He stood in the fiction section of the store placing returned books back to their rightful spots. The usual evening ordeal.
It was a quiet evening, the customers absent and infrequent. Not much was happening. He quite enjoyed the calm nature of the store. It gave him time to get work done.
He looked at his watch. 8:51. In less than ten minutes the store would be closing and he would be off. He turned back to the books, picking them up carefully and cautiously.
Suddenly he heard a sound, a shrill scream that pierced his ears for a moment before dissipating into nothingness. It sounded like it had come from downstairs.
He looked up towards the sound, and seeing nothing continued with his work, ignoring what he had just heard, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard it at all. Then he noticed the smell. It wafted towards him slowly at first, but intensely over time. It was revolting. It was like a mix between old bacon grease and wet, hairy dog. He felt the need to vomit, but he held himself from doing so. He couldn’t wreck such beautiful books in front of him.
He continued to put the books away, finding a copy of Animal Farm and placing it next to other books by George Orwell. He took slow, deep breaths to avoid becoming sick. The smell was overwhelming, nauseating.
As he continued on with the process, he suddenly heard what sounded like rapid bursts of thunder, emanating it seemed like, within the store. How was that possible, he thought? Thunder inside the store? Then it hit him, ominously, portentously. It wasn’t thunder. Those were steps. Someone had walked up the escalator and was now walking upstairs down the main aisle. It could only be one person. The Lady With The Gloves. That would explain the scream. It had to be her.
He gulped. It couldn’t be. But he knew it was true. He turned around, cautiously, tentatively. He knew he had to. He knew he had to deal with her.
He turned around and there she was halfway down the aisle, just past the self-help books, her eyes wandering, searching, scanning for someone to help her. He knew that that someone would be him.
He looked at her, ensuring he didn’t look into her eyes, the eyes that were known to cause death and despair. It was like looking at Medusa, but with much harsher consequences. She of course, was wearing those hideous, light blue gloves of hers, to hide what was underneath. He had heard different rumours but he couldn’t confirm what existed underneath those.
Finally, he noticed something else, something much worse, much more horrifying. The blood. Her face was splashed with spots of blood; over her cheeks, her nose, and especially over her lips, as if she had just eaten raw meat. Then it hit him. The scream. His co-worker. Danny. She had devoured Danny.
Finally her head tilted and she turned his way, finally noticing him. She smiled, a smile that was contrary to being a legitimate smile, a smile that seemed to have a much different intention. It was a smile serial killers make after they are being convicted in the courtroom, a smile that says “I’ve killed many people and I don’t care”.
“I’m looking for bookmarks!” she screeched.
He walked towards her, walking slowly down the steps towards her, his legs heavy and dead. He checked his watch briefly. 8:54.
“Let me show you. Also ma’am just so you know we are clos-“
She turned her head slightly as if surprised by his response, as if wondering whether it might get messy, whether it should get messy. Then she frowned, her face becoming red and puffy, as if in fury.
“Well you better show me where those bookmarks are then!” she bellowed out.
He gulped. “Of course. Right this way.”
He walked ahead, taking the path towards the bookmarks, her thunderous steps slamming along behind her. He felt the sweat creeping down his brow, his heart pounding furiously.
“I’m looking for Hunger Games bookmarks. Do you have any?!”
“I’ll have to take a look. I-“
“You have to have them! How can you not have them?! The other stores have them.”
“You’re right ma’am we should have them. “
Finally he reached the wheelie of bookmarks where there were dozens to choose from. He went through the rack, quickly, efficiently. He began to check through the rack, hoping, praying that they had Hunger Games bookmarks in stock.
He continued to rifle through the rack, pushing aside other bookmarks, frantically, desperately. To his dismay they had no Hunger Games bookmarks. He gulped. This couldn’t be happening.
He turned around to see The Lady With the Gloves right behind him, watching him, starting at him, her body odour intense and agonizing, as if suffocating him from all oxygen.
“I’m sorry ma’am it doesn’t look-“
She hissed, her tongue slithering out of her mouth like that of a snake’s. Her tongue seemed poisonous. He assumed it was.
Without another thought she removed her gloves revealing her hands, or what appeared to be hands. There was no skin underneath. Only the flesh and muscles beneath.
He gasped and stepped back slightly in horror. The view was agonizing, disgusting. He was repulsed by what he had just witnessed.
“What do you mean you don’t have any?! You have to have them. West Van has them!” she squawked.
“I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.”
“Well can you bring them from West Van? I want them today. I need them!”
“The West Van store is closed and we don’t do store transfers.”
She glared at him for a few seconds, as if wondering what to do with him, whether she should let him live or not. He made sure to avoid looking into those bulging eyes. Then, finally she shrugged and turned away, walking back into a different section of the store.
As she turned her back and walked away he took a glance at his watch. 9:01. The store was now closed. Someone had to tell her they were closing. He looked around him, hoping there was someone else, anyone else, who could deliver the news. But there was no one. It would have to be him.
He walked towards her hesitantly, slowly, as if trying to slow down the inevitable.
“Ma’am. Um. Just so you know. Um. We are uh closed and –“
Without hesitation she turned around and lunged at him, grabbing his neck and pulling him off the floor, her long fleshy arms driving into his neck, suffocating him, pulverising him. He gasped for air, feeling himself running out of oxygen as she held on, his arms flailing in desperation, her eyes simultaneously glaring at him in fury.
“I will tell you when you’re closed!”
Then finally she let go of his neck, dropping him onto the concrete floor as he collapsed in a heap on the ground. She walked away as if nothing had happened, continuing on throughout the store.
