My Uneventful Life in Retail
We’ve all had that kind of job before. You know? The kind that has us pulling our hair out from boredom, wishing with each passing second that God will finally have mercy on you and drop you dead. No? Okay, so I may be alone on this one, but trust me it’s horrible. There’s nothing quite like the anguish of sitting behind a marble countertop with only the list of ingredients on cereal boxes to keep you occupied; The lines of strange knock-off breakfast bars keeping you company are you stare longingly at the clock hanging above the exit, waiting (oh how you wait)for those metallic hands to click softly by, signaling to you that it’s finally eight o’clock, and you can leave. That’s not even to mention that god awful ticking noise that seems to have appeared within the last week; droning on at odd intervals with no sign of leaving anytime soon, but I’m probably getting ahead of myself.
My name is Alex. I work full time at the Quik-n-Fast, the mini mart nestled right in the middle of the Autumn Meadows apartment complex. I sincerely doubt you’ve ever been there. I’m sure you’ve probably been near it though. If you ever catch yourself driving off of interstate 45 and you see the decrepit old billboard advertising the place, I would recommend you stop by. There’s plenty of things to see down here. The other day I saw an alley cat dragging what I thought to be a human hand into the sewer. I would’ve done something about it, but he and I have been on rather good terms lately. I think with any luck we’ll be friends eventually. The peeling paint on the sides of our innocuously painted mint green apartments are definitely something you should check out on your next visit, and that’s not even to mention our other greenery—or lack thereof. Sometimes I feel my closest friends here are the terraces surrounding the store, their soil dried with ashy remnants of whatever ancient plants used to reside in them.
My cynicism aside, the gig isn’t half as bad as I’m making it out to be. I mean, sure no one ever comes in, and my only regular here at the store is the annoying muffled ticking imitating the sound of several wind-up toys grinding just out of earshot, but besides that hair-pulling insanity the pay isn’t that bad. Plus, the owners of the mart have a stake in Autumn Meadows and let me live in one of the extra units free of charge so long as I continue to work full time. As far as I’m aware I’m the only employee, and I work the whole day 8am-8pm. In fact, now that I think about it, I’ve never even seen another resident here at this complex. I’m surprised the place has even lasted as long as it has considering that it’s been months since someone last bought anything. Besides the occasional visit from a rather suspiciously gaunt and pale gentleman the place is dead. His visits are seemingly at random, but he always comes sporting the same Adidas trackwear to drop off a suspicious brown package in our mail unit. At this point I’m convinced the whole thing is a front for some drug trafficking ring, but hey, so long as the paychecks keep coming, I could care less about what this store is or isn’t selling. Tuition is a bitch.
As far as working actually goes, when I’m not searching for the source of the whirring and clicking, I mop every 15 minutes and restock products. At least I’m supposed to restock products. I haven’t had to restock anything since I got this job. I’m sure most everything on the shelves are expired, but as of yet I have not been enforced to cycle them out. I’m going to see how long I can ride this out. Besides mopping, I spend most of my time inspecting and facing products. Everything we offer is strange and off brand. I would go so far to say that most of the stuff we sell is some variation of a bootlegged repackaging of mainstream products. There’s Fruity O’s, Colonel Crips, Wafer Cakes, you name it.
To distract myself from my intense boredom, I decided that the subject of my attention today would be a bizarre box of granola bars with the branding of Quaver Oaks. Its box was covered with a variety of multicolored bears in tutus waving wands at one another under a large tree. I have no idea what a quaver is, and its imitation is rather shameless (Side-note: I’ve just looked it up, and I guess it’s the disgusting British way of referring to a quarter-note in music notation. Considering that the packaging had nothing to do with music, this has left me with many more questions than answers). Needless to say, this was as exciting as the day was going to get. As I began to question my sanity for concerning myself with the logical consistency of off brand cereal, I heard a voice.
“Hey Alex”, came a deep mumble from behind me. A large man covered head to toe in hair stood in the doorway. When I say that he was covered head to toe, I mean it quite literally. The only area not distinctly showing a thick matting of brown fur was the area of his body covered by khaki shorts and a Hawaiian button-up. He lifted a blunt up to his dreadlock covered face and parted his hair just enough so I could see his hominoid complexion from underneath.
“Hey Ed”, I responded, unsurprised to see my Sasquatch roommate leaning against the foggy glass doors of the Quick-n-Fast.
“It looks like you’re hard at work”, he said with a yawn before taking another drag from his roll.
“You too. I can hardly believe you’re out from your room, even less from out of the apartment. You reached enlightenment yet?”
“I’m working on it”, he responded, clearly missing my sarcasm, “It’s a process, little dude.” He eyed the box of inaccurately titled cereal I had in my hands. “I see it’s been a rough day for you, huh?”
I quickly put the box back where it belonged with a tinge of embarrassment. “You’re acting like you have something better to do?”
“I do”, he responded rather matter-of-factly, “You should really drop in to my office for a cleansing, my man.”
Ed’s “office” was really just his bedroom. To tell you the truth, I’ve never even been in there. He’s invited me several times, to which I always decline. I wouldn’t consider myself the most straight-laced person, but I don’t think there’s a day that I’d be ready to try whatever he’s got in there. I can only imagine the hippy paraphernalia lining the walls, his gaudy bead curtain, and stray bongs that would help develop his professional atmosphere. I think he could sense my dramatic eye roll from under his thick canopy of hair.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, dude. My cleansing seshes are renowned the world over for their regenerative healing properties.”
“That’s assuming I need healing.”
He gave me a raised eyebrow as he walked into the store, “Suit yourself. I just know that I’m not the one talking to boxes in my free time.” Talking to boxes? Was I really thinking that entire thing out loud? Shit. This day really was getting to me. Ed reached for the box of granola bars and gave the seal on top a little tug. A multitude of randow wrapped bars fell into his giant hand before he unwrapped one and promptly set it into his mouth.
“Really, man?”, I said with a sigh, “You know my boss watches inventory like a hawk. Just because this place is probably a money laundering scheme does not make it okay for you to just take whatever you want. There are repercussions to— Ed? Ed, you okay, buddy?” But Ed wasn’t listening. Somewhere in the middle of my ranting he had droned out and his gaze was transfixed to a dark corner to the left of my cashier’s counter.
“There’s some seriously weird vibes coming from over there, dude.”, he said, his voice came out like it was traversing molasses.
“Huh?”, I turned around and inspected the corner before realizing the noise had returned, “Oh. You mean the clicking? Yeah he’s been here for a while now. It’s almost been long enough that I’ve just about given him a name. What do you think of Jerry? I think he’s got a real ‘Jerry’ quality to him.” But Ed was still transfixed on the corner, his eyes from under his dreads seemed to be fixed to a dark section of gaudy cyan tile. It was at this point that I had realized I could finally discern a general direction that the ticking was emanating from, and I followed Ed’s gaze. He started slowly walking towards the corner, each step shaking the racks of chips and candy around him. Afraid he was going to force me to actually have to clean for once, I ran up and grabbed his arm, “Hey Ed, are you okay?” This seemed to do the trick and he shook his head, clearing his bizarre trance.
“Sorry about that”, he mumbled as he came to, “I must be a little too sober.” He pulled out another roll and lit it before quickly inhaling.
“What’s your deal with that corner over there? Do you not like the name Jerry?”
He squinted at the corner again before motioning his index finger at it, “Those couple tiles over there are slightly loose. Wait who’s Jerry?”
“The ticking noise…”, I said trailing off, avoiding his gaze out of slight embarrassment.
“Bro. I dig that name.”, he said with an affirming hand on my shoulder, “We should probably check out what Jerry is doing to be causing all these wack vibes around here.”
Ed and I walked to the corner. I knelt down and examined the tiles, and noticed that indeed, the tiles were loose. I have no idea how I had missed that through all my inspections to find the noise earlier. As I reached for the tiles, the clearly audible ticking suddenly ceased. Ed and I were left in relative silence, only accompanied by the hum of the bulbs above us. We looked at one another, exchanging confused glances. I returned my eyes to the croner and gripped the edge of one of the tiles and lifted to reveal a hole roughly large enough for a person to fit down into. We peered into the opening, and with the help of the store’s fluorescent light fixtures, were just barely able to make out the bottom of the hole.
It was carved directly into the foundation of the building and I could make out dirt on the bottom about 10 feet down. On both the left and right I could see what appeared to be entrances to tunnels that seemed to go further into the earth around the complex, but the darkness kept me from interpreting any other characteristics about it. The whole thing looked rudimentary. It seemed like someone had spent years with a plastic spoon carving their way through dirt and cement with some unclear purpose.
“Hey, Alex”, I heard Ed say as he motioned to the bottom of the pit, “Looks like you’re going to have to think of quite a few more names.” I peered down at what he was referring to, and to my surprise, I was met with the tracks of hundreds of tiny footprints. Each was perfectly rectangular and couldn’t have been more than an inch long.
I looked to Ed, “Well, I guess this is a thing.”, and I started to return the tiles back to their spot over the hole.
“Wait, little dude.”, Ed put his hand on my shoulder, “There is undoubtedly a myriad of adventures and self-advancing experiences down this hole. By choosing to put that tile back, you are denying yourself the destiny chosen for you by Jerry.”
I squinted deeply at him, letting it really sink in how much I thought what he just said was bullshit. “Ed”, I said, “I know I might have been crazy enough to name the this noise, but I don’t think I’m crazy enough to go spelunking into some random hole that we just discovered under my place of work.” He nodded at me slowly like he was starting to interpret the reality of the situation. “Furthermore, I think it would probably be wisest to contact property management to get this hole filled as soon—.” Ed was in the hole. I hadn’t even noticed him jump down.
“Hey I can fit down here!”, he called up.
I looked down at him in disappointment, “Really?” Ed seemed unaffected by my judgement as he grabbed another granola bar from his pocket and began eating it.
“Y’know”, he said between munches, “These things are kind of stale.” He then started crawling his way down the left-side cavern and I realized that I had no choice in the matter. At the very least maybe I could find and put an end to the noise which had caused me so much mild-annoyance over the past week. I quickly grabbed the penlight I kept underneath the cash register and slid down to join him in his descent.
The Heart of the Mountain
The thing about Darian was that he had very little tolerance for just about anything.
“God, it’s a fucking icebox out here. I still have no idea why you insisted I come with you on this one, Frank.”
“ Nineteen years and still complaining about the cold. Isn’t that the least bit embarrassing?”, I retorted. He spat and pulled his checkered wool cap firmly around his dark brown hair.
“I’ll stop complaining when the parks department decides to start paying their rangers decently.”, he gruffed as he glared at me, his gray eyes standing uniform with the seemingly endless array of snow covered pine trees on the horizon. The storm this weekend was much rougher than it usually was this time of year on Roosevelt’s Peak and the weight of the powder pushing against our legs as we trudged up the side of the mountain served as a constant reminder.
“Come on, Darian, we’re almost there. The radio station can’t be further than a mile up”, I motioned towards a large cluster of trees situated on the cliff side in front of us, it’s rocky complexion jutting out into the dim sky like a knife. “Plus your eye is way more experienced with traces of foul play than mine. From what the manager of the station said it’s been about 36 hours since he lost communication with them. It’s probably nothing but the shitty weather, but you can never be too careful.” I gave a shrug to him and we continued forward on our trek up the mountain.
It took us about forty-five minutes of maneuvering through a mix of densely packed snow and layers of fresh down before we made it to the cliff face. It loomed over us casting an evil shadow over an already overcast mountain. I walked up to the side of the rocks and inspected the surrounding area. Approaching a fairly sized boulder, I found the stretch of cable we had mounted to the side of the cliff from previous expeditions. It certainly wasn’t ideal, especially with the weather as it was, but with an conveniently timed landslide blocking the only road up to the station, it was better than walking through miles of dense wilderness.
“Couldn’t have picked a better day to lose contact with the world?”, Darian snyded as he fumbled with his harness.
“Tell me about it. I’m just hoping that losing out on a couple days of shitty rock music is the worst thing that this mountain’ll have to bear witness to”. I slipped into my own harness and pulled the straps tight around my abdomen; It’s cloth constricting my leg like a predatory snake luring me into a false sense of safety. I clipped my harness onto the mountain’s cable and tossed a piece of rope Darian’s way so that we could tie ourselves together for the ascent. As he attached the line to himself I noticed a brief glint of metal swinging from around his neck: a brushed gold locket, It was clearly worn from touch, a detail that was bizarre to distinguish with the light as unclear as it were. He looked up at me as I studied his somewhat out of place jewelry, and he quickly grabbed at it and stuffed it into his puffy beige overcoat.
“Please”, he sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it”.
I looked at him with a hint of concern across my face, “Wearing that thing isn’t going to help you forget, man”.
“I don’t remember asking your opinion, Frank”, Damian said curtly. He walked past me, averting my gaze as he attached his own harness to the mountain’s side. Damian pulled off his padded wool gloves and threw on a pair of heavy duty climbing gloves before setting his finger to the stone and beginning his ascent.
As we climbed I thanked this bizarre formation of rock for poking out as awkwardly as it did. It’s orientation had prevented a large amount of snow from covering the rocks, yet that’s not to say I felt safe. Each grasp on a new ledge accompanied by a howling gust of wind felt like it was judgement being passed from God; As if one wrong movement would prompt him to cast me from the heavens. I struggled to keep my legs and fingers from trembling. My face felt hot with adrenaline coursing through my veins, and as I peered out over the seemingly infinite void of waving pine trees, the race of my heart only intensified.
We had made it approximately three quarters of the way to the top of the cliff. I pushed my legs to move and motioned my arm to grab the next rock. As I placed my hand the sudden sensation of dampness jittered through my fingers and I felt a sickening feeling filter through my body. My fingers grasped but I felt nothing in my palm. Before my mind could even understand what was happening, I felt my stomach rise in my gut. An entombing gust of frost knocked me from my side and I knew that I was going to die.
I felt a solid thud against my back and I lay there looking to the overhanging rock above me. I watched the sky for a few seconds wondering why darkness hadn’t yet overtaken me before I realized I wasn’t dead at all. I heard an exasperated panting to my left and sat up. I was sitting on a rather narrow ledge of rock situated about 15 feet diagonally from where I had fallen with Darien there next to me shaking and looking terribly exhausted. His hand was clamped so tightly to the rope connecting us that I wasn’t sure if he could release his grip.
“Promise me that you won’t make me save your ass again”, he gasped between ragged breaths.
I looked at him in disbelief, “See that’s one reason for bringing you along”. I smiled shakily at him, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, Darian smiled back.
Author Bio: Brendan Cox is currently a third-year student at CSUSM pursuing his degree in Literature and Writing Studies. While creative writing hadn’t been his preferred area of the degree, he has deeply grown to love it. His disillusionment with critical analysis within the study pressed him to find interest in other facets of his study. He has always had a passion for writing horror, and he believes that reflects in his writing. When he’s not writing he loves playing music and expressing himself in any other creative area he can get my hands on.