The darkest hour in a day is 4:00 AM. Being an opener at Starbucks had familiarized me with that.
The new Starbucks that I was transferring to was in an outdoor strip mall in a small town North of Los
Angeles called Simi Valley. It took me thirty minutes to get there from my two bedroom apartment in the
neighboring city of Northridge. It only took so long because it was built at the top of a very large hill, a
little out of the way and inconvenient, I thought, to have much business, but apparently the closest mall
to Simi Valley had been a good deal away until this one popped up. There were several Starbucks closer
to where I lived, and by several I mean one on every corner, but I was offered a slight pay raise to work
at this new store. Apparently they were understaffed, and a bit desperate.
I pulled into the huge Simi Valley Town Center parking lot at 3:50 AM. This store had only been open
for three weeks. It was dark as hell outside and no other cars were in the lot yet, except for a white pick-
up truck filled with construction scraps. Apparently the mall was not quite finished. The sign said
“Opening October 1st.” Considering it was already the twenty-second I thought it was odd that there
was still a need for touch-ups.
Since the mall was placed on the top of a hill, a layer of fog floated on the eerily empty lot. It seemed
thicker than any fog I had ever experienced, almost like smoke. I looked at the clock inside my car. 4:07.
Someone should have been here by now. I began to think maybe that construction truck really belonged
to a Starbucks employee and that I was going to clock in late on my first day at a new store. That just
could not be allowed.
I got out of my car, saw a shadow briskly approaching me, and got right back in. I locked the doors
and stared as hard as I could to try to make out who or what this figure was. My pulse quickened as the
figure broke through the haze. A tall man wearing black pants, a dark gray sweatshirt, and navy blue
jacket came right up to my window.
He had a five o’ clock shadow and a football player’s physique, tall and bulky. His eyes were squinty,
and his face was damp with moisture from the air. He motioned for me to roll down my window. I glanced
around to see if anyone else from Starbucks had arrived yet. The fog was so thick I could barely see
three rows over. I turned my attention back to the tall dark man. I rolled my window down a quarter of
an inch.
“Can I help you?” I said towards the crack in my window.
He peered into my truck, past me, and seemed to be looking for something before he spoke.
“How you doin’?” he asked. His voice seemed friendly enough, not monotonous and not threatening.
Still, I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable with the way he studied the interior of my truck.
“I just wanted to let you know you can’t be parkin’ here. We’re plannin’ on tearin’ up some ground
just under you. Would you mind movin’ a few rows over?” He said the words slowly, and had a
mischievous smile as he talked. His thick black eyebrows wrinkled in his squint.
“How many rows do you think? Because I work at the Starbucks and I don’t want to be too far…” I
was explaining but the man cut me off.
“You work at Starbucks? Is that what that green apron is on the floor? This Starbucks doesn’t open
until 5:00, you aware of that?” He glanced at his watch as he said this. Under the dark black hairs of his
arm, I noticed a thick pink line of raised skin across his hand about four inches long. That was a hell of a
scar. We made eye contact for the first time. Even in the heavy fog, I could see the darkness of his eyes.
The pupil couldn’t be distinguished from the rest of his eye. It scared me.
“You should probably go home, come back in a little bit. That way I could get some work done, and
you don’t have to sit here for an hour.”
I broke our gaze and nodded my head, even though I was completely unaware of what he had just
told me. I did not look at him, and he stood there, leaning on my truck window, a dark figure that
blocked all other thoughts. After what seemed like forever, he realized I wasn’t planning on leaving and
he said through the window crack, “A couple rows oughtta do it,” and he made his way back into the fog.
I moved my truck and picked at the small breakfast I had brought myself. I then picked up my cell
phone. More than anything, I wanted to appear busy. I kept picturing Mr. Black Eyes returning with a
crowbar and smashing in my window. If he saw me on my phone, he could not harm me. At least, that’s
what I told myself.
I automatically dialed my fiancé Matthew. He picked up after three rings and whispered, “Baby, you’re
the one who chooses to wake up this early. Why make me?” Just hearing him calmed my nerves and
slowed my breathing down to normal. More than anything I wanted to be snuggled in our new bed in our
new apartment.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just got to this new mall way too early so I have nothing to do and then this
creepy guy came and told me to move my car and I got a little paranoid and I just wanted to call you.” I
caught my own hazel green eyes in my rearview mirror and smiled at my ridiculousness. Mr. Black Eyes
was just a construction worker. He hadn’t posed any real threat at all.
“Well, I’m glad to be of service. Did you get the breakfast?” Matthew half whispered, half-croaked
out the question. I laughed at his early morning logic, or lack thereof.
“You mean did I bring breakfast? Yes, I have a banana and half an English muffin. I ate that before I
called you. Maybe when you wake-up you can come visit me at my new store.”
“Are you okay babe? You really sound kinda shaky. I was gonna get up in about an hour anyway to
go jogging. I’ll try to come by after my run. What’s the exit again?”
As I was talking, I saw headlights through the fog and checked my clock again. 4:25. “Okay,
someone else just got here. I’m sorry I woke you up. I really am okay. You know how I get. I’m off at
noon so if you can’t make it I’ll see you at home. Love you.” I hung up and got out of my car just as a
white Cherokee jeep pulled up next to me. A tall thin man with curly blonde hair and a friendly smile got
out. He had a young, pretty face, but I pegged him at about thirty, thirty-two.
“Hi, I’m Randall. You’re early.” He extended his hand to me. I took it. His skin was surprisingly soft.
“Hi Randall, I’m Brianne, and yes, I am early.” I gave him the cheesy smile I reserve for meeting new
people. He cut through the fog and headed towards the mall. I fell in step behind him.
“Is it always foggy like this?” I asked him. When we had gotten inside I was relieved to see the layout
of the store. It was exactly like my old store. This would be a piece of cake.
“Yes, every day since we opened it’s been like this. That, and the fact that we’re way up on this hill
really keeps early morning business away. It’s a pain in the you-know-what. But supposedly they’re
building apartments up behind this mall. When those are completed, this fog won’t be able to do a darn-
tootin thing.” When Randall made that comment, there was something in his voice, maybe it was the
high pitch, which sounded homosexual to me. I had a bad habit of judging people right away.
“Speaking of early morning, nobody told me this store opened half an hour later than normal stores.”
“Oh, well that’s not very nice, is it?” Randall gave me a sympathetic smile. “We might as well open at
ten when the rest of the mall opens. The only customers we get before then are the security officers,
but even they don’t get here this early. There’s this one security guard who gets here really early to
unlock the doors, but then I think he goes down to get some donuts.” He laughed at the thought.
“I think I saw his truck in the parking lot,” I said, feeling even sillier about my fear.
“Really? I didn’t see a truck. Must have been the fog,” Randall looked a little flustered, but I wasn’t
really paying attention to him.
“Probably,” I said, absent-mindedly while I began unloading the boxes of pastries.
“Brianne you have great hair. Is it naturally red?” Randall asked, one hand on his hip. Maybe I didn’t
judge too quickly.
“Yeah. It’s brownish red. My mom has red hair.”
“But I bet it’s not naturally perfectly curly like that,” Randall teased.
I laughed. “Actually it’s not. I need anti-frizz and a whole lotta gel to make these curls.”
“Well, it’s fabulous.”
I thanked him as I set up a pastry tray full of oozing raspberry peach muffins. I grabbed the extra-
large knife we used to cut up the coffee cake and finished the task at hand. When that was done, I took
the full trash bag in to the back room. Our oversized trashcan in the back was overflowing already.
“Randall, the closers didn’t take the trash out last night,” I hollered out to the front of the store.
“Yeah, they never do. Closers are so damn lazy! They think because we don’t have many customers
in the morning that we can just pick up their GOD damn slack all the time,” he huffed and puffed as he
made his way to the back and glared at the trashcan.
“I’ll take it out, don’t worry. Where are the dumpsters that we use?” I tried to comfort my angry
new boss.
“Oh, it’s kinda complicated. You’re gonna go out the front door, take a left, and around the corner
there’s a big set of gray double doors. Go through those, and go down the hallway until you get to the
other double doors. Once you go through those, you’ll be back outside and there’s a giant brown
dumpster. Don’t use the green one, that’s for recycle only. Make sure you turn on the compacter once
you’re done dumping. We get in trouble all the time for forgetting to do that.”
I repeated his directions back to him to make sure I had it right and then set off. The second I was
outside I regretted my generous offer. It was unnaturally quiet and the fog had not yet burned off. I
found the big set of double doors and opened them. A long narrow hallway stretched out before me. At
least it was pretty well-lit and there was no fog. As I walked slowly down the hall, dragging the dripping
trashcan behind me, I noticed familiar store names on the doors. I figured this was the garbage route for
the entire mall. The thought of all those empty stores on the other side of the wall made me
uncomfortable. I started picturing Mr. Black Eyes again, imagining him crashing through one of the doors
with a chainsaw. My heart beat faster and I picked up my pace to get to the other side of the hall.
I reached the double doors and pushed through. I was in an outdoor courtyard with two big
dumpsters. This area was not well-lit. I could hardly distinguish which one was green and which one was
brown through the fog. I opened a little side door of the brown dumpster and started unloading the
bags. When I was done, I closed the door and pressed the “Start” button on the side. An incredibly loud
bang initiated the compacting and made me jump. It was a lot louder than I thought it would be.
Irritating and sinister. It was like six different screams in six different octaves, mixed with a loud
vibration. I stood in awe as the cycle finished. I shook myself out of the trance and turned around,
bumping right in to the chest of Mr. Black Eyes.
A miniature scream sounded from my mouth and I was tempted to run away when he laughed. His
laugh was airy and squeaky, like my Uncle Joey’s laugh when he’s had too much to drink at Christmas.
My heart pounded in my ears and I slowly backed away until I felt the cold steel of the recycle dumpster
on the back of my neck.
He continued laughing until he finally caught his breath and said, “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He took
a step towards me and I snapped out of it.
“That’s okay,” I said loudly, making sure if anyone was around they would hear me. He kept coming
towards me, so I grabbed the now empty trashcan, turned and walked briskly towards the doors,
glancing over my shoulder at him. He didn’t follow; he was just studying the dumpsters with those
eyebrows cinched up again. I opened the double doors and continued through the creepy hallway,
vowing to never take the trash out at this store again. Then I heard the double doors open again and
slam shut fifty feet behind me.
I looked over my shoulder and saw to my horror that Mr. Black Eyes was following me. His arms
weighted down with that thick, navy blue jacket swung surprisingly quickly at his side. He yelled “Hey!”
and then he started to jog. I let go of the trashcan. I ran. I knew how stupid and inappropriate it looked,
but I didn’t care. I burst through the double doors to the other side and ran into Starbucks.
Randall looked up, shocked and concerned.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, rushing to my side.
“Lock the front door,” I managed to get out through my panting.
“Brianne, what happened?” Randall asked me, pulling out his store keys but not moving towards the
door.
“LOCK THE FRONT DOOR,” I yelled at him, “I’m being followed.”
Randall ran to the front door, which was made of glass, and locked it. He stood at it, looking
through it, trying to break through the fog and see my follower.
I started crying. I let myself fall to the floor and just kept crying in to my knees.
“Brianne you’re freaking me out. Is this a Halloween trick? ‘Cause it’s not funny. What the hell is
going on? There’s no one out there,” Randall said sternly.
“There was some guy who was here when I got here. I thought he was a construction worker ‘cause
he told me to move my car. And then he was at the dumpsters when I got there but he didn’t have any
trash…” I was ridiculously embarrassed. I was terrified. I wanted to go home.
Randall walked over to me and helped me to my feet. He put his arm around me and walked me to
the back. He told me to sit down at the manager’s desk and take my time gaining my composure.
“You said there was a truck in the parking lot this morning?” Randall asked me.
I nodded.
“A white truck?”
I nodded again.
“The man you saw, did he have black eyes?” he asked me, his voice suddenly wavering. The question
turned my stomach into a block of ice. I looked up at him through my blurred vision and nodded a third
time.
Suddenly Randall was a mess. He ran out to the front of the store and I vaguely heard him making a
phone call. He sounded squeaky and he was talking really fast. Then he ran back to me. He was
breathing hard and he had drops of sweat forming on his brow.
“You know him, Randall?”
“His name is Jason. He was my boyfriend. I broke up with him almost nine months ago and he
attacked me.” Randall lifted his shirt and I saw a dark pink scar contrasted on his pale stomach. “He
punched through a window of my apartment in the middle of the night and stabbed me with a piece of
the broken glass. He’s crazy, like, in the literal sense. I thought they locked him up.”
“Shit,” I sounded like a robot while I recalled the scar on the man’s arm. I was suddenly very dizzy.
“I called mall security, but as I thought they aren’t back yet. So I called the Simi police and they said
could be here in…” Randall was cut off by the sound of shattered glass.
We both jumped to our feet. Randall grabbed a box cutter off the desk and told me to stay behind
him. I glanced around for a weapon of my own. Where was that knife I was using to cut the pastries?
“Randy!” A voice called out. Randall pushed me further into the back room. He whispered for me to
try to hide myself among the boxes. I nodded and looked around for the biggest box we had. That’s
when I heard him scream.
I whipped back around and Randall was nowhere. I heard a struggle in the front of the store, grunts
and high pitched screams. The screams stopped. Then Jason’s dark figure stepped in to the back room.
I had no weapon and I had nowhere to hide. Jason held the huge pastry knife, as well as my gaze.
He slowly stepped toward me and, as he got closer, I saw the blood glinting on the knife. Either blood, or
raspberry muffin filling. I prayed it was the muffin.
“PLEASE!” I screamed, he swung at me with the knife, grazing my neck, then backhanded me, and
everything went black.
I came to with a tremendous headache, and the floor was moving. I quickly realized the floor was not
moving, but I was being dragged across it, leaving a little trail of blood behind. I tried to turn my head,
but I was jarred by the pain. I then recognized my surroundings. Narrow hallway. Cement walls. Jason
had me by the hair and was dragging me toward the second pair of double doors. But why me? I slowly
realized that I was the only witness to a murder, and there was no one else around.
“HELP!” I screamed the second we burst in to the courtyard. In the background of my scream, I
heard six different screams, coming from the compactor. I didn’t understand why that was on. Jason
lifted me by my hair and stood me on my feet, only to backhand me again, causing me to fall to my
hands and knees.
“No one can hear you!” he yelled. He laughed in that sick, alcoholic way and then joined me in my
screaming. He did not make any words, just screamed in between laughs. He threw his head back and let
animal noises loose from his throat. I couldn’t get to my feet and I could hardly see anything. I pressed
my hand to the sting in my neck, feeling warmth and slightly sticky moisture. Jason opened the door to
the garbage bin and grabbed me by the hair again.
I screamed hysterically when I realized his intentions and began kicking as hard as I could. He hit the
red button that made the compactor stop, just long enough to throw me in. As I landed I turned to
plead with him one more time. His black eyes stared directly in to mine, and he closed the door, smiling,
shutting me into darkness.
I screamed and I screamed. My hand landed in something wet, and when I looked I could barely
make out the face of Randall. I had put my hand in his dead mouth. I gagged and wretched with vomit.
Then I heard the loud bang and felt the vibration.
The vibration stopped as soon as it had started. I kept screaming, half hearing the vibration ringing
in my ears even though it had stopped. I imagined my dead face right next to Randall’s, and then the
door opened.
“BREE?” Matthew yelled in to the opening. He was holding the pastry knife, and he had blood
smeared all over his hands, face, and chest.
He threw the knife on the ground, reached through the opening, and grabbed my wrist. I allowed
him to pull me through. When I was out I collapsed in to his arms, sobbing. Over his shoulder I saw Mr.
Black Eyes, twisted awkwardly on the ground in a pool of blood. Matthew squeezed me and started
crying.
He managed to whisper, “What if I had gone on my run? What if I hadn’t come?” We clung to each
other for several more minutes when three police officers burst through the double doors. The fog had
just started to clear.
The new Starbucks that I was transferring to was in an outdoor strip mall in a small town North of Los
Angeles called Simi Valley. It took me thirty minutes to get there from my two bedroom apartment in the
neighboring city of Northridge. It only took so long because it was built at the top of a very large hill, a
little out of the way and inconvenient, I thought, to have much business, but apparently the closest mall
to Simi Valley had been a good deal away until this one popped up. There were several Starbucks closer
to where I lived, and by several I mean one on every corner, but I was offered a slight pay raise to work
at this new store. Apparently they were understaffed, and a bit desperate.
I pulled into the huge Simi Valley Town Center parking lot at 3:50 AM. This store had only been open
for three weeks. It was dark as hell outside and no other cars were in the lot yet, except for a white pick-
up truck filled with construction scraps. Apparently the mall was not quite finished. The sign said
“Opening October 1st.” Considering it was already the twenty-second I thought it was odd that there
was still a need for touch-ups.
Since the mall was placed on the top of a hill, a layer of fog floated on the eerily empty lot. It seemed
thicker than any fog I had ever experienced, almost like smoke. I looked at the clock inside my car. 4:07.
Someone should have been here by now. I began to think maybe that construction truck really belonged
to a Starbucks employee and that I was going to clock in late on my first day at a new store. That just
could not be allowed.
I got out of my car, saw a shadow briskly approaching me, and got right back in. I locked the doors
and stared as hard as I could to try to make out who or what this figure was. My pulse quickened as the
figure broke through the haze. A tall man wearing black pants, a dark gray sweatshirt, and navy blue
jacket came right up to my window.
He had a five o’ clock shadow and a football player’s physique, tall and bulky. His eyes were squinty,
and his face was damp with moisture from the air. He motioned for me to roll down my window. I glanced
around to see if anyone else from Starbucks had arrived yet. The fog was so thick I could barely see
three rows over. I turned my attention back to the tall dark man. I rolled my window down a quarter of
an inch.
“Can I help you?” I said towards the crack in my window.
He peered into my truck, past me, and seemed to be looking for something before he spoke.
“How you doin’?” he asked. His voice seemed friendly enough, not monotonous and not threatening.
Still, I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable with the way he studied the interior of my truck.
“I just wanted to let you know you can’t be parkin’ here. We’re plannin’ on tearin’ up some ground
just under you. Would you mind movin’ a few rows over?” He said the words slowly, and had a
mischievous smile as he talked. His thick black eyebrows wrinkled in his squint.
“How many rows do you think? Because I work at the Starbucks and I don’t want to be too far…” I
was explaining but the man cut me off.
“You work at Starbucks? Is that what that green apron is on the floor? This Starbucks doesn’t open
until 5:00, you aware of that?” He glanced at his watch as he said this. Under the dark black hairs of his
arm, I noticed a thick pink line of raised skin across his hand about four inches long. That was a hell of a
scar. We made eye contact for the first time. Even in the heavy fog, I could see the darkness of his eyes.
The pupil couldn’t be distinguished from the rest of his eye. It scared me.
“You should probably go home, come back in a little bit. That way I could get some work done, and
you don’t have to sit here for an hour.”
I broke our gaze and nodded my head, even though I was completely unaware of what he had just
told me. I did not look at him, and he stood there, leaning on my truck window, a dark figure that
blocked all other thoughts. After what seemed like forever, he realized I wasn’t planning on leaving and
he said through the window crack, “A couple rows oughtta do it,” and he made his way back into the fog.
I moved my truck and picked at the small breakfast I had brought myself. I then picked up my cell
phone. More than anything, I wanted to appear busy. I kept picturing Mr. Black Eyes returning with a
crowbar and smashing in my window. If he saw me on my phone, he could not harm me. At least, that’s
what I told myself.
I automatically dialed my fiancé Matthew. He picked up after three rings and whispered, “Baby, you’re
the one who chooses to wake up this early. Why make me?” Just hearing him calmed my nerves and
slowed my breathing down to normal. More than anything I wanted to be snuggled in our new bed in our
new apartment.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just got to this new mall way too early so I have nothing to do and then this
creepy guy came and told me to move my car and I got a little paranoid and I just wanted to call you.” I
caught my own hazel green eyes in my rearview mirror and smiled at my ridiculousness. Mr. Black Eyes
was just a construction worker. He hadn’t posed any real threat at all.
“Well, I’m glad to be of service. Did you get the breakfast?” Matthew half whispered, half-croaked
out the question. I laughed at his early morning logic, or lack thereof.
“You mean did I bring breakfast? Yes, I have a banana and half an English muffin. I ate that before I
called you. Maybe when you wake-up you can come visit me at my new store.”
“Are you okay babe? You really sound kinda shaky. I was gonna get up in about an hour anyway to
go jogging. I’ll try to come by after my run. What’s the exit again?”
As I was talking, I saw headlights through the fog and checked my clock again. 4:25. “Okay,
someone else just got here. I’m sorry I woke you up. I really am okay. You know how I get. I’m off at
noon so if you can’t make it I’ll see you at home. Love you.” I hung up and got out of my car just as a
white Cherokee jeep pulled up next to me. A tall thin man with curly blonde hair and a friendly smile got
out. He had a young, pretty face, but I pegged him at about thirty, thirty-two.
“Hi, I’m Randall. You’re early.” He extended his hand to me. I took it. His skin was surprisingly soft.
“Hi Randall, I’m Brianne, and yes, I am early.” I gave him the cheesy smile I reserve for meeting new
people. He cut through the fog and headed towards the mall. I fell in step behind him.
“Is it always foggy like this?” I asked him. When we had gotten inside I was relieved to see the layout
of the store. It was exactly like my old store. This would be a piece of cake.
“Yes, every day since we opened it’s been like this. That, and the fact that we’re way up on this hill
really keeps early morning business away. It’s a pain in the you-know-what. But supposedly they’re
building apartments up behind this mall. When those are completed, this fog won’t be able to do a darn-
tootin thing.” When Randall made that comment, there was something in his voice, maybe it was the
high pitch, which sounded homosexual to me. I had a bad habit of judging people right away.
“Speaking of early morning, nobody told me this store opened half an hour later than normal stores.”
“Oh, well that’s not very nice, is it?” Randall gave me a sympathetic smile. “We might as well open at
ten when the rest of the mall opens. The only customers we get before then are the security officers,
but even they don’t get here this early. There’s this one security guard who gets here really early to
unlock the doors, but then I think he goes down to get some donuts.” He laughed at the thought.
“I think I saw his truck in the parking lot,” I said, feeling even sillier about my fear.
“Really? I didn’t see a truck. Must have been the fog,” Randall looked a little flustered, but I wasn’t
really paying attention to him.
“Probably,” I said, absent-mindedly while I began unloading the boxes of pastries.
“Brianne you have great hair. Is it naturally red?” Randall asked, one hand on his hip. Maybe I didn’t
judge too quickly.
“Yeah. It’s brownish red. My mom has red hair.”
“But I bet it’s not naturally perfectly curly like that,” Randall teased.
I laughed. “Actually it’s not. I need anti-frizz and a whole lotta gel to make these curls.”
“Well, it’s fabulous.”
I thanked him as I set up a pastry tray full of oozing raspberry peach muffins. I grabbed the extra-
large knife we used to cut up the coffee cake and finished the task at hand. When that was done, I took
the full trash bag in to the back room. Our oversized trashcan in the back was overflowing already.
“Randall, the closers didn’t take the trash out last night,” I hollered out to the front of the store.
“Yeah, they never do. Closers are so damn lazy! They think because we don’t have many customers
in the morning that we can just pick up their GOD damn slack all the time,” he huffed and puffed as he
made his way to the back and glared at the trashcan.
“I’ll take it out, don’t worry. Where are the dumpsters that we use?” I tried to comfort my angry
new boss.
“Oh, it’s kinda complicated. You’re gonna go out the front door, take a left, and around the corner
there’s a big set of gray double doors. Go through those, and go down the hallway until you get to the
other double doors. Once you go through those, you’ll be back outside and there’s a giant brown
dumpster. Don’t use the green one, that’s for recycle only. Make sure you turn on the compacter once
you’re done dumping. We get in trouble all the time for forgetting to do that.”
I repeated his directions back to him to make sure I had it right and then set off. The second I was
outside I regretted my generous offer. It was unnaturally quiet and the fog had not yet burned off. I
found the big set of double doors and opened them. A long narrow hallway stretched out before me. At
least it was pretty well-lit and there was no fog. As I walked slowly down the hall, dragging the dripping
trashcan behind me, I noticed familiar store names on the doors. I figured this was the garbage route for
the entire mall. The thought of all those empty stores on the other side of the wall made me
uncomfortable. I started picturing Mr. Black Eyes again, imagining him crashing through one of the doors
with a chainsaw. My heart beat faster and I picked up my pace to get to the other side of the hall.
I reached the double doors and pushed through. I was in an outdoor courtyard with two big
dumpsters. This area was not well-lit. I could hardly distinguish which one was green and which one was
brown through the fog. I opened a little side door of the brown dumpster and started unloading the
bags. When I was done, I closed the door and pressed the “Start” button on the side. An incredibly loud
bang initiated the compacting and made me jump. It was a lot louder than I thought it would be.
Irritating and sinister. It was like six different screams in six different octaves, mixed with a loud
vibration. I stood in awe as the cycle finished. I shook myself out of the trance and turned around,
bumping right in to the chest of Mr. Black Eyes.
A miniature scream sounded from my mouth and I was tempted to run away when he laughed. His
laugh was airy and squeaky, like my Uncle Joey’s laugh when he’s had too much to drink at Christmas.
My heart pounded in my ears and I slowly backed away until I felt the cold steel of the recycle dumpster
on the back of my neck.
He continued laughing until he finally caught his breath and said, “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He took
a step towards me and I snapped out of it.
“That’s okay,” I said loudly, making sure if anyone was around they would hear me. He kept coming
towards me, so I grabbed the now empty trashcan, turned and walked briskly towards the doors,
glancing over my shoulder at him. He didn’t follow; he was just studying the dumpsters with those
eyebrows cinched up again. I opened the double doors and continued through the creepy hallway,
vowing to never take the trash out at this store again. Then I heard the double doors open again and
slam shut fifty feet behind me.
I looked over my shoulder and saw to my horror that Mr. Black Eyes was following me. His arms
weighted down with that thick, navy blue jacket swung surprisingly quickly at his side. He yelled “Hey!”
and then he started to jog. I let go of the trashcan. I ran. I knew how stupid and inappropriate it looked,
but I didn’t care. I burst through the double doors to the other side and ran into Starbucks.
Randall looked up, shocked and concerned.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, rushing to my side.
“Lock the front door,” I managed to get out through my panting.
“Brianne, what happened?” Randall asked me, pulling out his store keys but not moving towards the
door.
“LOCK THE FRONT DOOR,” I yelled at him, “I’m being followed.”
Randall ran to the front door, which was made of glass, and locked it. He stood at it, looking
through it, trying to break through the fog and see my follower.
I started crying. I let myself fall to the floor and just kept crying in to my knees.
“Brianne you’re freaking me out. Is this a Halloween trick? ‘Cause it’s not funny. What the hell is
going on? There’s no one out there,” Randall said sternly.
“There was some guy who was here when I got here. I thought he was a construction worker ‘cause
he told me to move my car. And then he was at the dumpsters when I got there but he didn’t have any
trash…” I was ridiculously embarrassed. I was terrified. I wanted to go home.
Randall walked over to me and helped me to my feet. He put his arm around me and walked me to
the back. He told me to sit down at the manager’s desk and take my time gaining my composure.
“You said there was a truck in the parking lot this morning?” Randall asked me.
I nodded.
“A white truck?”
I nodded again.
“The man you saw, did he have black eyes?” he asked me, his voice suddenly wavering. The question
turned my stomach into a block of ice. I looked up at him through my blurred vision and nodded a third
time.
Suddenly Randall was a mess. He ran out to the front of the store and I vaguely heard him making a
phone call. He sounded squeaky and he was talking really fast. Then he ran back to me. He was
breathing hard and he had drops of sweat forming on his brow.
“You know him, Randall?”
“His name is Jason. He was my boyfriend. I broke up with him almost nine months ago and he
attacked me.” Randall lifted his shirt and I saw a dark pink scar contrasted on his pale stomach. “He
punched through a window of my apartment in the middle of the night and stabbed me with a piece of
the broken glass. He’s crazy, like, in the literal sense. I thought they locked him up.”
“Shit,” I sounded like a robot while I recalled the scar on the man’s arm. I was suddenly very dizzy.
“I called mall security, but as I thought they aren’t back yet. So I called the Simi police and they said
could be here in…” Randall was cut off by the sound of shattered glass.
We both jumped to our feet. Randall grabbed a box cutter off the desk and told me to stay behind
him. I glanced around for a weapon of my own. Where was that knife I was using to cut the pastries?
“Randy!” A voice called out. Randall pushed me further into the back room. He whispered for me to
try to hide myself among the boxes. I nodded and looked around for the biggest box we had. That’s
when I heard him scream.
I whipped back around and Randall was nowhere. I heard a struggle in the front of the store, grunts
and high pitched screams. The screams stopped. Then Jason’s dark figure stepped in to the back room.
I had no weapon and I had nowhere to hide. Jason held the huge pastry knife, as well as my gaze.
He slowly stepped toward me and, as he got closer, I saw the blood glinting on the knife. Either blood, or
raspberry muffin filling. I prayed it was the muffin.
“PLEASE!” I screamed, he swung at me with the knife, grazing my neck, then backhanded me, and
everything went black.
I came to with a tremendous headache, and the floor was moving. I quickly realized the floor was not
moving, but I was being dragged across it, leaving a little trail of blood behind. I tried to turn my head,
but I was jarred by the pain. I then recognized my surroundings. Narrow hallway. Cement walls. Jason
had me by the hair and was dragging me toward the second pair of double doors. But why me? I slowly
realized that I was the only witness to a murder, and there was no one else around.
“HELP!” I screamed the second we burst in to the courtyard. In the background of my scream, I
heard six different screams, coming from the compactor. I didn’t understand why that was on. Jason
lifted me by my hair and stood me on my feet, only to backhand me again, causing me to fall to my
hands and knees.
“No one can hear you!” he yelled. He laughed in that sick, alcoholic way and then joined me in my
screaming. He did not make any words, just screamed in between laughs. He threw his head back and let
animal noises loose from his throat. I couldn’t get to my feet and I could hardly see anything. I pressed
my hand to the sting in my neck, feeling warmth and slightly sticky moisture. Jason opened the door to
the garbage bin and grabbed me by the hair again.
I screamed hysterically when I realized his intentions and began kicking as hard as I could. He hit the
red button that made the compactor stop, just long enough to throw me in. As I landed I turned to
plead with him one more time. His black eyes stared directly in to mine, and he closed the door, smiling,
shutting me into darkness.
I screamed and I screamed. My hand landed in something wet, and when I looked I could barely
make out the face of Randall. I had put my hand in his dead mouth. I gagged and wretched with vomit.
Then I heard the loud bang and felt the vibration.
The vibration stopped as soon as it had started. I kept screaming, half hearing the vibration ringing
in my ears even though it had stopped. I imagined my dead face right next to Randall’s, and then the
door opened.
“BREE?” Matthew yelled in to the opening. He was holding the pastry knife, and he had blood
smeared all over his hands, face, and chest.
He threw the knife on the ground, reached through the opening, and grabbed my wrist. I allowed
him to pull me through. When I was out I collapsed in to his arms, sobbing. Over his shoulder I saw Mr.
Black Eyes, twisted awkwardly on the ground in a pool of blood. Matthew squeezed me and started
crying.
He managed to whisper, “What if I had gone on my run? What if I hadn’t come?” We clung to each
other for several more minutes when three police officers burst through the double doors. The fog had
just started to clear.
In the Fog
by Shannon Leigh
by Shannon Leigh
