I work at a HAUNTED Grocery Store. We have strange rules to survive the night shift

I saw the job listing two weeks ago. WANTED: NIGHT GUARD AT WESS MARKET IN New Hope, Pennsylvania 12am to  6am SHIFT. 21 Dollars an HOUR.

The whole thing struck me as odd, right off the  bat. What kind of grocery store needs a security guard when it’s closed? Was crime really that bad?

But I needed money. Badly. And two days later, after a phone interview with a man named  Clive, I showed up for my first shift.

As soon as I pulled up, I understood why they  needed a night guard. The grocery store sat at the edge of a run-down strip mall.  Large signs reading SPACE FOR RENT hung in the store windows.

But judging by the  dusty glass and flickering street lamps, no one had taken them up on the offer in years. I parked near the front door.  And as I approached the building, I saw a woman hurrying away from the store.

“You must be Aaron,” she said breathlessly. “The night guard? ” “That’s me.

” I answered. “Clive left you some instructions. I put them on  the conveyor belt at register 1.

” She gave me a polite nod and then stepped around me, heading  for the only other car in the parking lot. “Oh, thanks. ” Be friendly, my inner voice  said.

She’s your new coworker! I turned around. “Hey, what’s your name?

” But she was already diving into the car. The door slammed, the car reeled  out of the parking space, and then she was gone. I turned back towards the store.

The parking lot was completely empty now, and the nearest street light was flickering  erratically. A cold wind swept in, whipping a crumpled paper bag across the parking lot. Well, here goes nothing, I muttered to myself.

I stepped up to the store. The glass  doors squeaked as they opened for me, and I stepped inside. Despite its outward appearance, the store was actually pretty nice inside.

Bright fluorescent  lights shone from overhead. Jazzy music played from hidden speakers. I headed over to register 1,  where a folded piece of paper was waiting for me.

I flipped it open and began to read. Dear Aaron, the note said. Welcome to the Wess family!

We sincerely  hope you enjoy your first shift. To help you, we’ve compiled a list of rules that should make  your shift as easy as our fresh-baked apple pie. Rule Number 1 - As night guard, you are  expected to patrol the store every half hour, to make sure nothing is amiss.

You  may spend the rest of your time in the break room, at the back of the store,  monitoring the security camera feeds. Rule 2 - Do not go down aisle  7. Do not look down aisle 7.

3 - If you hear a knocking sound coming from the  freezers in the frozen food aisle, ignore it. 4 - If you see a shopping cart that hasn’t  been put away, please return it to the cart station at the front of the store immediately. 5 - Don’t be alarmed if you find a pool of blood in the meat aisle.

Sometimes our meat packages  leak. Simply head to the storage closet, get the mop and bucket, and clean it up. However, don’t  step in the puddle or touch the blood, in any way.

6 - If you see a woman in the store, immediately  go to the break room and stay there until she leaves. Do not call the police or report a  break in. Do not make eye contact with her.

7 - The music we play throughout the store is  a prerecorded disk of instrumental jazz. If the music ever stops, immediately go to the  break room and stay there until it resumes. 8 - Do Not, Under Any  circumstances, end your shift early.

Thank you so much and again,  I hope you enjoy your shift! - Signed, Clive I stared at the rules, re-reading them slowly. They were so weird.

A  woman in the store? Avoid aisle 7? I’d never been given instructions like this, even when I worked  as a bouncer at a nightclub in a bad part of town.

Maybe it was a test. They wanted to see how  well I could follow instructions, no matter how absurd they were. I looked up at the security  camera, staring down at me from the corner.

Okay. Challenge accepted. I glanced at my phone.

It’s now 12:06 am. Might as well get my first patrol out  of the way, before getting settled in. It was odd walking through the store when it was  so empty and quiet.

All the breads and muffins had been stored away somewhere. White plastic film  had been pulled down over the vegetable display, to keep the cold in. When I got to the  end, I made a right, into the meat section.

Sheets of plastic had been pulled over the meat  coolers, too. I saw flashes of red through the gaps, of massive ribeye and sirloin steaks,  and other big slabs of meat with the bone still intact. While I wasn’t a vegetarian,  I never really liked the sight of raw meat.

I turned instead to the aisles. Aisle 3:  pasta and sauces, all lined up on the shelves, glinting in the fluorescent light. Aisle  4: cookies and snacks.

Aisle 5, Aisle 6— Then I remembered: Oh right. I  wasn’t supposed to look at Aisle 7. I forced myself to look down at the floor.

Yeah,  it was stupid, but they told me not to look. On the off chance they were going to check the  CCTV footage later to grade my performance, I was going to follow Every rule. I continued further into the store.

A few minutes later, I found the break room.  A nondescript brown door with a little square window cut into it. I took note of its location  for later.

As soon as I was done with this patrol, I was going to break out my laptop and  finish watching Friday the 13th - part 4. I continued on until I was at the west end of the  store—the frozen section. I turned down the aisle, heading back towards the front.

That’s when I saw it. A shopping cart, parked askew  in the middle of the aisle. I huffed.

Of all the rules, this was  the one that annoyed me the most. I was hired to be a security guard, not a cleanup  crew. Wasn’t it the employees’ job to put all the carts away at closing time?

Sighing, I began pushing it towards the front of the store. The wheels rolled smoothly across the tile floor.  The jazz music played softly in the background.

I turned the corner and walked past the cash  registers, heading towards the front door. That’s when I heard it. A soft sound.

Barely audible over the music. I stopped moving, trying to listen.  Several seconds of silence went by; and then I heard it again.

It sounded like someone crying. The hairs on my neck stood on end. There’s no one  in here.

The door’s been locked the whole time. Unless… unless a customer accidentally stayed past  closing time. Maybe that employee, the woman I’d run into in the parking lot, didn’t notice them. 

And she locked up before they could get out. “Who’s there? ” I called out.

A wailing sob, answered in response. My heart plummeted. It sounded like a woman, or  possibly even a child.

“I’m coming! ” I called, breaking into a run. “Where are you?

” They didn’t reply—they just kept sobbing. I continued in the direction of the sound. Calling  out to them and saying everything would be okay.

But then I stopped dead. The sound… was coming from Aisle 7. Do not go down aisle 7.

Do not look down aisle 7. The rules had been very clear about  that. I stopped just short of the aisle, next to an endcap display of mayonnaise, and  carefully positioned myself so I was hidden.

“I’m going to help you,” I called  out. “Can you tell me what happened? ” They finally spoke.

But they didn’t answer my  question. “help me,” the voice cried, “P-please. ” I wanted to step into the aisle.

My foot was  halfway off the floor, ready to run in and get them. But something stopped me. A gut instinct,  a little alarm bell going off in my head.

Because out of all the aisles… what were  the chances this person would be in Aisle 7? And besides, they were safe. They  were in an empty store with me.

It’s not like they were in a dark  alleyway in the middle of the night. “Come out of the aisle,” I called.  “Then I’ll be able to help you.

” “Please,” the voice replied. “Help me. ” This is stupid, I thought.

Clearly some person got stuck in here after closing time, and  they’re scared. Just go into the aisle and help them get home. But there was another part of  my brain, the instinctual, lizard-brain part.

And it was screaming at me - Not to move a muscle. “Do you need me to call someone? ” I tried.

“Your parents? The police? ” “H-help me,” the voice pleaded again.

The help me. It sounded the same, every time they  said it. A little stutter at the beginning.

An emphasis on me. It almost sounded like  a recording, or some AI-generated thing, looping over and over. It didn’t sound… natural.

“Come out of the aisle! ” I shouted. “Come out, and I’ll help you!

” The sobs got louder, faster. Hysterical. “Help me!

” the voice pleaded again, in a  desperate tone that made my stomach twist. I stood there, pressed against the mayonnaise  display. Listening to them sob was difficult—even if it did sound slightly unnatural.

I could call  the police, I thought. They’d know what to do. Except I’d left my cell phone with  my backpack at cash register 1.

And getting it would mean crossing Aisle 7. The rules didn’t say anything about walking  past Aisle 7. They just said I shouldn’t go down it or look at it.

And I couldn’t just  stand here and do nothing. What if it really was someone who needed help? A child who’d  sprained their ankle and couldn’t get up?

“Don’t worry. I’m getting my phone and calling the  police,” I called out. Then I took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold  of Aisle 7, towards register 1.

As soon as I took a step, the crying stopped. Just like that. Violent sobbing and then—in  an instant—nothing.

Like a switch had flipped. Then the footsteps started. Loud, slapping footsteps of someone running down the aisle.

They sounded Way too heavy  to be a child. And they’re Coming straight at me. My heart dropped—it’s a trap, they’re coming  for me and I’m probably gonna die here— But as soon as I made it across the aisle, the footsteps stopped.

All I heard were the soft  jazz tunes playing through the speakers overhead. I ran as fast as I could, to the break room,  completely forgetting about the cart I was supposed to return. *** The break room was small and cramped.

The little  square window in the door had been blacked out with construction paper from the inside. The only  source of light came from the computer screen on the desk, displaying the security camera feeds. I scrolled through the feeds.

I quickly noticed that none of them offered coverage of Aisle 7. It  seemed like the cameras were intentionally placed to avoid that aisle. After searching the grainy  black-and-white video for anything out of place, I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes.

When I finally opened them again, it was almost 12:30. Time for my next patrol. I didn’t want to go.

I felt safe  here, locked up in this little room. But I also knew I wouldn’t be  safe if I didn’t listen to the rules. I shuddered, imagining what would’ve  happened to me if I’d gone down Aisle 7.

I pulled myself out of the  seat and headed for the door. The store was completely silent. No hysterical  sobbing or pounding footsteps.

I started my patrol near the back, walking up aisle 17. Cans  of food glinted on the shelves as I passed; but when I glanced at them, I didn’t  see any labels I recognized. No chef ravioli or giant green men.

Just  generically labeled cans of meat stew. In fact, All the aisle Had was meat stew.  The same cans, over and over and over.

I reached the end and turned right, towards the  front of the store. And that’s when I realized that I had, already, broken one of the rules. The cart.

I hadn’t returned it. And It wasn’t where I’d left it. Instead of haphazardly parked near aisle 7,  it now sat next to one of the cash registers.

Like some ghost man was checking out  his groceries. I paused for a second, hands hovering above the handle. Then I  grabbed it and headed towards the door.

Outside, the parking lot was pitch black. Not a  single streetlamp. The shopping carts are only a few feet from the door, I told myself.

Just  go out - and back in. It’ll take two seconds. I did it as quickly as possible.

I ran into the  darkness, slammed the shopping cart into the row, and hurried back inside. Then I shut the doors and  clicked the lock. “Okay.

That wasn’t too bad,” I said to myself, letting out a sigh of relief. For a second, I reveled in the peace of the store. The silence.

The safety of being locked  inside, with no one else with me. But then I stopped. The silence.

Oh, no. The jazz music wasn’t playing. How long had it been off?

I’d been so  preoccupied with returning the cart, I wasn’t even paying attention. I broke  into a sprint towards the back of the store, cookies and snacks flashing by me. Then I  swerved right and sprinted into the break room.

I pulled out the list of rules  and read them over again. Do not, under any circumstances, end your shift  early. Why did he write that?

Was it just because he didn’t want anyone flaking out on him? Or if I  left early, would something horrible happen to me? Because I really, really wanted to leave.

I opened my backpack, pulled out the soda I’d brought, and popped it open. Took a  sip. Scrolled through the security feed.

Five more hours. *** The next four patrols went fairly well. The rules didn’t say how long they had to be.

So every thirty minutes, I sprinted a lap  around the store, as fast as I could. The whole thing only took about a minute. Then, for the  other 29, I locked myself in the break room.

On the second patrol, I heard knocking  as I ran down the freezer aisle. It started as light tapping across  the glass, then grew into loud thumps, like someone was slamming their  palms against the glass doors. As per the rules, I ignored it.

I just kept  running, until I made it back to the break room. On the last patrol, the music had cut  out again. So I quickly detoured and got to the break room as quickly as I  could, the silence ringing in my ears.

And now, here I was in the break  room, with three hours left. I stared at my phone’s clock,  ticking slowly towards 3 AM. I stood up, shaking out my nervous energy,  preparing for my next sprint.

I’d been a runner back in high school, but in the past ten years I’d  gotten way out of shape. The last patrol had left me panting and out of breath, my legs aching. It was time.

My hand closed around the  doorknob. I paused, Three, two, one… go. I wrenched the door  open and shot out into the store.

But I didn’t get very far. Because there was an enormous pool of blood on the floor. I froze.

All the air was sucked out of my lungs. I stared at the blood, shining  under the fluorescent lights. The rules said to clean it up, I thought. 

But that would take at least ten minutes. It wasn’t safe out here. I swallowed.

Then I hurried to the supply closet. Got a mop and  a bucket, and started cleaning as fast as I could. The job was messy.

I slid the mop through  the blood, then dunked it in the bucket. Rinse and repeat. The soapy water turned red.

A  few times it splashed up and almost landed on me. But I did it. I cleaned it all  up without touching a drop.

Unfortunately, by the time I was finished,  it was 3:27. Time for my next patrol. I was too tired to run, so I settled  for a brisk walk around the store.

I headed up through the frozen food. Now I could see the handprints on the glass doors—handprints of all sizes - tilted and  smudged. Except the proportions looked all wrong, with fingers that were too long,and too  thin.

I averted my eyes and kept going. Two and a half more hours. My footsteps clicked against the tile floor.

The jazz was starting to grate on  my nerves—I must’ve heard the same, looping saxophone melody twenty times now.  It made me want to punch something. Sighing, I continued toward the produce section,  quickly walking past the aisles.

Then I stopped. Something caught my eye, in one of the aisles. I backed up and took a better look.

Someone was standing in Aisle 9. A woman. She wore a blue linen  dress and black high heels.

Long, black hair cascaded down her back, almost to  her waist. She faced away from me, standing still, her thin white arms hung limply at  her sides. In her hand was a basket, filled with cuts of raw meat.

The rule echoed in my head. If you see a woman in the store, immediately go  to the break room. Do not make eye contact.

I slowly backed up, as quietly as I possibly  could. Then I started down the next aisle, towards the break room. Click, click, click.

I heard her footsteps echo against the tile. I  hurried towards the break room—but then I stopped. Her footsteps weren’t coming from behind  me.

They were coming from in front of me. I averted my eyes to the floor—just as I saw two  black, high-heeled shoes step into the aisle. I stared at the floor.

Do not make eye contact.  Do not make eye contact. The words repeated over and over in my head.

But I had to get to the  break room—and she was standing in my way. All I could see were her shiny,  high-heeled shoes. And the little drops of blood that leaked out of the meat  packages in her basket, hitting the floor.

I backed up. That was the only way I could go. I  kept my eyes on the floor, careful not to look up.

But she was following me. Click,  click. For every step I took, I saw a shiny black heel come into view,  attached to a thin, white elongated leg.

She was Keeping time with me. I walked faster. So did she.

Click-click-click. I wheeled around and broke into a sprint. Clickclickclick— I ran down a random aisle and sprinted towards the break room.

But  halfway down the aisle, I was forced to stop. A shopping cart was parked across  the middle, blocking my way. And Not just one cart.

Several of them,  stacked up in a teetering tower that was nearly ten feet high. I was trapped. I backed away, my heart pounding.

Click. Slow, methodical footsteps. Coming towards  me, slowly, like a cat stalking its prey.

I took my chances. Turned around, sprinted  back out into the open, and stepped into the next aisle— Oh, no, no. I knew it instantly.

A tattered lump of gray  clothing and sickly, pale-blue skin sat on the floor. The person—the creature—the thing folded  in on itself, in a pose, like a crying child. But it wasn’t anything resembling a human. 

It had several strange lumps and appendages. And worst of all… It didn’t have a head. I knew then - I’d stepped into Aisle 7.

I immediately reversed direction. But not  before the thing unfolded itself and began to move towards me. I whipped around and,  screaming, sprinted down the next aisle.

Miraculously, I made it to the end in one piece.  I veered sharply left, towards the break room. Almost there… almost there.

My hand hit the doorknob. I wrenched it open and dove inside. Then  I collapsed in the chair, panting.

I sucked in a breath, staring at the  locked door. Am I really safe in here? Technically, the rules never said  I would be safe.

Maybe staying in here only decreased my chance of death. I turned my attention to the security camera feed on the monitor. It showed the middle  of the store, and from what I could see, the aisles were empty—no trace of the woman.

I  switched to the next feed. The produce section. Empty.

I switched to the next one— I jumped. She was standing right there. In front of the break room door.

She stood so still, the image could’ve been a  photograph—except for the blood slowly dripping from the meat in her basket. I swallowed and  glanced away from the monitor, at the door. My heart slammed into my ribs when  I saw her shadow under the door.

Go away. Just go away, I pleaded in my mind. The shadow of her head in the window tilted, as if contemplating her next move.

Now  I knew why the window had been covered. I forced my eyes away and  looked back at the screen. She was still standing there.

Except,  there was something… different about the way she was standing. I squinted  at the grainy black and white image, trying to figure out what was going on.  When my eyes finally fell on her heels, I realized.

They were facing forward. But I was still looking at the back of her head.  At the long, black hair cascading to her waist.

Either her hair was hanging over her face…  or she’d turned her head all the way around. It must’ve been twenty minutes before  she began to walk away from the door. I couldn’t tell if it was just the low frame rate  of these crummy cameras, but her movements looked jerky, her body lurching with each step.

It made me sick to watch. When she disappeared from the  screen, I let out a sigh of relief. My hands and legs were shaking ,I felt weak.

Okay.  Think. The rules said to wait until she left.

All I had to do was watch the feed by the front door.  As soon as I see her leave the store, I’d be safe. After a few minutes of sitting there, waiting  for my heart rate to return to normal, I forced my fingers back to the keyboard.

I  pressed the arrow key, to move to the next feed. Then the next, and the next, looking  for the camera at the front of the store— No. Her face filled the entire screen.

Her eyes filled me with horror. They  were pure white—no pupils, no irises, just pure white eyes threaded with spidery veins. I screamed and jumped back.

Then I shut my eyes. The rules said don’t make eye contact!  Did that count?

Through the screen? I shuddered and covered my face with  my hands, my entire body was shaking. When I finally took a peek through my  fingers, I saw her.

Rapidly crawling away, down the wall, like some kind of spider.  Then she pushed through the glass doors and disappeared into the night. She was gone.

I was safe. Or as safe as I could  be, in this cursed grocery store. I glanced at the clock.

3:58 AM. Time to patrol. I really didn’t want to.

But I forced myself to swing the door open  and run as fast as I could through the store. I saw shopping carts stacked in teetering towers.  Heard hands pounding against the freezer doors.

Saw little spots of blood on the shiny  tile, from the meat in the woman’s basket. And then, a minute later, I was done.  I locked myself in the break room, and for the first time in years, I cried.

The remaining patrols went by without incident—though I did hear more sobbing from  Aisle 7 and more banging from the freezers. And then, the hour had come. 6 AM.

My heart  soared at the sight of the pink dawn sky through the glass doors. I was safe. I was free.

When I glanced out into the parking lot, I saw a few cars pulling in. Disgruntled,  groggy employees clutching coffees, heading towards me. As soon as the first one  came in, I flew out of the store, ran to my car, and got out of there as fast as I could.

I’d never felt such relief. Such happiness. I felt like a new man.

All of my problems, even my  financial ones, seemed small compared to what I’d just endured. When I pulled onto the main road, I  rolled down my windows and flicked on the radio. But it wasn’t my usual classic rock  station that blared through the speakers.

Instead, I heard the upbeat tune of a saxophone. And as I listened to that horrible, looping melody, I realized that my days as a night  guard for Wess Market may not be over yet.