Something I love about writing prompts is they never make me feel the need to have a perfect story. It’s all about writing what comes to you in the moment and running with it until the end of the line. This was a half-formed idea that came to me a while ago and I will definitely visit it again in the future.
I cursed the apple scented candle burning on the counter, lit in a futile attempt to cover the evidence of the burnt bag of popcorn I plucked from the microwave an hour earlier. It had been at least a couple hours since the last customer walked in the door and the tell-tale electronic chime of the security system drew my eyes away from the textbook open in front of me.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up the text thread labeled “HBIC”, which wasn’t by any means a term of endearment for my boss. She was indeed a heinous bitch, yet my fingers itched to draft a message asking her if it was okay to close up shop early. The hypothetical exchange played out in my head while I contemplated if it was worth it to ask at all.
Hi Elana, is it alright if I close the store a bit early tonight? It’s been over two hours since anyone has stopped in.
It’s only 7:15…someone is supposed to come by to pick up an online order tonight.
The rain hasn’t let up and I don’t think anyone is going out in this storm.
Anna, this better be the last time you pull this shit. We close at 10. Go organize the racks or clean something if you’re bored.
I determined it wasn’t worth it to ask a question I already knew the answer to. Lightning streaked across the sky followed closely by the low rumble of thunder as rain pattered against the wall of windows facing the street. Studying was giving me a headache, or it might have been the heavily chemical tinged fake apple candle. I flipped my Anthology of American Literature textbook closed and turned my attention to the computer, typing “American Girl Doll generator” into the search bar.
It had turned into a strange habit of mine when I couldn’t think of anything better to do. Sometimes it was too easy spending an hour or more concocting the ugliest or strangest looking American Girl doll possible. If Elana checked the cameras and caught on to my odd habits there was a good chance I’d be fired. Or maybe it was only the hopeful part of me wishing she would get rid of me already and save me the awkwardness putting in a two weeks notice. Short, curly red hair, teeth too big for her mouth, thick framed glasses, gloves. Could I give her an eye patch too?
There it was for the first time in so long it made me jump up in my seat.
Ding.
My eyes immediately shot up and over to the door where a man shook the rain off his long jacket onto the rug below.
“It’s starting to get crazy out there. Mind if I get out of the rain for a little bit?”
“Not at all,” I managed to choke out. The sudden nervousness I felt was easily played off as a tickle in my throat. I reached for my empty cup of water and pretended to take a sip, quickly closing the window for the American Girl website. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”
He gave a close lipped smile that spread so far across his face it looked sinister, and as he turned away to browse a wall display with knit sweaters I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. His hair was mussed up from the rain and the first few buttons of his white collared shirt were undone. The isolation of the day had to be making me skittish.
“Has it been a slow night?” he asked, casting a quick glance back in my direction before running his hands over the material of the sweater.
“We’ve had a lot of people in and out despite the rain.” I was lying of course, and I wondered if the words squeaked out of my mouth the way I thought they did. I wouldn’t tell this man I couldn’t recall the last time another living soul wandered past the store, let alone ventured to step inside. The slightest trace of stubble crept out like a shadow across his cheeks. He was maybe in his mid-thirties, good looking too.
My eyes were practically burning into the back of his skull until I noticed he was turning back toward me. I trained my eyes over to the register where I absentmindedly scrolled through sales for the day, unable to actually focus on any of the numbers. When I got a good look at him up close I took in the fading purple splotches beneath his eyes. One of his shirt buttons was missing, leaving behind a tangle of broken threads in its place. He held the sweater up to the light and placed it on the counter.
“My girlfriend is going to love this. Her favorite color is this shade of blue.”
I reached for the sweater to slide it off the hanger, but as it inched a bit closer toward me the man slapped his hand down on the counter, catching the hem and making me freeze.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Would you mind trying this on for me? You look like you’re the same size as my girlfriend and it would really help me out.”
My stomach began to turn, the acid burning up into my throat. I choked down the urge to vomit. There were small, angry red cuts scattered over his knuckles that looked fresh, overlapped by blooming bruises.
“I can’t really abandon my post to try this on while someone else is in the store. I’m a medium so I think this should work out fine for you.” I pasted on my best fake smile and tried to steady my flittering heartbeat and shaking hands. It wasn’t the most unusual request, but something about our interaction was setting off alarms in my head. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my pocket then stopped. I weighed my options.
“It’ll only take a minute, and I can watch the door for you.”
I swallowed hard and took another look outside where the rain had only picked up, flooding the streets and kicking up all the trash along the curb.
“Today is her birthday and I’m on my way home without a gift. I’ll stay right here and you’ll be keeping me out of the dog house.”
I don’t know why I said yes, but I found myself shuffling toward the dressing room with the sweater clutched in my hands, attempting to keep the man in my periphery until I disappeared inside and swept the curtain closed. It gapped open just enough where it met the wall that I could see him pacing back and forth by the front door. I peeled off my t-shirt and slipped the sweater over my frizzing hair. My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it, wanting nothing more than to get this man out of the store as soon as possible.
I rushed out of the dressing room and did a nervous little twirl for him.
“Looks like a good fit, she’s going to love it.” He walked back over to the display and grabbed another blue sweater, leaving the hanger behind. He approached the counter with the sweater draped over his arm and a few crumpled bills in one hand.
“How much?”
“Uh, $40.85.”
“Keep the change.”
He placed a fifty dollar bill down on the counter and strolled out of the door with the sweater still resting over his arm; the rain transformed it into a deeper shade of blue as it soaked through. I sprinted to the door and clicked the lock shut, tugging my phone out of my back pocket. A news alert flashed across the screen.
Police are looking for a man approximately six feet tall, early to mid-thirties, with dark hair in connection to the murder of 32-year-old Lily Haughn, who was found stabbed to death on her birthday early this morning. An unidentified man had been stalking her for months and is wanted in connection with the murder. He may have defensive wounds to his hands and arms.
The phone slid out of my hand and crashed to the floor as my legs buckled beneath me. I crumpled behind the counter, letting ugly sobs wrack through my body.
The Rummy Writer 