Creepy - Day 16 - What Was In The Store With Me?

Episode Date: October 16, 2018

After hours, stores aren't always empty...***Written by Jarred Blanchard with guest narration by Collins Van Gorden***Check out more from Paul Sating at paulsating.com***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Creepy Presents The 31 Days of Horror, Day 16. What was in the store with me that night? written by Jared Blanchard and narrated by Collins Van Gordon Have you ever worked an overnight shift at a retail store? If so, then you know how eerie it can be. The lack of customers, the cheery music continuing to play despite the lack of anyone to hear it,

it can all be pretty chilling. But that's not why my hands are shaking so badly as I type this. That's not why the half-empty liquor or bottle next to me finds its way to my lips at intervals too numerous to count. I need someone to hear my story. To tell me it isn't true. To tell me that I'm crazy and stupid. So I'm going to tell me anything.

As long as they tell me that it isn't real. I seem to be getting ahead of myself. Booze tends to do that to me. Allow me start from the beginning. My name is Daniel. And I work for a rather large, upscale craft store. My title isn't necessarily important, but let's just say I make a fair amount of cash for a fair amount of work.

A few weeks ago, the upper management did what they typically do this time of year. They allowed workers to volunteer for third shift, or overnight shift, as it's called. This helps to keep the place tidier and more well stock during the rough holidays that battered the store and the staff during business hours. Me, being a night owl, I signed up immediately, of course. No customers, no screaming children, no constant questioning about the location of the restroom, Signed me up. I didn't mind sleeping during the day.

Hell, that's when my sleep felt more restful anyway. My first night went off without a hitch. I arrived at midnight and was met by the assistant manager, who unlocked the doors and let me inside. Steve was a nice guy. The kind of manager who you felt you could have a beer with after work. We talked, laughed at how customers, despite the closed sign,

still made their way to the front door at 1 a.m., inquiring if we were open. I was stationed to the back of the store, in the temporary Christmas decor location, working out roll after roll of wrapping paper and humming to myself. Earlier in the night, Steve had turned down the master volume on the in-store music, plunging the building into an unnatural silence.

The humming alleviated this slightly. Steve was elsewhere, doing his manager stuff in the cash office, I assumed. My pricing gun clicked in the rapid succession as I tagged endless rolls of paper, some red, some green. It was then that I heard it. It started off low, like it was coming from the other side of the store. I knew immediately what it was. A squeaky shopping cart wheel.

I figured it was Steve dicking around in the store doing, God knows what. I returned my attention to the rolls of paper. 6 a.m. rolled around, and we both made our way to the time clock. After some exchanged pleasantries, Steve and I exited the building, locking the doors behind us. My drive home was foggy, the sleepless night throwing my internal clock off balance. As soon as I entered my apartment, I flung myself onto my couch and fell into a dreamless slumber. Before I drifted off, though, I thought I heard a sound coming from the hallway outside. In hindsight, I probably should have been more worried, but exhaustion beat curiosity as my last conscious slot was simply...

Is that a shopping cart rolling by? Night two went pretty, but... much the same as night one, as did knights three and four. Night five, however? Turned out to be a night I would not only never forget, it would be the night that would eventually kill me. It all started so typically. Clock in, grab stock, put it on the shelves.

That was when Steve's cell phone rang. I could hear the chipper tune all the way in my corner of the store. Steve ran to me, pale and out of breath. His son had fallen clammy and unresponsive, prompting his wife to take the infant to the ER. Steve explained that he needed to go as soon as possible. I told him to go, his family was much more important than this place. What came out of my mouth next? I will regret until the day I die.

I told him that I would stay in work until the morning crew arrived, to simply lock me in and I would explain to the manager in the morning. Steve seemed relieved at this and promptly made his way out to the first. front door, thanking me and fumbling around with his keys. I watched him lock the door, the lock emitting a soft thud, which for some reason held an odd finality to it. I stared at his taillights burned red in the parking lot and he sped off into the night. A chill ran down my spine. The isolation and silence washing over me like consecutive waves of ice water. I shook it off. I'm a grown man for God's sakes. I shouldn't be afraid of being alone and like,

locked and secure building. I laughed at my childish fear and returned to my corner, a black maggot of dread wriggling in my belly. Everything was normal and quiet until around 3 a.m. That was when I heard it again. A soft, rhythmic squeaking, the squeaking of a rusty shopping cart wheel. I had heard that sound a million times before having worked in retail for so long. So there was no mistake about it.

It was slow and plotting. It sounds echoing ever so delicately over the silence of the building, but it was there. I listened. My stomach exploding with fear. Was someone else in here? God help me, a burglar? I was alone, and all I could think of that was someone had broken in or waited in the rest ofress for closing time, then thinking it was clear emerged to pillage what they could.

Here was me. Pricing gun in my hand and in a look of terror on my face. I took a breath. Maybe it wasn't a shopping cartwheel after all. Maybe it was an air conditioner unit fan, squeaking and voicing its outrage to the lack of upkeep on it. It's calmed to me a fair bit, rationality finally speaking up.

I sighed and shook my head. This shitty old play has been fallen apart for years, and now I was jumping at the sounds of an AC Swan song. I clipped my pricing gun to my belt loop and began walking toward the stockroom, which housed the thermostat. All the while, the squeaking had grown distant, like it had moved. I tried not to think about it. Upon reaching the thermostat, my stomach grew cold.

The AC wasn't on. At this point, I wasn't about to be a hero and investigated any further. I turned around and walked briskly toward the front of the store, the squeaking growing louder as I approached the double doors. I rounded the corner toward the entrance and was immediately aware of two things the fact that the squeaking gets stopped and the fact that a shadowy figure

stood to the opposite side of the doors leaning against a shopping cart. First, I couldn't move. Could it be Steve? The thought comforted me as I walked, sprinted to the front door waving and smiling. That is, until I drew close enough to make out

It was just standing on the other side of the glass. It was a man. Or had been at one time. His skin was the color of blood and rust, and it was draped over his skeletal form, hanging and sagging in various spots. His lanky body was peppered with cuts and gashes, which had been crudely sewn up with what looked like copper wire.

Maggots and yellow fluid oozed from the openings. He was completely nude, but there were no genitals to speak of. They were simply not there. His skin moved and writhed, as if something underneath were struggling to escape. His hands clung to the shopping cart before him, apparently not by choice. Barbed wire surrounded his clenched hands, anchoring them to the cross-handled bar of the cart, which itself was corroded and rusted. More barbed wire crisscrossed the mesh of the cart,

creating a pattern of pure anguish and pain. His face... Oh, God. His face was the worst part by far. His mouth looked as if the skin of his cheeks and oral area had been cut off by a scalpel, peeled away, revealing rotten black gums and teeth. It almost looked as if he were smiling at me.

His eye sockets were black and hollow, ragged tissue and decayed matter clumped to them as he turned his face toward me. He had no eyes. Somehow he still saw me. His bald head glistened in the moonlight, slick from God knows what sort of bodily fluid. I stared for who knows how long.

My eyes were locked onto his sockets. He never moved. Not an inch. He simply stood and smiled at me. Then, without warning, he slammed the decrepit shrewpid. shopping cart into the glass partition. Once.

Twice. Three times. He became stationary yet again. I stepped back and fought back the urge to vomit. As I said, I'm not a hero, nor did I feel the need to rationalize what I saw. I turned to run, but... My feet refused to comply.

I shifted my way forward, but... Without my leg's cooperation, I simply fell to the ground. I scrambled up. My legs finally were gaining their mobility and looked toward the doors. It was gone. I blinked, unsure what to do.

My mind was telling me a thousand things, but only one registered. Call for help. I fumbled for my cell phone. My shaking fingers barely able to hit the touchscreen keys. A soft squeak emanated from behind me and I turned to look,

unable to stop myself. And there it was. pacing between aisles, the way a browsing shopper does when he is unsure of what he wants to purchase. I cocked my head and stared. It wasn't looking at me, it was simply looking at the product, gently pushing the hellish cart up and down each aisle. It stopped occasionally to stare at particularly interesting item, stock still, then continued its slow journey.

This confused me. I watched it for who-known, knows how long, and even silently followed it around, unable to look away from the being before me. The squeaking of the wheels grew louder and louder with every push until it completely filled the empty store, grinding and squealing like an old machine in need of oil. I was vaguely aware of the phone in my hand as I let it fall to my side. My grip loosened and before I could stop myself, I let the phone tumble from my fingers. It clattered to the floor next to me, the sound almost denaudible over the squeaking.

To me, anyway. Instantly, the creature snapped its gaze toward me, and the squeaking stopped. Thick silence hung in the air as we once again stared at one another. Then, the unthinkable happened. Its head began to spasm, rapidly back and forth, flinging fluid and maggots onto the shelves surrounding it. As quickly as it started, however, it froze again. locking its eye sockets onto me.

It started to move toward me, slowly at first, but gathering momentum. I turned to run, only now realizing that I'd followed it to the middle of the store, and I could hear it, squeaking and squalling as I tried my hardest to outpace it. It was barreling toward me now. I could hear it gaining on me at an alarming rate.

I turned my head and looked back. It had stopped and was staring at an item on the shelf next to it. Once again, Still as a statue. I continued running, my feet carrying me ever closer to the front doors. I turned to catch one last glimpse of it, only to discover that it was staring at me once again. Its empty eye sockets gazing straight through me. I turned my head forward just in time to see a body appear before me.

I tried to stop, but it was too late as my momentum carried me forward, and I slammed into... Steve. Key's still in hand. We both fell to the ground. Steve cursing and inquiring somehow at the same time. I didn't explain. I just darted out of the still open front doors and jumped into my car. I drove like a maniac until I reached my apartment and locked myself inside.

That was six days ago. I still hear it. The squeaking? I hear it outside of my apartment, pacing the hallway back and forth. It never stops. It never changes. It just gets louder. What did I see?

What was that thing? And why did it want me? Doesn't matter now, I guess. I am going to die in here. I'm very sure of that. Can't bring myself to open my front door or even look out the window. I know he'll be there. Staring at me with those hollow sockets and grinning at me with his death grin. Squeaking a stop now. He's been replaced by a pounding noise.

I know what it is. I've heard it before. One. Two, it's the sound of a shopping cart slamming against a door. This is Paul Sating, producer of this episode of Creepy. I have a new horror anthology out just in time for the holidays. It's called 12 deaths of Christmas and you can find it now on Amazon. Or by going over to Paul Sating.com and following the link under the books tabs.

I also do podcasts. So be sure to check out either or all, subject found, Who Killed Julie and Diary of a Madman. Again, pulsating.com to find out about my new book, 12 deaths of Christmas, available on Amazon. And if you're digging what you're listening to underneath my credits, check out Nightstalker,

a perfectly titled band for this time of year. Go over to James vanbolt.com forward slash the Nightstalker and check out more of their tunes. Thanks to Nightstalkers for letting us use their song. The Frost Giant, daughter. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us at Creepypod on Twitter,

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