A gas station attendant has an encounter with the unknown

Gusts of wind howled outside, rocking the icy windows so hard they might crack. The door blew open at the wind’s command, the bells chiming as it moved, welcoming more snow to the small pile forming on the mat. Once again I struggled closing it, shuddering at the cold. My uniform did nothing to keep me warm and the heat had never quite worked right, no one stayed at Route 33 Stop long enough to be bothered by it.  

The snow was coming down so thick now I couldn’t see three feet from the door, let alone to the lot or road. It was one thing to work the night shift in a secluded place — it was another to work it alone. The storm truly made it feel like the middle of nowhere, everything was pure white, with an eerie glow that fresh snow emanates. 

The security cameras were as useless as my eyes. I couldn’t even see my own car. As much as I’d rather be home, it wasn’t safe to drive. I doubted anybody would be stopping here tonight. I hoped not.  

The phone behind the counter rang, almost more annoying than the bells. I reached  

behind the counter to answer it and recited my spiel — how can I help tonight? Usually truck drivers wanted directions, maybe they wanted to know if we were open in the weather; maybe it was my boss seeing if I had been stupid enough to come in and wait out the storm here. But no one answered.  

I was about to ask again when the lights flickered off. The low hum of fluorescent lights and fridges quieted, plunging me into silent darkness. Outside the wind roared again, sending a shiver down my back. This would be a long night.  

My back faced the door as I put the phone on the base, that’s when I heard the bells chiming again. Only when I turned to face it, the door wasn’t wide open, it was closing. The wind must’ve changed course.  

I headed to the back to see if my manager had left a jacket or something, I had forgotten mine. I didn’t use my phone’s flashlight to save the battery. I almost slipped on the way, some parts of the floor were wet, I just hoped there wasn’t a leak somewhere.  

Luckily there was a sweater on one of the chairs —it wasn’t warm enough but it was something. When I slid it on, I heard the wind whistling. The more steps I took away from the office and towards the bathroom again, the louder and more melodic it got.  

My stomach dropped to my feet, my heart beat quickly. It had to be the storm, right? 

With hesitant, frozen fingers I touched the bathroom door and quietly pushed it open a crack. The tiniest light from the smoke detector was on, illuminating enough for me to see a large, inky mass in front of the stalls. My breath hitched slightly, and several bloodshot eyes snapped my way.  

I slammed the door and scrambled away. Large, uneven footprints trailed from the pile of snow, tar and ice everywhere. Whistling grew louder, closer behind me. I pushed through the door, into the blustering freezing wind, and was enveloped by the deafening white storm.   

This article was originally published in print Volume 24, Issue 4 on Thursday, December 5.