large_rectangle-ad.webp

medium_rectangle-ad.webp

small_rectangle-ad.webp

thumbnail_rectangle-ad.webp

rectangle-ad.webp

Novelo Rectangle

Eerie Falls, Missouri, lived up to its name in the most underwhelming way possible. It wasn't eerie so much as mind-numbingly dull, a fact that suited John Shepherd just fine. At 52, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed and his Save-A-Buck vest always crisply pressed, John had perfected the art of blending in. No one at the Ross Family's Save-A-Buck knew that those hands so deftly arranging produce displays had once garrotted a Yakuza boss in Tokyo. The eyes that patiently helped old ladies find the right brand of prune juice had once lined up impossible sniper shots across continents. John's daily routine was a masterclass in mundanity. Clock in. Stock shelves. Lunch break at 1:15 PM sharp – always the same ham and cheese sandwich on wheat, no mayo. It was a life as far removed from his former profession as possible, and that was exactly the point. Until the day his sandwich disappeared. At first, John assumed he'd simply forgotten to pack it. But when it happened again the next day, and the next, a familiar tension began to coil in his gut. By the fourth week, as he stared at the empty spot in the break room fridge, something cold and dangerous flickered behind his eyes. Time to go hunting. John's investigation was subtle and meticulous. A hair-trigger pressure plate under his lunchbox. Microscopic UV powder on the handle. Within days, he had his culprit: Joshua Ross, the spoiled nephew of the store's owners and recently promoted assistant manager. John approached Joshua politely, his tone mild as he broached the subject. "Mr. Ross, I believe there's been a misunderstanding about my lunch." Joshua's handsome face twisted into a sneer. "What are you gonna do about it, old man? Run crying to my uncle? I own this place, and I own you. Your sad little sandwich is the highlight of my day." As Joshua swaggered away, John felt a switch flip inside him. The patient, mild-mannered clerk receded, replaced by something cold and calculating. In the weeks that followed, John noticed changes. New faces in the store, too alert, too fit to be ordinary shoppers. He recognized the stance, the concealed weapons – private military contractors. To the untrained eye, they blended in perfectly. To John, they might as well have been wearing neon signs. The summer dragged on, tension building beneath the surface of daily retail drudgery. As the 4th of July rush died down and the last customer left the store, John made his move. The lock clicked shut with finality. John's posture changed, his movements becoming fluid, predatory. He stalked down the aisles, shedding his milquetoast persona like an ill-fitting suit. The first merc went down silently, a box cutter across the throat before he could even register John's presence. The second managed to draw his weapon, but John was already inside his guard. A sickening crunch echoed as John drove the man's nose into his brain with the heel of his palm. Gunshots shattered the fluorescent-lit calm. John rolled behind a display of canned peas, snatching up the fallen merc's weapon. In three quick shots, three bodies hit the linoleum. John moved like a ghost through the store, using his intimate knowledge of every aisle, every blind spot to his advantage. He improvised weapons from everyday items – a mop handle became a staff, crushing a larynx and shattering a kneecap. A bag of flour burst open, blinding another attacker long enough for John to end him with his knife. The frozen foods section became a killing floor, blood steaming on the frosted glass doors. John used a shocked Joshua as a human shield, the young man's whimpers were a stark counterpoint to the disciplined silence of the dying mercs. In the end, it was almost disappointing how quickly it was over. A dozen highly-trained killers lay broken among the spilled products and shattered glass. John stood in the center of the carnage, his breath steady, eyes cold. Joshua Ross fell to his knees, blubbering apologies and pleas for mercy. John regarded him for a long moment, then spoke, his voice gravelly from disuse: "Don't touch my sandwich again." As he walked away, leaving Joshua trembling amid the destruction, John allowed himself a small, grim smile. Over his shoulder, he called out, "Clean up on aisle four." The automatic doors slid open, letting in the warm summer night. John Shepherd disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind a scene that would baffle law enforcement for years to come. And if the next day, a mild-mannered grocery clerk returned to work, punctual as always with his ham and cheese sandwich... well, that was just another day in Eerie Falls.

FRAGMENTS OF FEAR

JOE_KING

newWEIRDorder

Share

Want to continue reading?

About Author

JOE KING

Advertisement

Reviews and Comments

This story has not been rated yet. Login to review this story.

Other stories by JOE_KING

A VERY GRAVE CHRISTMAS

Browse