Brad plunged his arm into the back of the metal shelf to pull up boxes of popcorn, lining them up on the shelf. "Blocking" they called it.
Absent-mindedly, he noted that it was on sale, but he knew the price was crap either way. As he grabbed another box, the back of his hand brushed against something coarse and fibrous. He drew back instinctively, scratching his arm on a cardboard box.
"What the heck?" he said, shoving the boxes aside and peering in.
His voice caught in his throat as he sucked in a lungful of air, funding himself unable to scream. The dead eye looking back at him stared blankly at the back of the popcorn boxes. The mouth was wrenched into a permanent grimace. Suddenly, Brad found his voice again, screaming as he ran as fast as he could out of the supermarket.
He was shaking like a leaf and halfway across the parking lot before he caught hold of his senses again and went to get his manager, Donna. He was stammering incoherently, unable to make any sense, so he bit his trembling lip and dragged her by the arm to the popcorn aisle and got her to look into the back of the shelf.
"Brad, are you high?" she asked, irritated, when she got up again. "What am I looking at down here?"
In a flash, he bent over and shoved the boxes aside, knocking several to the floor. There, in the space where the head had once been, was nothing but a dust bunny. He felt woozy and let himself collapse into a slump against the shelf. Something was very wrong in this place.
He finally noticed the scratch on his arm and wiped the trickle of blood from it before rubbing his temples with his other hand. He didn't notice it, but Donna licked her lips and stared down greedily at him.
Absent-mindedly, he noted that it was on sale, but he knew the price was crap either way. As he grabbed another box, the back of his hand brushed against something coarse and fibrous. He drew back instinctively, scratching his arm on a cardboard box.
"What the heck?" he said, shoving the boxes aside and peering in.
His voice caught in his throat as he sucked in a lungful of air, funding himself unable to scream. The dead eye looking back at him stared blankly at the back of the popcorn boxes. The mouth was wrenched into a permanent grimace. Suddenly, Brad found his voice again, screaming as he ran as fast as he could out of the supermarket.
He was shaking like a leaf and halfway across the parking lot before he caught hold of his senses again and went to get his manager, Donna. He was stammering incoherently, unable to make any sense, so he bit his trembling lip and dragged her by the arm to the popcorn aisle and got her to look into the back of the shelf.
"Brad, are you high?" she asked, irritated, when she got up again. "What am I looking at down here?"
In a flash, he bent over and shoved the boxes aside, knocking several to the floor. There, in the space where the head had once been, was nothing but a dust bunny. He felt woozy and let himself collapse into a slump against the shelf. Something was very wrong in this place.
He finally noticed the scratch on his arm and wiped the trickle of blood from it before rubbing his temples with his other hand. He didn't notice it, but Donna licked her lips and stared down greedily at him.
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