It was 3:15 a.m. when Marcus entered the 24-hour “Express Mart” on the edge of town. He only needed a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread, but the atmosphere inside the store felt heavy, like the air before a thunderstorm.
The store was completely empty. No staff, no other customers. Just the hum of the industrial refrigerators and the sterile, white glow of the overhead LED lights.
Marcus walked to the self-checkout kiosks. He scanned his milk. Beep. He scanned his bread. Beep.
Then, the machine scanned a third item.
“Item Scanned: PERSONAL BELONGING. Price: $0.00”
Marcus looked at the bagging area. There was nothing there but his milk and bread. He looked at the scanner bed. It was empty. He tried to delete the item, but the screen was frozen.
He looked up at the small security monitor attached to the kiosk—the one that shows a live reflection of the customer to prevent shoplifting.
In the monitor, Marcus saw himself standing at the kiosk. But in the reflection, he was holding a third item.
It was a small, tattered red leather bag.
Marcus looked down at his hands. They were empty. He looked back at the screen. In the reflection, his hands were firmly gripping the red bag. The reflection of Marcus wasn’t looking at the screen; it was looking directly at the real Marcus, with a wide, unblinking stare.
A cold wave of terror washed over him. He backed away from the kiosk, but the reflection stayed put. It reached into the red bag and pulled out a long, rusted key.
Marcus turned and ran toward the exit. The sliding doors, which usually opened automatically, remained shut. He pounded on the glass, but it felt like solid brick.
He looked back at the store. The lights in the far aisles were beginning to flicker and die, one by one, moving closer to the front of the store.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound came from the self-checkout area.
Marcus looked at the monitor from a distance. The reflection of Marcus was now walking out of the screen. Its feet hit the real floor with a heavy, wet sound. It was still holding the red bag and the rusted key.
The reflection stopped and pointed the key toward the “Customer Service” desk.
Marcus followed the gesture. Sitting on the desk was a small, wooden box with a rusted lock. He had never noticed it before.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A notification from the store’s app appeared: “Thank you for your purchase, Marcus. Your new life will be delivered in 3… 2… 1…”
The faceless reflection lunged at him.
Marcus woke up with a start. He was standing in the middle of a brightly lit grocery store. Customers were pushing carts, and a cashier was smiling at him.
“Sir? Are you ready to pay?”
Marcus realized he was at the self-checkout. He looked at the screen. It showed his milk and bread.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was just a daydream. A trick of the mind caused by lack of sleep.
He paid and walked out to his car. He reached into his pocket for his car keys, but his fingers brushed against something else.
Something soft. Something leather.
He pulled it out. It was a small, tattered red leather bag.
Inside the bag was a rusted key and a small, handwritten note:
“The reflection always leaves first. Welcome to the other side.”
Marcus looked at his car window. He saw his reflection.
The reflection wasn’t looking at him. It was walking away, heading back into the store, carrying a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread.
Marcus tried to scream, but no sound came out. He looked down at his hands. They were beginning to turn translucent, fading into the gray pavement of the parking lot.
He looked at the store one last time.
The “Express Mart” sign flickered. For a split second, it changed to a different name:
“THE HOLDING CELL.”
Marcus vanished.
If you ever find yourself in an empty store at 3:15 a.m., don’t look at the security monitor.
Because the person looking back might be the one who’s actually going home.
