The Graveyard Shift (Part 1)

Up All Night at the Gas 'N Git

Oct 04, 2024

Photo by Theo Eilertsen Photography on Unsplash (modified)

Greg parked his hatchback next to the dumpsters behind the Gas ‘N Git. He parked under a street lamp that flickered out as he made his way to the convenient store’s entrance. The yellow glow of florescent lighting coming from inside the building felt more eerie than inviting.

The phone interview was impossibly simple. It consisted of basically two questions:

Can you stay awake from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.?
Do you know how to shoot a gun?

He lied about the gun part. Never actually shot a gun, per se. But he’d played countless hours of first person shooter video games since he was nine. That should count for something, he thought. As for staying awake, Greg had a terrible case of insomnia. No problem there.

When he walked into the store, the old man behind the counter slowly lowered the adult magazine from his weathered face. One of his eyes was cloudy and dead-looking. He moved a toothpick from the right side of his mouth to the left. “You the new guy?”

“I’m Greg. We spoke on the phone.”

The old man stared at him, looked him up and down. Scratched his scruffy cheek. The old man stood slowly and made his way around to the customer side of the counter. Greg judged him to be in his late sixties, early seventies maybe. He was skinny and had too much skin hanging from his jaw. When he came into full view, Greg noticed one of his legs didn’t quite bend and he walked with a severe limp.

“You ever work at a gas station before?” the old man asked.

“No sir,” Greg said. “But I’m a fast learner.”

“Ain’t much to it,” he said. “We don’t get too many customers in here. Most of ‘em pay at the pump. Sometimes they come in to use the restroom or get a snack or a soda. You know how to use a register?”

“Yes, sir. I worked at the Piggly Wiggly for eight months. I think I can handle that.”

The old man gave him a dubious stare through squinted eyes. “There’s some things you need to be aware of. Things you might not exactly be prepared for.”

Greg assumed this was what the gun was for. The Gas ‘N Git was off Route 23 about six miles from any other public building. The nearest building was a farmhouse, barely visible from the highway beyond several acres of corn fields. It wasn’t a place anyone in town would frequent unless they were on their way out of or into town. Conceivably, it might be considered an easy target for low-level robbers.

“Here,” the old man said, reaching behind the counter. “Put this on.” He tossed a grease-stained blue worker shirt to Greg. The embroidered name tag read: Kyle.

“It says Kyle,” Greg said.

“So.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter.” Greg put it on over his t-shirt and buttoned it up. It was a size too big and smelled like cigarette smoke and body odor. They could have at least washed it first.

“You probably won’t have to do much re-stocking, but I’ll show you the back room.” The old man craned his neck and looked out the front windows. Looked up and down the highway and then, “Come on.”

Greg followed the old man to the back. He showed him the walk-in coolers, the restrooms, and the back storage area, which housed boxes of dry goods and cleaning supplies.

“You’ll need to mop the floors, wipe down the cooler doors, and clean the restrooms, every night. Everything you need’s in here. Then you’ll need to collect all the trash inside and out. Dumpster’s right out this back door.”

“No problem.” Greg noticed another door on the far wall of the storage room. Boxes of dried goods had been stacked in front of it, but he could see the door frame and a huge pad lock securing it shut. “Where does that door go?” Greg asked.

The old man glared at him sideways, his head retreating almost imperceptibly into his shoulders. “Ain’t no reason for you to be going in there.”

“What’s back there?”

“Ain’t nothing now. Previous owner used to run an auto shop, but that went outta business a while back.” The old man furrowed his brow. “Don’t you go snoopin’ around back there. Besides, we don’t have the keys for them locks anyhow. And you got enough to do up front.”

“Yes, sir.”

The old man paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. “There’s something else,” he said finally. “It can get a bit lonesome. Late at night. And quiet. Sometimes the mind plays tricks. You might hear somethin’ that ain’t there. It’s just the wind, ya hear?”

“Okay.”

“Whatever you think you hear, don’t go lookin’ for whatever you think it is, do you hear me?”

Greg nodded.

“And whatever you do, do not open that door.”

Greg had the feeling the old man was hiding something. And it wasn’t just that he had no business back in that garage. It seemed like there might be some other reason he didn’t want him going back there—a secret. It took him a moment to formulate his next question. “You asked me, on the phone, if I knew how to shoot a gun. Is that something I need to know about?”

The old man motioned with his head and Greg followed him back to the front of the store. He used a key to unlock a drawer under the register. He pulled out a silver revolver with a brown handle. It was loaded.

Greg held the pistol in his right hand. It was heavier than he thought it would be. He raised it with both hands, stabilizing the bottom of the grip with his left hand. He aimed it toward the soda machines at the back of the store. Looking down the barrel, he made a tiny explosive sound from his cheeks.

“It ain’t a toy,” the old man said gruffly.

“I know.”

The old man took the gun from him and locked it back in the drawer. “You shouldn’t need it. Especially, if you follow the rule. What’s the rule?”

Greg looked confused. “The rule?”

“Goddammit, son! Weren’t you payin’ attention? The rule about the back door.”

“Oh, right. Don’t open that back door. But what does that have to do with the gun? Should I be worried about robbers?”

“Robbers? No. We ain’t never had no robbery. Who would rob this place?”

“I don’t know. So . . . what’s it really for?”

The old man leaned in, so close Greg could smell his sour breath. “Let’s hope you never find out.”