This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/BlairDaniels on 2024-09-14 23:26:56+00:00.

I saw the job listing two weeks ago.

WANTED: NIGHT GUARD AT WESS MARKET IN [REDACTED], PA. 12AM-6AM SHIFT. $21/HOUR. The whole thing struck me as odd, right off the bat. What kind of grocery store needed a security guard while it was closed? Was the crime really that bad?

But I needed the money. Badly. And two days later, after a phone interview with a man named Clive, I showed up for my first shift.

As soon as I pulled up, I sort of understood why they needed a night guard. The grocery store sat at the edge of a run-down strip mall. Large signs reading SPACE FOR RENT hung in the store windows, but judging by the dusty glass and flickering streetlamps, no one had taken them up on the offer in years.

I parked near the front door. And as I approached the building, I saw a woman hurrying away from the store.

“You must be Aaron,” she said breathlessly. “The night guard?”

“That’s me.”

“Clive left you some instructions. I put them on the conveyor belt at register 1.” She gave me a polite nod and then stepped around me, heading for the only other car in the parking lot.

“Oh, thanks.” Be friendly, my inner voice scolded. She’s your new coworker! I turned around. “Hey, what’s your name?”

But she was already diving into the car. The door slammed, the car reeled out of the parking space, and then she was gone.

So much for a new friend.

I turned back towards the store.

The parking lot was completely empty now, and the nearest streetlight was flickering with an odd, erratic rhythm. A cold wind swept in, whipping a crumpled paper bag across the parking lot.

Well, here goes nothing.

I stepped up to the store. The glass doors squeaked as they parted for me, and then I stepped inside.

Despite its outward appearance, the store was actually pretty nice inside. Bright fluorescent lights shone from overhead. Jazzy music played from hidden speakers. I headed over to register 1, where a folded piece of paper was waiting for me.

I flipped it open and began to read.

Dear Aaron,

Welcome to the Wess family! We sincerely hope you enjoy your first shift. To help you, we’ve compiled a list of rules that should make your shift as easy as our fresh-baked apple pie.

1.     As night guard, you are expected to patrol the store every half hour, making sure nothing is amiss. You may spend the rest of your time in the break room, at the back of the store, monitoring the security camera feeds.

2.     Do not go down aisle 7. Do not look down aisle 7.

3.     If you hear a knocking sound coming from within the freezers in the frozen food aisle, ignore it.

4.     If you see a shopping cart that hasn’t been put away, please return it to the shopping carts at the front of the store immediately.

5.     Do not be alarmed if you find a pool of blood in the meat aisle. Sometimes our meat packages leak. Simply head to the storage closet, get the mop and bucket, and clean it up. However, do not step in the puddle or touch it in any way.

6.     If you see a woman in the store, immediately go to the break room and stay there until she leaves. Do not call the police or report a break in. Do not make eye contact with her.

7.     The music we play throughout the store is a prerecorded disk of instrumental jazz. If the music ever stops, immediately go to the break room and stay there until it resumes.

8.     Do not, under any circumstances, end your shift early.

Thank you so much and again, I hope you enjoy your shift!

-       Clive

I stared at the rules, re-reading them slowly. They were so weird. A woman in the store? Avoid aisle 7? I’d never been given instructions like this, even when I worked as a bouncer at a nightclub in a bad part of town.

Maybe it was a test. They wanted to see how well I could follow instructions, no matter how absurd they were. I looked up at the security camera, staring down at me from the corner.

Okay. Challenge accepted.

I glanced at my phone. 12:06. Might as well get my first patrol out of the way now, before getting settled in.

It was odd walking through the store when it was so empty and quiet. All the breads and muffins had been stored away somewhere. White opaque plastic had been pulled down over the vegetable display, to keep the cold in. When I got to the end, I made a right into the meat section.

Sheets of plastic had been pulled over the meat coolers, too. I saw flashes of red through the gaps, of massive ribeye and sirloin steaks, big slabs of meat with the bone still intact. I averted my eyes—while I wasn’t a vegetarian, I never really liked the sight of raw meat. I turned instead to the aisles. Aisle 3: pasta and sauces, all lined up on the shelves, glinting in the fluorescent light. Aisle 4: cookies and snacks. Aisle 5, Aisle 6—

Oh right. I wasn’t supposed to look at Aisle 7.

I forced myself to look down at the floor. Yeah, it was stupid, but they told me not to look. In the off chance they were going to check the CCTV footage later to grade my performance, I was going to follow every rule.

I continued further into the store. A few minutes later, I found the break room; a nondescript brown door with a little square window cut into it. I took note of its location for later—as soon as I was done with this patrol, I was going to break out my laptop and finish watching Friday the 13th IV.

And then I was at the west end of the store—the frozen section. I turned down the aisle, heading back towards the front.

That’s when I saw it.

A shopping cart, parked askew in the middle of the aisle.

I huffed. Of all the rules, this was the one that annoyed me the most. I was hired to be a security guard—not a cleanup crew. Wasn’t it the employees’ job to put all the carts away at closing time?

Sighing, I began pushing it towards the front of the store.

The wheels rolled smoothly underneath me. The jazz music played softly in my ears. I turned the corner and walked past the cash registers, heading towards the front door.

That’s when I heard it.

A soft sound. Barely audible over the jazz music. I stopped, straining my ears to listen. Several seconds of silence went by; and then I heard it again.

It sounded like someone crying.

The hairs on my neck stood on end. There’s no one in here. The door’s been locked the whole time. Unless… unless a customer had accidentally stayed past closing time. Maybe that employee, the woman I’d run into in the parking lot, didn’t notice them. And locked up before they could get out.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

A wailing sob, in response.

My heart plummeted. It sounded like a woman, or possibly even a child. “I’m coming!” I called, breaking into a run. “Where are you?”

They didn’t reply—they just kept sobbing. I frantically continued in the direction of the sound, calling out to them, telling them everything would be okay.

But then I stopped dead.

The sound… it was coming from Aisle 7.

Do not go down aisle 7. Do not look down aisle 7. The rules had been very clear about that. I stopped just short of the aisle, next to an endcap display of mayonnaise, and carefully positioned myself so I was hidden.

“I’m going to help you,” I called out. “Can you tell me what happened?”

They finally spoke. But they didn’t answer my question. “H-help me,” the voice cried, through more sobs. “P-please.”

I wanted to step into the aisle. My foot was already halfway off the floor, ready to run in there and comfort them. But something stopped me. A gut instinct, a little alarm bell going off in my head. Because out of all the aisles… what were the chances this person would be in Aisle 7?

And besides, they were safe. They were in an empty store with me. It’s not like they were in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night.

“Come out of the aisle,” I called, my voice shaking a little. “Then I’ll be able to help you.”

“Please,” the voice replied. “Help me.”

This is stupid. Clearly some person got stuck in here after closing time, and they’re scared. Just go into the aisle and help them get home. But there was another part of my brain, the instinctual, lizard-brain part. And it was screaming at me to not move a muscle.

“Do you need me to call someone?” I tried. “Your parents or family? The police?”

“H-help me,” the voice pleaded again.

The help me. It sounded the same, each time they said it. A little stutter at the beginning. An emphasis on me. It almost sounded like a recording, or some AI-generated thing, looping over and over. It didn’t sound… natural.

“Come out of the aisle!” I shouted. “Come out, and I’ll help you!”

The sobs got louder, faster. Hysterical. “Help me!” the voice pleaded again, in a desperate tone that made my stomach twist.

I stood there, pressed against the mayonnaise display. Listening to them sob was making my stomach flip-flop—even if it did sound slightly unnatural. I could call the police, I thought. They’d know what to do.

Except I’d left my cell phone with my backpack at cash register 1. And getting it would mean crossing Aisle 7.

The rules didn’t say anything about walking past Aisle 7. They just said I shouldn’t go down it or look down it. And I couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. What if it really was someone who needed help? A child who’d sprained their ankle and couldn’t get up?

“Don’t worry. I’m getting my phone and calling the police,” I called out. Then I took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold of Aisle 7, towards r…

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fgyye1/i_worked_as_a_night_guard_at_a_grocery_store_they/