With the end of my rope in hand, I stood in stunned silence. This could not be happening. I walked, strutted, staggered and then ran towards the direction where I thought the exit might be, but I had no such luck, aisle after aisle, shelf after shelf I ran.

There was no exit. I was stuck.

I stopped, hands on knees gasping for air. What do I do now?

I untied the rope from myself and stored it in my backpack next to the bread. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, their cold glow stretching endlessly down the vacant aisles. I straightened up, forcing my breath to steady. The store shelves towered around me like crooked sentinels, half-stocked with outdated products—faded cereal boxes, dented cans, and toys whose cartoon mascots I didn’t recognize.

Grimacing, I moved on, trailing my fingers along the edge of a shelf to keep me steady in case I fainted. I needed something—anything—to make this place feel real.

Somewhere, I swore I heard the distant squeak of wheels, but they were gone just as quick.

Maybe I should just bunker down, find a nice shelf with some water and wait for all of this to blow over. Why was I even walking, where was I walking to? There was nothing here to find but more shelves, more aisles, more… Captain Cruncher’s Galactic Bites? What kind of a cereal is that? And why were there hundreds of boxes of it?

Hold on a second.

Did I smell smoke?

That threw me out of my contemplations immediately, why would there be smoke in this store? I guess I should see where it leads me. Hey, what else was I supposed to do? Maybe it could be someone else who got trapped inside. If so, hell, at least I wouldn’t be stuck alone in here.

I quickly decided to follow the smell of smoke.

And so I went off deeper into the store, or in a new direction, at least.

Couple of minutes later I found what I was looking for.

Unfortunately.

There, right between the half-empty shelves of waterproof matches and dusty coolers, were two figures hunched around a small, crackling fire. And both of them were staring right at me.

Why is this unfortunate exactly? Because one of them was missing an eye, and they both had rotting skin. If I’ve ever had to picture an undead, that would be them.

“Welcome there Max, welcome, welcome!” The one with the missing eye greeted me and I was quite frankly too shocked to understand the what’s, who’s and how’s.

“Uh… I’m sorry, what?”

The one-eyed corpse grinned, or at least he tried to—his lipless mouth twisted awkwardly, exposing more teeth than any smile should. The fire crackled between us, illuminating the deep hollows in his cheeks.

“Welcome to Infinimart,” he said, waving one bony hand as if I’d just stepped in for a Saturday sale. “I’m Greg, and this here is Gary.”

Gary, the other undead, raised a skeletal hand in a lazy wave. “Yo.”

I stared.

“We work here.” Greg straightened up, brushing the ash off what remained of his blue employee vest. A rusted name tag dangled lopsided on his chest. It definitely said ‘Greg.’

I opened my mouth to respond, but Greg cut me off, suddenly far too cheerful.

“Anyway! We were told to bring you to the manager.”

That did not sound good at all.

“What if don’t want to meet the manager?”

Gary snorted. “Last guy who tried avoiding the manager got turned into inventory.”

That sounded even worse.

Maybe if the manager is even halfway as polite as these two then it should be fine, I think? What’s the worst that could happen? And what else could I be doing instead, wandering the store or sitting somewhere like a hermit? Did I even have a choice?

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Lead the way.”

“Great! This way, then.” Greg patted me on the shoulder—his hand felt like ice—and turned toward the dark aisles beyond the firelight.

Gary followed, humming something that sounded disturbingly like elevator music.

I followed the undead duo, the flickering firelight fading behind us until we were swallowed by the gloom of the unlit aisles.

Greg and Gary shuffled along with the ease of someone who’d been working here far too long. Their steps didn’t make a sound, but mine echoed like I was stomping through a cathedral.

Eventually after a few minutes of walking I could see something - a wall. That’s the first time I ever saw a wall inside this shop, not including the one in the front where the entrance was.

Greg slowed as we approached a set of heavy double doors marked ‘Employees Only.’

He pushed the door open, revealing a hallway that looked more like the back rooms of a hospital than a store. Harsh white lights buzzed overhead, flickering in and out of sync. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant.

“This way,” Greg said, motioning down the corridor.

I followed, Gary trailing behind me now. I didn’t like that. Being sandwiched between two undead didn’t sit right.

“Is the manager… normal?” I asked carefully.

Greg hesitated, which was not the response I wanted.

“He’s… dedicated,” Gary offered after a beat.

“That’s not really an answer.”

Greg stopped in front of an office door labeled ‘MANAGER’ in blocky letters. A dim white light seeped out from beneath it. He glanced at me with his single eye.

“Look, Max, I’ll be honest—he’s not the worst boss. He’s just a little… particular. And cursed, probably. But what manager isn’t, these days?”

Before I could respond to that, Greg knocked twice.

“Come in,” a voice called from the other side.

Greg smiled, or tried to, and pushed the door open.

“Good luck,” Gary whispered, giving me a thumbs-up that somehow felt very wrong coming from an undead.

I stepped inside.

The office looked exactly how I imagined—dim lighting, flickering fluorescent lamp, and stacks of paperwork piled precariously high. But sitting behind the desk… was not what I expected.

The manager looked human, for the most part. His skin was just a little too pale, his eyes a little too sharp, and his smile stretched just a little too wide.

“Max,” he said smoothly, steepling his fingers. “So glad you could join us. We have much to discuss.”

I shifted uneasily, the door clicking shut behind me with a finality I didn’t like.

His suit was immaculate—deep charcoal gray with crisp lapels and a blood-red tie that practically glowed in the dim light. The fabric didn’t wrinkle, even as he adjusted his cuffs with long, elegant fingers.

But it was his face that held my attention. His skin, though smooth, had the color and texture of wax. His sharp eyes were a pale, almost silvery shade, and when he smiled, his teeth were perfectly straight and gleaming.

“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. His voice was pleasant, calm—like he was about to offer me a raise or ask about my weekend plans.

“So,” he began, tapping one finger against the polished surface. “Let’s not waste each other’s time, Max. Everything in this store has a price, do you think you are above the rules?”

“No, sir, not at all,” Just act natural, Max, act natural. Agree with everything, be nice and polite to him, don’t dig the hole you’re in any deeper. “Is this about the bread in my bag, I’m very sorry about it, I did not realize I had to purchase them, I did not see anyone at the cash registers.”

The manager’s eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his smile twitched wider—just a little too wide. He tapped the desk again, slower this time, as if savoring the rhythm.

“Oh, the bread,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of someone humoring a child. “Yes, the bread is… part of it. But Max, you and I both know that’s not the only thing you’ve stolen. Right here,” he tapped a paper on his desk, “thirteen separate accounts of you and your brother shoplifting. I must admit, your little trick with the rope was an ingenious way to defeat our security measures. About the punishment though-”

For a long moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the flickering light. I squirmed under his gaze, wondering if this was how moths felt when they circled too close to flames.

Then, just as the tension stretched to unbearable levels, the manager sighed and steepled his fingers.

“You will work the night shift tonight.”

I blinked. "Wait… that's it?"

The manager’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened. "Would you prefer something else, Max?"

"No! No, the night shift is great. I love the night. Big fan of… uh… fluorescent lighting." I forced a grin.

“Marvelous!” the manager sounded unusually happy that I accepted it, “You will work the cash register. Greg, Gary!”

The door opened, “Yes, boss?”

“Show Max where the registers are, and get him a uniform, he will work… the night shift.”

*****

An elderly skeleton shuffled forwards, bones creaking with each step. He wore a tattered cardigan over his ribcage and a pair of brown slacks that barely clung to his narrow hips. A pair of reading glasses perched precariously on his nonexistent nose.

He pushed a shopping cart. I wasn’t sure why he needed it. The only thing inside was a lone bottle of maple syrup.

“Evening,” I greeted, forcing a smile. “Find everything alright?”

The skeleton stopped at my register, peering up at me through his smudged glasses. “Oh, yes, yes. Maple syrup was on sale. Can’t pass up a deal, you know.”

I nodded politely. “Of course.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “It’s for my nephew. He loves pancakes.”

I paused, hands hovering over the register. “Your… nephew?”

The skeleton nodded enthusiastically, his jaw clicking. “Yes, yes. Good kid. Real sharp. Got his brains from his mother’s side, I’d wager. He’s been staying with me for a while now. Poor boy got cursed by a fortune cookie, you see.”

I blinked. “A fortune cookie cursed him?”

“Oh, yes. Nasty business. The fortune said, ‘Your luck will turn around.’ Next day he literally spun around for hours. Couldn’t stop. Like a record player.”

I stared, unsure if he was joking or not.

“Anyway,” the skeleton continued, waving a bony hand, “I told him, ‘Henry, you can’t just—’”

Sigh