretched his hands above his head, yawning. "Maybe this won't be such a bad gig after all,"
he mumbled to himself. Time passed slowly in the cramped office however, and soon he began to
feel sleepy and totally bored out of his mind. As he struggled to find something to keep him
awake, a realization struck him. The breakroom for the employees never appeared on any of the
monitors. Most chain stores like this one watched their employees like hawks as they could be
an even bigger risk than the customers. He began to experiment with the controls of the monitoring
system.
On a lark, he decided he would find the breakroom and watch the staff meeting just to have something
to laugh at and keep him awake. Surely it would have to be more interesting than the rest of
the crap he was watching. Clicking button after button, he finally found what he was looking
for. A man and woman in red Shop-mart vests sat across a table from a young woman in jeans and
a T-shirt. The rest of the room was empty except for vending machines and a tiny coffee maker.
He scanned the other screens. No other workers were even on their way to the meeting yet he was
sure Stephson had said there was going to be one. He eyes darted back to breakroom screen as
the young woman slammed her fist into the table and leapt up from her seat. The two in Shop-mart
vests moved towards her as if trying to calm her down. It was only then that John noticed the
breakroom's door was locked and tightly sealed as the young woman flung herself against it. He
watched her lips form a scream and wished the monitors had audio capabilities. She feel to the
floor clutching her shoulder where it had struck the door. The man in the Shop-mart vest flung
himself at her and lifted her from her feet with a single hand as if she were as light as a feather.
John blinked in surprise. What the Hell was going on? John clicked off the camera sending it
back to its normal random pattern, wondering what he should do. Something was most certainly
wrong in there. He tugged the bottom of his own vest, straightening it as he stood.
"What the Hell?" he muttered, "If I check it out at least I'll get out of this
damn room for a while."
He left the office in hurried walk for the breakroom. As John rounded the corner into the store's
main rear area, a pimply faced teenager whom he knew was in charge of the pet department during
3rd shift, stopped him just outside the breakroom door.
"You're not supposed to be here. It's my turn tonight," he informed John in an annoyingly
high-pitched voice. John flashed his security badge and shoved the kid aside. Muffled screams
came from within the breakroom. The kid glared at him and said, "I'm telling Mr. Stephson.
You're going to be in big trouble for cutting in when it's not your turn." Then he turned
and stormed off in huff.
"His turn?" John wondered. "What the fuck?" Ignoring the pouting kid, John
tried the door to the breakroom. It was indeed locked, just like he had seen on the monitors.
Fumbling around in his pocket, he fished out the master key he had been given and slid it into
the lock. The screaming had stopped by the time he was able to open the door. He shoved his way
inside. Both Shop-mart employees held the woman in an odd embrace, sandwiching her between them,
their lips pressed against her flesh. John's mind screamed group rape but that didn't make any
sense. Something like that was more of a myth than reality in a small town like Sylva. A trickle
of red liquid flowed from where their lips met the woman's skin as John stared in horror. Mustering
his courage, he yelled, "Shop-mart Security! Stop whatever the hell you are doing right
now!"
The man and woman dropped the limp corpse, letting it slid onto the tile floor as they stared
at John. The man's eyes burned casting an eerie yellow glow in the dim lights of the room. "Who
are you?" the man asked in a hollow voice devoid of emotion.
His muscles rippled under his Shop-mart uniform.
John cursed the fact that he hadn't been issued a gun. The woman stepped towards him, hissing
through bared teeth. "Shit," John breathed backing up slowly, then fled out of the
room. The young woman and his job forgotten. He only cared about getting out of the store alive.
He dashed out into the main part of the store, dodging customers and employees alike. He could
see the exit doors up ahead and poured on extra speed, deciding to cut through the freezer section
to throw off any pursuit. Too late he noticed the orange caution signs on the floor. He flew
face first into a freezer of frozen breakfasts. He tried to cry out as the breaking glass slashed
into his cheeks and throat, before his body bounced backwards from the impact. A large shard
of broken glass stuck out from underneath his chin and blood poured down the front of his red
vest. He grabbed the shard using the last of his strength to try to tear it free so he could
breathe again but his hands were too slippery from his own blood. As he blacked out, the last
thing he heard was the store's intercom blaring. "Cleanup on isle 14! Cleanup on isle 14!"
(c) Eric S. Brown. All Rights Reserved
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