Gas Station Clerk

The gas station guy never looks at you.

In fact, ever since he began taking the night shifts, you don’t think you've ever so much as seen him move. One day your buddy Greg was working the counters, exchanging laughs and quips with you every other day like normal humans do. Next thing you know, this absolute statue of an individual has replaced him. Your buddy Greg hasn’t contacted you since last Monday. In fact his apartment complex has been shutdown for “renovations”. Now this uncomfortable man is your new ‘friend’. He never takes your money. Doesn't hand back change. Never says hello or goodbye. Just looks off to the side, mouth pressed tightly in what might be a smile or stifled laugh or exasperated sigh that never leaks out.

Sometimes you're just there to grab a strudel or water bottle to help you get through another 2 hours. But it's always long enough to let you see the tiny red flags form one giant, neon warning sign.

The gas station guy's skin is as sickly as the grimy lights that started flickering ever since he took the shift. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks - maybe even months. And his eyes...goddamn, his eyes. Zero eye contact. Just constantly locked at the east doors. Even if you walk in front of him - hell, why would you? - it doesn't seem that he notices you at all. You start to wonder if maybe this is just an elaborate prank to get you to spaz out. Or maybe he's on drugs. That's fairly normal on these streets, right? Crack addicts can get jobs too.

But its every other goddamn day with this freak. He never moves. Just stares with zero readable emotion at the doorway you came in, and continues shooting ghostly lasers at your back as you leave.

Sometimes, as you brusquely move for the automatic doors - refusing to so much as even hazard a glance behind - you think you can hear a small, rattling breath.

Maybe you're just paranoid. Maybe he has social anxiety to an unbearable degree. But then again, why would anyone get a job if that were the case. How would they even live?

...Does he even live at all?

One night, when you have nothing better to do, you decide you’re going to follow the bastard home, and find out what exactly is wrong with him.

It isn’t until dawn breaks - around 4.am - that you drowsily stir from your half-baked steak out. It isn’t until you look out your rear view that you see the gas station guy has left his post.

And it isn’t until you let out a blood-curdling shriek, realizing that he is in your backseat, that he finally rests his black eyes on you.

His mouth never falters.