# 7 True 7-Eleven Horror Stories True Scary Encounters at Convenience Stores

An episode of [AfterDark Reddits](https://invisiblenetwork.ai/podcast/1896809423), 24 Oct 2026, 54 min.

Audio: https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74987389/053_7_true_7_eleven_horror_stories_true_scary_encounters_at_convenience_stores.mp3



## Transcript

[0:03] Speaker 1: Long shifts feel like borrowed time. Time you don't own.
[0:06] Speaker 1: Time your body owes to someone else. That night I'd
[0:10] Speaker 1: just finished 18 hours straight on my feet at St.
[0:13] Speaker 1: Boniface Hospital. My name's Jesse Carter. I'm 32, a nursing assistant,
[0:17] Speaker 1: and I make just enough money to stay afloat as
[0:20] Speaker 1: long as nothing goes wrong. But everything went wrong that week.
[0:24] Speaker 1: My paycheck was delayed. Again. I'd been checking the app
[0:29] Speaker 1: every 20 minutes between changing bedpans and pushing meal carts
[0:32] Speaker 1: like my bank balance was going to suddenly sprout money.
[0:36] Speaker 1: It didn't. Still, 87 cents. I had a 2010 Dodge
[0:40] Speaker 1: Caliber parked in the staff lot, and that hunk of
[0:43] Speaker 1: junk had more leaks than a hospital secret. It was
[0:47] Speaker 1: 28 degrees Celsius with wind chill, and every breath felt
[0:50] Speaker 1: like chewing glass. The gas light had been on since,
[0:54] Speaker 1: halfway through my shift, and the tank was bone dry
[0:57] Speaker 1: by the time I reached the 7-Eleven on Pembina Highway.
[1:00] Speaker 1: The only place open this late. The lights buzzed overhead
[1:04] Speaker 1: like angry bugs, and everything had that washed-out neon look,
[1:08] Speaker 1: like the world itself was tired. I scraped together the
[1:12] Speaker 1: last of my coins, enough for maybe three liters, just
[1:16] Speaker 1: enough to get me back to my basement suite off Stafford.
[1:19] Speaker 1: As I pulled into the lot, I saw a man
[1:21] Speaker 1: standing at the next pump, hunched, thin, torn bomber jacket
[1:26] Speaker 1: clinging to his frame like dead skin. He was messing
[1:30] Speaker 1: with something in his hands. Looked. Like a lighter, our
[1:34] Speaker 1: eyes met. His were pale, bloodshot. Something about them made
[1:39] Speaker 1: my stomach twist. Hey, he said. You got a smoke?
[1:44] Speaker 1: I shook my head. No, sorry. He took a step closer.
[1:49] Speaker 1: Come on. Nurses always got smokes. I froze. How? Did
[1:55] Speaker 1: he know I was a nurse? Fucking liar, he screamed.
[1:59] Speaker 1: The words sliced through the silence. Then came the bang.
[2:02] Speaker 1: his fist slamming into the side of the gas pump
[2:04] Speaker 1: so hard it triggered the safety alarm. I flinched and
[2:08] Speaker 1: instinctively turned to shield myself as he grabbed a jagged
[2:11] Speaker 1: chunk of sidewalk ice and hurled it. It smacked into
[2:14] Speaker 1: the side of my car, cracking the passenger side window.
[2:18] Speaker 1: I didn't think, I just ran, fumbled with my keys,
[2:21] Speaker 1: barely got the door open. My hands were so cold
[2:24] Speaker 1: I couldn't feel the handle. The engine stuttered, once, twice,
[2:29] Speaker 1: before finally groaning to life. In the mirror I saw
[2:33] Speaker 1: him coming, sprinting, now wielding a tire iron like he'd
[2:37] Speaker 1: conjured it from the cold. I peeled out of the lot,
[2:40] Speaker 1: tires skidding on packed snow. As I passed, the drive-thru
[2:45] Speaker 1: window I screamed, call the cops! The clerk's eyes barely moved,
[2:49] Speaker 1: just blinked at me like she'd seen this before. Maybe
[2:52] Speaker 1: she had. I drove blindly, heart pounding in my ears.
[2:57] Speaker 1: Each red light felt like a trap, each pedestrian a threat.
[3:01] Speaker 1: When I finally pulled into the cracked pavement behind my apartment,
[3:05] Speaker 1: I barely remembered the drive. My hands trembled as I
[3:08] Speaker 1: cut the engine. I kept the knife block from my
[3:12] Speaker 1: kitchen in the car that night, grabbed one, the biggest one. Inside,
[3:16] Speaker 1: my suite smelled like mildew and dust. I pushed a
[3:20] Speaker 1: chair against the door, turned all the lights on, and
[3:23] Speaker 1: sat on the floor with the knife across my lap.
[3:27] Speaker 1: The 911 dispatcher stayed with me on the phone the
[3:29] Speaker 1: whole time. Her voice was calm Mine shook like it
[3:33] Speaker 1: belonged to someone else. That night I didn't sleep, I
[3:36] Speaker 1: just listened. For footsteps, for metal scraping concrete, for another bang,
[3:41] Speaker 1: I went back the next morning. I don't know why.
[3:44] Speaker 1: Maybe I needed to see that it was real. Maybe
[3:48] Speaker 1: I needed it not to be. The sun hadn't warmed
[3:51] Speaker 1: a thing. Still bitter, dry air. The kind that burned
[3:55] Speaker 1: your lungs and made the world feel brittle. The 7-Eleven
[3:59] Speaker 1: looked different in daylight. The same clerk was there. Tired-looking girl.
[4:06] Speaker 1: Septum ring. Hoodie with a bleach stain on the sleeve.
[4:10] Speaker 1: She didn't even flinch when I walked in. You made
[4:13] Speaker 1: it out, she said. Like it was casual. Like I'd
[4:17] Speaker 1: survived a job interview. Who was he? I asked, grabbing
[4:22] Speaker 1: an energy drink I didn't want. Derek, she replied, popping
[4:26] Speaker 1: her gum. He comes around every full moon when his
[4:29] Speaker 1: meth check drops. Is he always like that? Last month
[4:34] Speaker 1: he bit a cop. Couple months back he threatened to
[4:36] Speaker 1: blow the place up because we ran out of Red Bull.
[4:39] Speaker 1: I stared at the pump, pump three, where it happened.
[4:43] Speaker 1: A new sticker had been slapped over the dented side.
[4:47] Speaker 1: Out of order. Just like that. No news story. No caution. Tape.
[4:53] Speaker 1: No corporate statement, just a sticker. I paid in silence.
[4:57] Speaker 1: My hands were still trembling just enough to notice. As
[5:00] Speaker 1: I turned to leave, the clerk said, You should get
[5:03] Speaker 1: that window fixed. I paused. I can't afford to. Rent's due.
[5:08] Speaker 1: She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did. Corporate says
[5:14] Speaker 1: not to engage. Safer that way. For us. I left
[5:19] Speaker 1: feeling like I'd stepped out of a dream where no
[5:22] Speaker 1: one wakes up screaming, just shivering, cold to the bone.
[5:26] Speaker 1: Two nights later, I was back on shift. Graveyard again.
[5:30] Speaker 1: Because of course I was. The hospital. Lights felt too bright.
[5:35] Speaker 1: The air smelled like bleach and overcooked green beans. I
[5:38] Speaker 1: tried to pretend everything was fine like I was fine.
[5:41] Speaker 1: But I wasn't. Every shadow outside the parking lot made
[5:45] Speaker 1: my skin crawl. Every reflection in a glass door looked
[5:49] Speaker 1: like him. That bomber. Jacket. That look in his eyes.
[5:55] Speaker 1: I dropped a tray of medication in the hallway. My
[5:58] Speaker 1: hands just gave out. My supervisor asked if I was sick.
[6:04] Speaker 1: I said I was tired. He didn't push it. During break,
[6:08] Speaker 1: I went to the staff lounge, microwaved ramen, and stared
[6:12] Speaker 1: out the window at my car. I'd taped a garbage
[6:15] Speaker 1: bag over the cracked window. Wind whistled through it like
[6:18] Speaker 1: someone whispering. That night, I started keeping my knife in
[6:21] Speaker 1: my work bag, just in case. Sleep became a stranger.
[6:27] Speaker 1: I kept waking up in the dark thinking I heard
[6:29] Speaker 1: someone at the door. I kept checking locks that were
[6:33] Speaker 1: already locked. I told a co-worker about it. She nodded
[6:36] Speaker 1: solemnly and said, You should carry pepper spray, but you know,
[6:39] Speaker 1: that's illegal here. We laughed, sort of. The next day,
[6:43] Speaker 1: HR sent out an email about self-care and mindfulness tips.
[6:47] Speaker 1: I deleted it without opening it. What do you do
[6:51] Speaker 1: when trauma feels like routine? When terror doesn't come with
[6:54] Speaker 1: sirens or headlines? You go to work. You fake a smile.
[6:59] Speaker 1: You walk to your car with your keys in hand
[7:01] Speaker 1: like a weapon, and you never stop checking behind you.
[7:06] Speaker 1: Weeks passed. The snow turned to slush, then back to ice.
[7:12] Speaker 1: Winnipeg's like that, relentless. I got the window fixed eventually.
[7:16] Speaker 1: After skipping a few meals, still haven't replaced my winter boots,
[7:20] Speaker 1: but the window doesn't rattle anymore. I saw Derek again.
[7:24] Speaker 1: Not in person, just a blurry photo on a community
[7:27] Speaker 1: Facebook group. Someone posted a grainy shot of him yelling
[7:31] Speaker 1: outside another gas station. The comments said he'd gotten arrested. Again. Released. Again.
[7:39] Speaker 1: I didn't feel relieved. Just... tired. The police never followed
[7:45] Speaker 1: up on my report. I wasn't surprised. No one pressed charges.
[7:49] Speaker 1: No one had the energy. Trauma like this doesn't come
[7:52] Speaker 1: with a climax. It's not a movie. There's no dramatic
[7:55] Speaker 1: court case. No sudden healing. You just keep going. because
[7:58] Speaker 1: you have to. I still stop for gas at night.
[8:01] Speaker 1: I still flinch when someone walks too close to me
[8:03] Speaker 1: at the pump. I don't make eye contact anymore. I
[8:07] Speaker 1: don't talk unless I have to. One night I drove
[8:10] Speaker 1: past that same 7-Eleven. A new out-of-order sticker was on
[8:14] Speaker 1: pump six now. Funny thing. The stickers, always clean, always straight.
[8:21] Speaker 1: Like they've gotten real good at applying them. I guess
[8:24] Speaker 1: that's what you do when things break and you can't
[8:26] Speaker 1: fix them. You cover it up, You pretend it's just
[8:28] Speaker 1: another night, and you keep driving. I used to think
[8:35] Speaker 1: bad things didn't happen in West End. We were the
[8:38] Speaker 1: kind of neighborhood with fairy lights strung over backyard patios
[8:41] Speaker 1: and kids tearing through sprinklers barefoot. That February, I was 11.
[8:48] Speaker 1: Everything felt simple. Cricket Inn, the cul-de-sac, superhero comics tucked
[8:54] Speaker 1: under my pillow in summer holidays that seemed to last forever.
[8:58] Speaker 1: That afternoon, the sun was brutal, hot enough to make
[9:02] Speaker 1: the pavement shimmer. I was skipping beside my sister, Mia,
[9:06] Speaker 1: toward the 7-Eleven on Boundary Street for free Slurpee Day.
[9:10] Speaker 1: I was giddy, not just about the sugar, but about
[9:14] Speaker 1: the ritual. Me, her, walking there together, even if she
[9:19] Speaker 1: grumbled about it. Stop skipping, dork, she muttered, thumbing through
[9:24] Speaker 1: her brick-like Nokia. It's just frozen sugar water But to me,
[9:29] Speaker 1: it was free blue raspberry glory. A gift from the
[9:33] Speaker 1: gods of convenience stores. When we stepped inside, the AC
[9:37] Speaker 1: hit like a blast from Antarctica. Everything was humming. The
[9:41] Speaker 1: drink machines, the fridge doors, the lazy drone of ceiling fans.
[9:45] Speaker 1: Then we saw her. A woman near the magazine rack. Tall,
[9:50] Speaker 1: dressed like a beach mom with oversized sunglasses and a
[9:53] Speaker 1: floppy straw sun hat. She had a tiny, trembling chihuahua
[9:57] Speaker 1: tucked in her elbow. Oh, you look resp- she said sweetly,
[10:01] Speaker 1: zeroing in on me. Could you hold Mr. Bubbles for
[10:04] Speaker 1: just a moment? I need to dash to the loo.
[10:07] Speaker 1: Won't be long. I looked at Mia. She shrugged. Go ahead,
[10:13] Speaker 1: dog boy. I took the chihuahua. He was warm and
[10:17] Speaker 1: shaking like he was plugged into a socket. She disappeared
[10:20] Speaker 1: into the back hallway. That's when everything shifted. It started subtle.
[10:26] Speaker 1: A guy walked in, high-vis work shirt, dusty boots like
[10:29] Speaker 1: every other tradie in Brisbane. He didn't grab a drink
[10:32] Speaker 1: or look at the shelves. He scanned the store until
[10:35] Speaker 1: his eyes landed on me. He smiled, too wide. Hey, mate.
[10:41] Speaker 1: Your mom sent me to get you. Car broke down.
[10:44] Speaker 1: Said to come quick. Something inside me froze. My mom
[10:47] Speaker 1: was at work. She was a nurse. She wouldn't just
[10:49] Speaker 1: send a stranger. I didn't answer. I looked at Mia.
[10:53] Speaker 1: Her head snapped up from her phone. What the hell?
[10:57] Speaker 1: She said, stepping closer to me. That's when the woman reappeared.
[11:01] Speaker 1: But the friendliness was gone like she'd peeled off a mask.
[11:05] Speaker 1: Give him the dog and come with us now, she
[11:07] Speaker 1: said sharply, reaching for my wrist. My brain lagged. I
[11:12] Speaker 1: just stood there clutching the chihuahua like it was the
[11:15] Speaker 1: only thing keeping me grounded. No. No. mia said one
[11:19] Speaker 1: word cold sharp the guy stepped forward come on kid
[11:25] Speaker 1: it's hot out don't make this harder his voice wasn't
[11:29] Speaker 1: friendly anymore i think part of me knew what was
[11:31] Speaker 1: happening but when you're 11 your brain can't quite accept
[11:36] Speaker 1: that someone wants to take you not for fun not
[11:38] Speaker 1: for help but for something dark you don't even have
[11:40] Speaker 1: words for mia didn't hesitate she moved fast like a
[11:45] Speaker 1: switch flipped inside her get off my brother She shouted,
[11:48] Speaker 1: stepping between me and the woman. Then she slammed her
[11:51] Speaker 1: whole body into the woman, shoulder first. It felt like
[11:55] Speaker 1: everything exploded at once. The woman crashed backward into a
[11:59] Speaker 1: display of Tim Tams, sending chocolate biscuits flying in, every direction.
[12:04] Speaker 1: A few clipped the drink fridges, bursting open on impact.
[12:08] Speaker 1: Mia yelled at the top of her lungs, Stranger danger!
[12:12] Speaker 1: Her voice bounced off the aisles like a fire alarm.
[12:15] Speaker 1: I still held the chihuahua. Mr. Bubbles trembled harder, or
[12:20] Speaker 1: maybe it was me. The man lunged, but Mia shoved
[12:23] Speaker 1: me back toward the counter. The girl at the register
[12:25] Speaker 1: just froze, mouth open, eyes wide like she was trying
[12:29] Speaker 1: to process whether this was a prank. Then someone else
[12:32] Speaker 1: burst through the doors. A big guy, shirtless under a
[12:36] Speaker 1: high-vis vest, grease on his hands, spanner still clutched, like
[12:41] Speaker 1: a club. You right, kids? He shouted. The man cursed
[12:45] Speaker 1: under his breath and turned to run. The woman scrambled
[12:48] Speaker 1: to her feet and bolted after him. Neither looked back.
[12:51] Speaker 1: The big guy chased them to the car park but
[12:53] Speaker 1: came back shaking his head. Gone. Bastards were in a Commodore,
[12:57] Speaker 1: no plates. Police showed up ten minutes later. By then,
[13:01] Speaker 1: I was sitting on the floor, holding the dog, and
[13:04] Speaker 1: staring at a crushed packet of Tim Tams. Mia sat
[13:08] Speaker 1: next to me, silent now, one hand still on my shoulder.
[13:12] Speaker 1: I didn't cry. I think I was too confused to.
[13:15] Speaker 1: The officers were kind but clinical. Asked questions, took statements.
[13:19] Speaker 1: Checked the CCTV. Blurry, but good enough. Turns out the
[13:24] Speaker 1: couple had done this before. Never caught. Until now. The
[13:30] Speaker 1: next day, Mom kept me home. From swimming. And school.
[13:35] Speaker 1: And anything outside. She didn't say much. Just made me
[13:39] Speaker 1: Milo and rubbed my back every time I stopped moving.
[13:42] Speaker 1: I didn't want to talk anyway. I kept replaying it
[13:45] Speaker 1: in my head. The woman's grip, that fake smile, the
[13:50] Speaker 1: spanner guy's voice. Mia got grounded for a month. Mom
[13:55] Speaker 1: was furious that she hadn't noticed sooner, hadn't called her,
[13:59] Speaker 1: hadn't said no to going out. She saved me, I said.
[14:03] Speaker 1: She screamed. She knocked that lady flat. Mom didn't argue,
[14:07] Speaker 1: but she didn't back down either. I think she was scared.
[14:10] Speaker 1: Maybe Mia was too. As for the dog, no one
[14:14] Speaker 1: claimed him. The cops said the woman likely picked him
[14:17] Speaker 1: up on the street or used him before. Just another prop.
[14:22] Speaker 1: I named him Lucky. He followed me everywhere after that.
[14:26] Speaker 1: Slept curled up on my toes. Barked. Had anyone in
[14:30] Speaker 1: a hat. I never looked at strangers the same again.
[14:33] Speaker 1: I still don't. Mom eventually apologized to Mia. Quietly, one night.
[14:40] Speaker 1: They didn't say it out loud, but I think they
[14:42] Speaker 1: both understood something shifted that day. Innocence doesn't leave all
[14:46] Speaker 1: at once. It gets peeled away, one moment at a time.
[14:50] Speaker 1: And that was one of mine. Free Slurpee Day never
[14:54] Speaker 1: felt the same after. Years. Later, when I walk by
[14:58] Speaker 1: that 7-Eleven, it still looks the same. Posters taped to
[15:01] Speaker 1: the glass, cheap snacks by the register. Aircon cranked to Antarctic.
[15:06] Speaker 1: But I see it differently now. The man wore a
[15:08] Speaker 1: high-vis shirt. Nothing more common than that in Brisbane. The
[15:12] Speaker 1: woman had a dog. Sunglasses. charm that's the scariest part
[15:19] Speaker 1: nothing about them screamed danger nothing about me said target
[15:23] Speaker 1: but it happened anyway sometimes people ask if it changed
[15:27] Speaker 1: me of course it did i double check locks i
[15:30] Speaker 1: never hold strangers pets i don't get nostalgic over free
[15:34] Speaker 1: slurpee day but i'm also alive because of mia because
[15:39] Speaker 1: of a random tradie with a spanner because that day
[15:43] Speaker 1: when everything went wrong Someone did the right thing. Lucky
[15:46] Speaker 1: lived another 10 years. Grew fat, then blind, then quiet.
[15:50] Speaker 1: He died curled up next to my bed, still trembling
[15:53] Speaker 1: sometimes in his sleep. I got a tattoo when I
[15:55] Speaker 1: turned 18. Just a little silhouette of him behind my ankle.
[15:59] Speaker 1: People think it's a joke. I don't explain it. Some
[16:03] Speaker 1: stories don't need retelling. But I carry them. All of them.
[16:08] Speaker 1: Because sometimes survival looks like a kid with a slurpee
[16:10] Speaker 1: and a dog he never wanted to let go. And
[16:13] Speaker 1: sometimes it's just about getting out. Fast enough. Loud enough.
[16:17] Speaker 1: Lucky enough. It all started the week my life came
[16:25] Speaker 1: off the rails. I was 24, working the graveyard shift
[16:29] Speaker 1: at a 7-Eleven on the edge of Red Deer, Alberta.
[16:32] Speaker 1: It wasn't where I thought I'd end up. Not when
[16:35] Speaker 1: I dropped out of college two years earlier with half
[16:37] Speaker 1: a psych degree and a full load of debt. I'd
[16:40] Speaker 1: promised myself I'd take a year off, get my shit together,
[16:43] Speaker 1: and go back stronger. But that never happened. Now I
[16:46] Speaker 1: was here, stuck under buzzing fluorescent lights, manning a counter
[16:50] Speaker 1: nobody wanted to be behind. The store sat by itself
[16:54] Speaker 1: on a cracked stretch of road, not far from a
[16:57] Speaker 1: cluster of warehouses that emptied out by six, every night.
[17:02] Speaker 1: After that, it was just wind, snow, and the sound
[17:04] Speaker 1: of flickering street lamps. That night, November 28, 2023... The
[17:09] Speaker 1: first snow of the season had just begun to stick.
[17:13] Speaker 1: It wasn't heavy, just enough to dust the asphalt and
[17:15] Speaker 1: whisper that winter had officially moved in. I was halfway
[17:20] Speaker 1: through restocking the energy drink fridge when my phone buzzed. Mia,
[17:24] Speaker 1: my younger sister, had sent another text. Still good? You okay?
[17:29] Speaker 1: She was the only one who still checked in. Our
[17:31] Speaker 1: parents were gone, our childhood home sold, and everyone else
[17:35] Speaker 1: had faded out of my life like static on a
[17:37] Speaker 1: dead TV channel. I'm Fine. Just tired, I typed back,
[17:43] Speaker 1: even though I hadn't slept right in days. The bell
[17:47] Speaker 1: above the door jingled. I didn't look up right away.
[17:50] Speaker 1: Probably another shift worker needing a Red Bull or smokes.
[17:54] Speaker 1: But then I felt it. That cold air. That pause.
[17:58] Speaker 1: Something changed. I turned. He was tall. 6'3. Maybe 6'4.
[18:06] Speaker 1: dressed in a thick black coat buttoned to the neck
[18:08] Speaker 1: and a trapper hat pulled down low. His beard looked
[18:11] Speaker 1: scraggly and frozen at the ends. Snow clung to his boots.
[18:17] Speaker 1: But it was the way he stood there, too still,
[18:19] Speaker 1: too quiet, that made my skin pull tight. Just a coffee,
[18:23] Speaker 1: he said, sliding a crumpled five across the counter. His
[18:27] Speaker 1: voice was soft, almost polite, but when his hand brushed
[18:31] Speaker 1: mine I flinched, his fingers were ice. I nodded, filled
[18:34] Speaker 1: the cup, gave him his change. He didn't move right away,
[18:38] Speaker 1: just stared at me with pale blue eyes that didn't
[18:40] Speaker 1: blink enough. Quiet night, he asked. Yeah, I muttered. He smiled.
[18:48] Speaker 1: Not warm. Just wrong. Then he left. I watched him go,
[18:55] Speaker 1: expecting him to vanish into the dark like most nightwalkers do.
[18:59] Speaker 1: But he didn't. For a second he stood outside, Sipping
[19:03] Speaker 1: his coffee and watching the store through the window. Watching me.
[19:08] Speaker 1: After he left, I tried to shake it off. Maybe
[19:11] Speaker 1: he was just cold. Maybe he was one of those
[19:14] Speaker 1: guys who lives off the grid in a shack and
[19:16] Speaker 1: only comes into town when he runs out of instant
[19:18] Speaker 1: coffee and beef jerky. Alberta's full of those types. Still,
[19:22] Speaker 1: I kept glancing at the windows every couple of minutes.
[19:26] Speaker 1: Just in case. The hours dragged. I cleaned the slush
[19:31] Speaker 1: off the entry mat. rotated the expired sandwiches, pretended I
[19:35] Speaker 1: wasn't freezing in that polyester uniform. My civics heater hadn't
[19:40] Speaker 1: worked in months and I hadn't been able to afford
[19:43] Speaker 1: gloves yet. Even inside, I could feel the cold in
[19:46] Speaker 1: my fingers. Around 2 10 a.m. the bell jingled again
[19:50] Speaker 1: it was him same coat same hat same blank look
[19:56] Speaker 1: only how this time he didn't walk to the coffee
[19:58] Speaker 1: machine didn't browse just stood by the counter hands deep
[20:02] Speaker 1: in his pockets you work here alone he asked his
[20:06] Speaker 1: voice was calm but something in it had an edge
[20:09] Speaker 1: Like a question that wasn't really a question. I didn't blink.
[20:14] Speaker 1: Manager's in the back, I said. Lie. Raj wouldn't show
[20:19] Speaker 1: up until six. He nodded slowly. Then his eyes drifted
[20:24] Speaker 1: toward the back hallway. Toward the break room, the office,
[20:26] Speaker 1: the locked stock room. Be careful out here, he said
[20:30] Speaker 1: after a pause. Lot of strange people at night. I
[20:34] Speaker 1: couldn't tell if that was a warning or a threat.
[20:36] Speaker 1: He walked out again. But this time he didn't leave.
[20:40] Speaker 1: Through the fogged up glass, I saw him standing by
[20:42] Speaker 1: the edge of the parking lot, hands in his pockets,
[20:45] Speaker 1: staring at the store. I froze. Should I call someone?
[20:51] Speaker 1: The cops, Raj? I texted Mia instead. Guy came in again.
[20:56] Speaker 1: Creepy as hell. She answered in seconds. What? Call someone.
[21:01] Speaker 1: You okay? I didn't reply. I didn't know what to say.
[21:06] Speaker 1: He wasn't doing anything illegal. Just standing there. Eventually, I
[21:10] Speaker 1: stopped looking, focused on tasks, tried to pretend I wasn't scared,
[21:15] Speaker 1: but I didn't stop watching the clock. Only three more hours.
[21:20] Speaker 1: At 3.01 a.m., I clocked out. The store was dead silent,
[21:24] Speaker 1: the snow coming down heavier now, soft flurries under a
[21:27] Speaker 1: yellow streetlamp. My Civic shivered, to life on the third try,
[21:32] Speaker 1: headlights casting long shadows across the lot. I drove off,
[21:37] Speaker 1: trying not to look in the rearview mirror. I'd made
[21:39] Speaker 1: it two blocks before the lights appeared behind me. High beams. Bright.
[21:45] Speaker 1: Too close. Black pickup truck. Old model. No plates I
[21:50] Speaker 1: could see. It didn't pass me. It didn't back off.
[21:52] Speaker 1: It just rode my bumper. I sped up. So did it.
[21:58] Speaker 1: I took a left onto a quieter road near the warehouses.
[22:02] Speaker 1: No change. I cut across another street, then another. I
[22:06] Speaker 1: was sliding through. Intersections now, tires skidding a little every
[22:10] Speaker 1: time I touch the brakes. Still there. The fear hit
[22:14] Speaker 1: full force. This wasn't paranoia. This was real. I yanked
[22:19] Speaker 1: the wheel and cut into a narrow side street behind
[22:22] Speaker 1: an old gas station. Pulled into. The alley. Heart hammering
[22:26] Speaker 1: and parked behind a dumpster. I killed the engine and
[22:28] Speaker 1: ducked low, breathing hard, watching my breath fog the windshield.
[22:32] Speaker 1: My phone lit up. Mia again. You okay? I called her.
[22:37] Speaker 1: Voice low. Shaking. Someone's following me. She was dead serious.
[22:42] Speaker 1: Drive to the police station. Now. Don't go home. I
[22:46] Speaker 1: stayed hidden for 10 minutes, maybe 15. Then eased out
[22:49] Speaker 1: and took the longest possible route to the precinct on
[22:52] Speaker 1: Guides Avenue. I didn't see the truck again. But I
[22:55] Speaker 1: felt it. Like eyes on my neck. The cops were decent.
[23:00] Speaker 1: Took a report. Asked. Questions. Gave me a business card
[23:05] Speaker 1: with a name and case number. They didn't find the truck.
[23:07] Speaker 1: They didn't seem surprised either. This time of year, a
[23:11] Speaker 1: lot of guys get weird, one officer said. Winter hits,
[23:14] Speaker 1: people snap. You probably just spooked him. Probably. I started
[23:18] Speaker 1: working day shifts. Raj didn't argue when I asked. Said
[23:22] Speaker 1: I looked pale. I stopped sleeping. Started checking my locks twice.
[23:27] Speaker 1: Bought a pocket knife from a hardware store. I'd never
[23:30] Speaker 1: held a weapon before in my life, but I kept
[23:32] Speaker 1: it under my pillow now. Every time a car slowed
[23:35] Speaker 1: near my place, my chest tightened. Was it him? Was
[23:39] Speaker 1: he still out there? I told myself I was imagining it.
[23:43] Speaker 1: That maybe it was just a bad night. But that
[23:46] Speaker 1: fear doesn't just go away. Then one morning I opened
[23:49] Speaker 1: my apartment door on the way to work and saw it.
[23:51] Speaker 1: A coffee cup. From 7-Eleven. No note. No lid. Half full.
[23:58] Speaker 1: Cold to the touch. I stood there, just staring at
[24:01] Speaker 1: it for a long time. It's been five months. I've
[24:06] Speaker 1: moved to a new building. Started night school again. Switched
[24:09] Speaker 1: to a job at a car wash downtown. Daylight hours only.
[24:14] Speaker 1: But I still wake up sometimes with the covers twisted
[24:16] Speaker 1: around my legs. Heart racing. Breath caught in my chest.
[24:21] Speaker 1: Still keep the knife in my nightstand. Still, glance out
[24:25] Speaker 1: my blinds more often than I'd like to admit. Mia
[24:28] Speaker 1: keeps asking me to come stay with her in Calgary.
[24:31] Speaker 1: Says I need a reset. Maybe she's right. But part
[24:34] Speaker 1: of me feels like if I leave, he wins. Like
[24:38] Speaker 1: I let the fear chase me off. I haven't seen
[24:41] Speaker 1: him again, not really. But some nights when the wind
[24:44] Speaker 1: howls and I'm walking home late and a shadow moves
[24:46] Speaker 1: just wrong in the dark, I feel it. That same cold.
[24:50] Speaker 1: That stillness. That silence before something steps into your world
[24:54] Speaker 1: and doesn't belong there. I don't know what he wanted.
[24:58] Speaker 1: I don't think it was money. Maybe it was power.
[25:02] Speaker 1: Maybe it was just the game. Or maybe he was
[25:04] Speaker 1: just waiting for someone to be alone, tired, worn down.
[25:07] Speaker 1: Someone like me. I don't tell people the whole story anymore.
[25:12] Speaker 1: It sounds too strange when you say it out loud.
[25:15] Speaker 1: But sometimes I'll see a kid working, late, behind a
[25:18] Speaker 1: glass counter under buzzing lights, and I want to say something.
[25:21] Speaker 1: Just one word. Careful. Because not all monsters break the
[25:25] Speaker 1: door down. Some just buy a coffee and wait. It
[25:33] Speaker 1: started like most of my jobs lately, last minute, half-baked,
[25:37] Speaker 1: and barely worth the fuel. I was 28, broke, and
[25:41] Speaker 1: about three weeks behind on rent. My bank account was
[25:44] Speaker 1: gasping for air, my camera gear was outdated, and the
[25:48] Speaker 1: only emails I was getting were spam or overdue notices.
[25:52] Speaker 1: So when a contact of a contact from a mining
[25:54] Speaker 1: outfit offered a gig photographing a new drill site near
[25:57] Speaker 1: Coober Pedy, I jumped. Good money, they said. Two days
[26:02] Speaker 1: of work. Quick and dirty. No one else wanted to
[26:06] Speaker 1: make the trip right before Christmas. Said yes before they
[26:09] Speaker 1: could change their mind. The plan was simple. Drive from
[26:13] Speaker 1: Adelaide through Port Augusta, cross the air highway, and hit
[26:17] Speaker 1: the site by midday the next day. I figured I'd
[26:21] Speaker 1: stop somewhere along the way, catch a few hours of sleep,
[26:24] Speaker 1: in the car and keep moving. But that was before
[26:27] Speaker 1: the heat made sleep impossible. Before my Commodore's AC gave
[26:31] Speaker 1: up halfway out of town. before the cicadas started screaming
[26:34] Speaker 1: from every bush and tree like they were warning me
[26:36] Speaker 1: to turn back. By midnight, I was wiped. Every muscle
[26:40] Speaker 1: in my body buzzed from caffeine and vibration. The road
[26:44] Speaker 1: shimmered in the heat, even in the dark. I was
[26:47] Speaker 1: gripping the wheel too hard, blinking too slow, missing signs.
[26:51] Speaker 1: One wrong move and I'd veer off into nothing. That's
[26:54] Speaker 1: when I saw it. Fluorescent lights in the middle of nowhere.
[26:57] Speaker 1: A 7-Eleven. It looked like a hallucination. Just a glowing
[27:02] Speaker 1: box of civilization dropped in the outback, surrounded by red
[27:05] Speaker 1: dust and scrub. The kind of place that shouldn't exist,
[27:09] Speaker 1: but does. I pulled in fast. Gravel snapped under the tires.
[27:14] Speaker 1: I cracked my window, and a wall of heat and
[27:17] Speaker 1: buzzing insects rushed in. And that's when I saw him.
[27:21] Speaker 1: A man. Standing still near the edge of the light.
[27:25] Speaker 1: His coat was long, too heavy for the night, and
[27:28] Speaker 1: covered in dust. a wide-brimmed hat cast his face in shadow.
[27:33] Speaker 1: He wasn't leaning on anything, wasn't moving, just watching. I
[27:40] Speaker 1: sat in the car a few seconds longer than I
[27:42] Speaker 1: should have, engine ticking. Something about him made my chest
[27:46] Speaker 1: go tight. I told myself he was just some traveler,
[27:49] Speaker 1: same as me, just stretching his legs, but he didn't stretch,
[27:53] Speaker 1: didn't smoke, didn't check his phone, he just stood there.
[27:57] Speaker 1: I got out, locked the car behind me and headed
[27:59] Speaker 1: to the pump. The man didn't turn his head, but
[28:03] Speaker 1: I felt his eyes. On me. Inside. The... Store was
[28:09] Speaker 1: overlit and underwhelming. The air conditioning rattled louder than it cooled,
[28:14] Speaker 1: and it smelled faintly of scorched sausage rolls and burned coffee.
[28:19] Speaker 1: The cashier, Jenny, according to her name tag, sat behind
[28:22] Speaker 1: the counter, scrolling through. Her phone. She looked up just
[28:26] Speaker 1: long enough to make sure I wasn't holding a gun,
[28:29] Speaker 1: then went back to tapping at her screen. I grabbed
[28:32] Speaker 1: an energy drink and a gas station sandwich I probably
[28:35] Speaker 1: wouldn't eat. I hesitated near the coffee machine, then decided
[28:39] Speaker 1: against it. My stomach was already in knots from the drive.
[28:43] Speaker 1: At the counter I tried for casual. Quiet night? Jenny
[28:47] Speaker 1: didn't look up. Always is. I glanced toward the window.
[28:51] Speaker 1: The man was still there. Now he was a little closer,
[28:55] Speaker 1: still outside the reach of the light, but angled toward
[28:58] Speaker 1: the store, facing it, facing me. Jenny noticed where I
[29:03] Speaker 1: was looking. You know him? No, do you? She shrugged.
[29:08] Speaker 1: He's been out there a while, maybe an hour, not
[29:11] Speaker 1: doing anything, just standing there. Something about the way she
[29:15] Speaker 1: said it, the indifference, the assumption that this kind of
[29:18] Speaker 1: thing happened often, made it worse. I paid, forced a nod,
[29:24] Speaker 1: and walked out, plastic bag in hand. The man didn't move,
[29:29] Speaker 1: didn't even twitch. As I passed, I avoided eye contact.
[29:35] Speaker 1: My skin prickled with that ancient animal sense that you're
[29:38] Speaker 1: not just being watched, you're being studied. I got in
[29:41] Speaker 1: the car, locked the doors again. My phone buzzed. Marcus,
[29:46] Speaker 1: you good? Getting close to Coober yet? Stopped for fuel. Tired.
[29:52] Speaker 1: I looked back up. The man had shifted. Just slightly.
[29:57] Speaker 1: His head tilted. like he knew I was watching now too.
[30:01] Speaker 1: I started the engine. The headlights lit him up. And still,
[30:05] Speaker 1: he didn't flinch. The coat moved slightly in the wind,
[30:08] Speaker 1: but nothing else did. I pulled out onto the highway,
[30:11] Speaker 1: tires crunching gravel, heart beating fast for no good reason.
[30:15] Speaker 1: But I didn't feel relief. Not yet. The highway swallowed
[30:19] Speaker 1: me up again. Dark and endless. Even with the radio on,
[30:25] Speaker 1: even with the windows cracked, the silence crept in. Out here,
[30:29] Speaker 1: noise didn't help. You couldn't drown out what was in
[30:32] Speaker 1: your head. Every tree, every kangaroo sign blurred past. I
[30:37] Speaker 1: drove faster than I should have. I kept checking the mirrors.
[30:41] Speaker 1: Nothing behind me. But I still felt it. That knot
[30:45] Speaker 1: in my gut. That pressure behind the eyes like I'd
[30:48] Speaker 1: just made a mistake I didn't understand yet. At some point,
[30:52] Speaker 1: I realized I hadn't seen another car in over an hour.
[30:56] Speaker 1: Just me. Alone in the dark. barreling toward a town
[31:00] Speaker 1: I wasn't sure even existed. Then I saw them. Headlights.
[31:04] Speaker 1: Far behind me. Small at first, then larger. Closing fast.
[31:10] Speaker 1: Too fast. It was a truck. Old model. Boxy. Maybe
[31:16] Speaker 1: a Land Cruiser or a Hilux, hard to tell. The
[31:19] Speaker 1: lights were high and bright and way too close for comfort.
[31:22] Speaker 1: I slowed a bit, hoping they'd pass. They didn't. I
[31:27] Speaker 1: sped up, So did they. The rearview mirror was a
[31:32] Speaker 1: blur of light. My palms started to sweat. I flipped
[31:36] Speaker 1: my phone open on the passenger seat. No service. I
[31:41] Speaker 1: took the next turn I saw. A dirt road leading
[31:44] Speaker 1: off toward a clump of low trees. My tires skidded
[31:47] Speaker 1: slightly on the loose gravel, and the truck behind me hesitated.
[31:52] Speaker 1: Then it disappeared. I killed the lights. Waited. Listened. Nothing.
[31:59] Speaker 1: No engine. No headlights. I stayed that way for 10,
[32:04] Speaker 1: maybe 15 minutes trying to breathe through it. When I
[32:07] Speaker 1: finally pulled back onto the highway, it was like nothing
[32:09] Speaker 1: had happened, but I knew better. Something wasn't right. I
[32:14] Speaker 1: didn't stop again until dawn. The sun came up like
[32:17] Speaker 1: it was trying to burn the sky clean. The red
[32:20] Speaker 1: earth glowed. The cicadas started again louder than before. I
[32:25] Speaker 1: pulled into a rest stop just outside Coober Pedy. My
[32:28] Speaker 1: eyes were bloodshot My legs numb. I check my phone.
[32:32] Speaker 1: Two bars of signal. Three new texts from Marcus. Let
[32:36] Speaker 1: me know when you get there. Saw something weird on
[32:38] Speaker 1: the news. You sure you're okay? Call me, bro. Seriously.
[32:43] Speaker 1: I ignored them. Opened my banking app instead. $ 27. The
[32:48] Speaker 1: job money hadn't hit yet. Or maybe it never would.
[32:52] Speaker 1: I opened my email. One new message. From EditorSkyFrame.media Mail
[32:59] Speaker 1: to Editor, SkiFrame.media. Subject, update on Coober job body. Job cancelled.
[33:07] Speaker 1: Sorry for the short notice. Nothing we can do. Hope
[33:10] Speaker 1: you haven't left yet. I stared at the screen for
[33:13] Speaker 1: a long time. Let the heat wrap around me like
[33:16] Speaker 1: a blanket I couldn't escape. Outside the rest stop bathroom
[33:21] Speaker 1: on the edge of the parking lot, something caught my eye.
[33:24] Speaker 1: A long coat. Brown. Dusty. Just for a second. But
[33:30] Speaker 1: there was no one there. I never saw him again.
[33:34] Speaker 1: Not really. But something stayed with me after that night.
[33:38] Speaker 1: That stretch of road felt like it peeled something back.
[33:42] Speaker 1: Like the land out there held things the rest of
[33:43] Speaker 1: the world had forgotten. I don't talk about it. Not much.
[33:48] Speaker 1: Not to Marcus. Not to anyone. Because there's no proof.
[33:53] Speaker 1: Just a memory. A few strange hours in the middle
[33:56] Speaker 1: of nowhere. But sometimes, late. At night when I'm editing
[34:00] Speaker 1: photos in the apartments too quiet, I remember that face
[34:04] Speaker 1: I never saw. That stillness, that coat. And I wonder,
[34:08] Speaker 1: what was he waiting for? What did he want? Maybe nothing.
[34:12] Speaker 1: Maybe it was all in my head. The heat, the debt,
[34:15] Speaker 1: the pressure. Maybe it cracked something. Or maybe there are
[34:19] Speaker 1: people out there who don't need reasons. Who just watch. Wait.
[34:25] Speaker 1: See who looks back. Every now and then, I'll drive
[34:28] Speaker 1: past a service station and I'll see someone standing at
[34:31] Speaker 1: the edge of the lights. Still. Silent. Watching. And I
[34:38] Speaker 1: lock my doors. Every time. I never thought a simple
[34:46] Speaker 1: walk to the store would feel like walking through a
[34:48] Speaker 1: war zone. But that night it did. My name's Thando Ndlovu.
[34:53] Speaker 1: I'm a single parent living in a quiet suburb of
[34:56] Speaker 1: Johannesburg called Randberg. It's supposed to be safe or at
[35:00] Speaker 1: least safer than the rest of the city. But when
[35:04] Speaker 1: you lose your job, the cracks start showing everywhere. I
[35:07] Speaker 1: was laid off three months ago from a local tech
[35:09] Speaker 1: startup that just couldn't keep its doors open. The job
[35:12] Speaker 1: was decent pay, but now, now I'm scrambling to find anything,
[35:17] Speaker 1: anything that'll pay the rent and keep the lights on
[35:21] Speaker 1: every day. I send out resumes, make phone calls, pray
[35:23] Speaker 1: for a break that never comes. The kids don't understand
[35:27] Speaker 1: why things are tight. Lerato, my eight-year-old, is bright and
[35:30] Speaker 1: always asking questions. She's got this grip on my hand
[35:33] Speaker 1: like if she lets go, everything might fall apart. Kagiso,
[35:37] Speaker 1: my five-year-old boy, is pure energy, always hopping, running, smiling.
[35:42] Speaker 1: He makes the days bearable. That week, I promised them
[35:46] Speaker 1: a treat if they behaved. It was a small thing,
[35:49] Speaker 1: but ice cream felt like a luxury. Money was tight,
[35:52] Speaker 1: but their smiles are worth more than any paycheck. It
[35:55] Speaker 1: was just past 9 p.m. when we stepped out onto
[35:57] Speaker 1: our street. The jacaranda trees loomed above, their purple blossoms
[36:01] Speaker 1: barely visible under the yellow street lamps, flickering and dim.
[36:07] Speaker 1: The air was thick and sticky, the heat of the
[36:09] Speaker 1: day still clinging to the pavement, mixing with the smell
[36:12] Speaker 1: of rain that had fallen earlier. Cicadas hummed somewhere in
[36:16] Speaker 1: the distance, a steady, eerie chorus. I told the kids
[36:20] Speaker 1: to stay close. Lirato. Gripped my hand like it was
[36:24] Speaker 1: a lifeline. Kagiso bounded ahead, Giggling and chasing shadows. It
[36:30] Speaker 1: should have been a simple walk. Just a quick trip
[36:33] Speaker 1: to the 24-hour 7-Eleven at the corner. Grab ice cream,
[36:36] Speaker 1: head home, and tuck the kids into bed. But I
[36:39] Speaker 1: had this prickling feeling in the back of my neck.
[36:42] Speaker 1: The kind you get when something's wrong, but you don't
[36:45] Speaker 1: know what. Then, out of the corner of my eye,
[36:48] Speaker 1: I saw movement. Two people stepped onto the sidewalk from
[36:51] Speaker 1: the shadows beneath the jacarandas. A man and a woman.
[36:56] Speaker 1: They didn't belong here. The man was dressed in a
[36:59] Speaker 1: crisp white linen shirt. His sleeves rolled up like he
[37:02] Speaker 1: was ready for a fancy dinner somewhere. The woman wore
[37:05] Speaker 1: a floral sundress, perfectly pressed and out of place. Their
[37:09] Speaker 1: smiles were too wide, too forced, like actors, playing parts
[37:13] Speaker 1: they didn't understand. I tightened my grip on Lerato's hand
[37:17] Speaker 1: and called Cagiso back. I knew then this walk wouldn't
[37:20] Speaker 1: be simple. The man's smile was the first thing that
[37:24] Speaker 1: caught me off guard. He asked for spare change. his
[37:27] Speaker 1: voice smooth but carrying an edge I didn't like. I froze,
[37:32] Speaker 1: caught between the urge to walk past and the instinct
[37:34] Speaker 1: to protect my kids. The woman crouched down, her eyes
[37:38] Speaker 1: locking onto Kagiso. Such a sweet boy. She cooed, reaching
[37:43] Speaker 1: toward him slowly. I yanked Kagiso back before she could
[37:46] Speaker 1: get close. No, we're leaving. The man's smile vanished in
[37:50] Speaker 1: a heartbeat. His face hardened like a switch flipped inside him. Wallet. Now,
[37:56] Speaker 1: that's when I saw the glint, steel quick and cruel
[37:59] Speaker 1: in his hand. Panic crashed over me like a wave,
[38:02] Speaker 1: my heart hammered, adrenaline flooding every nerve. I shoved the
[38:07] Speaker 1: woman back as she lunged for Kagiso. Run, I shouted,
[38:12] Speaker 1: barely thinking. Kagiso took off like a bolt, Lerato clutching
[38:17] Speaker 1: my hand tighter as we scrambled away. A sharp burning
[38:20] Speaker 1: pain exploded in my side, the knife. I tasted blood.
[38:26] Speaker 1: but I didn't stop. In a wild, desperate moment, I
[38:29] Speaker 1: swung back at the woman. She stumbled, surprised by the resistance.
[38:34] Speaker 1: Then I heard voices. Two joggers appeared around the corner,
[38:37] Speaker 1: their faces confused but alert. The couple melted into the shadows,
[38:42] Speaker 1: disappearing as quickly as they came. I collapsed onto the sidewalk, bleeding,
[38:47] Speaker 1: trying to steady my breath. The police arrived fast, too
[38:51] Speaker 1: fast and yet not fast enough. Constable Mbeki was the
[38:55] Speaker 1: one who showed up, his eyes scanning me with a
[38:58] Speaker 1: skeptical gaze as he examined the knife wound on my side.
[39:02] Speaker 1: You sure you didn't start this? He asked flatly, like
[39:06] Speaker 1: I was the suspect, instead of the victim. I wanted
[39:10] Speaker 1: to scream, explain, but the pain and exhaustion weighed me down.
[39:15] Speaker 1: I just shook my head. The woman had already called
[39:18] Speaker 1: the cops, spinning a story that I attacked them out
[39:20] Speaker 1: of nowhere. Classic. The joggers' statements helped, their voices steady
[39:26] Speaker 1: as they described what they'd seen. Security footage. from the
[39:30] Speaker 1: 7-eleven confirmed parts of the story still the system felt
[39:34] Speaker 1: slow like justice was dragging its feet hours passed while
[39:39] Speaker 1: officers talked scribbled notes and made phone calls finally by
[39:44] Speaker 1: dawn it came out the couple wasn't new to this robberies, assaults,
[39:51] Speaker 1: even attempted kidnappings in the area, and somehow they'd always escaped.
[39:56] Speaker 1: I was discharged from the hospital with stitches, a prescription
[40:00] Speaker 1: for panic attacks, and a folder of paperwork. The physical
[40:03] Speaker 1: wound hurt, but the real damage was invisible. Lerato started
[40:09] Speaker 1: sleeping with the lights on, her small hands clutching a
[40:11] Speaker 1: stuffed animal close to her chest. Kagiso kept asking me
[40:15] Speaker 1: the same question, eyes wide and confused. Why did that
[40:19] Speaker 1: lady want to take me? I had no good answer.
[40:23] Speaker 1: The 7-Eleven clerk told me he kept a baseball bat
[40:25] Speaker 1: under the counter now, just in case. And me? I
[40:29] Speaker 1: bought pepper spray the next day. I don't walk at
[40:32] Speaker 1: night anymore. Not alone, not with the kids, not at all. Sometimes,
[40:37] Speaker 1: when the house is quiet and the kids are finally asleep,
[40:40] Speaker 1: I sit and think about that night. The couple. Who
[40:43] Speaker 1: they were. What they wanted. I stare at the ceiling.
[40:48] Speaker 1: wondering if they're still out there, waiting, watching, choosing their
[40:52] Speaker 1: next target. I replay every step of that night, the
[40:57] Speaker 1: smell of rain on hot pavement, the hum of cicadas,
[41:01] Speaker 1: the crack of the knife. I try to convince myself
[41:05] Speaker 1: it's over, but the fear lingers. I wonder what kind
[41:09] Speaker 1: of monsters walk these streets when no one's looking, and
[41:12] Speaker 1: I hold my children closer, silently promising they'll never walk
[41:16] Speaker 1: alone again. I don't know how I ended up here again,
[41:24] Speaker 1: standing behind the counter of this grim little 7-Eleven on
[41:27] Speaker 1: the outskirts of Cork. The night is late, almost midnight,
[41:32] Speaker 1: and I'm dead tired. Not just tired, but the kind
[41:35] Speaker 1: of bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of energy drinks can fix.
[41:40] Speaker 1: The kind that sinks into your skin and makes every
[41:42] Speaker 1: breath feel heavy. I'm Finn O'Sullivan, 26 years old. an
[41:47] Speaker 1: art school dropout with a portfolio gathering dust and a
[41:50] Speaker 1: mountain of student debt suffocating me. I used to dream
[41:53] Speaker 1: in color, painting, sketching, creating worlds out of nothing but
[41:56] Speaker 1: pencil and paper. Now my only art is the little
[42:00] Speaker 1: doodles I scribble on receipt paper during slow shifts, trying
[42:03] Speaker 1: to keep the boredom from swallowing me whole. This 7-Eleven
[42:08] Speaker 1: is a world of humming refrigerators and flickering fluorescent lights.
[42:12] Speaker 1: Outside the rain has slicked the pavement. the smell of
[42:15] Speaker 1: wet concrete mixing with stale coffee and cigarette smoke from
[42:18] Speaker 1: the boarded-up pub next door. The laundromat buzzes quietly down
[42:21] Speaker 1: the street, a rare, comforting hum in this lonely stretch.
[42:26] Speaker 1: Clock in every night, stare blankly at the register and
[42:29] Speaker 1: wait for the hours to pass. Liam, the security guard,
[42:31] Speaker 1: is usually somewhere half-asleep or stoned behind the cameras. He's
[42:35] Speaker 1: the only reason I'm not totally alone here. Tonight, I
[42:39] Speaker 1: feel it creeping. The dull throb behind my eyes... the
[42:43] Speaker 1: headache I'm used to pushing aside. I pour another cup
[42:47] Speaker 1: of black coffee, rub my temples and try to shake
[42:49] Speaker 1: the weight pressing down on me. This isn't how I
[42:52] Speaker 1: imagined my life at 26. I thought art school would
[42:56] Speaker 1: be my gateway to something better. Instead, I'm stuck in
[42:59] Speaker 1: a job I hate living paycheck to paycheck, dreaming about
[43:02] Speaker 1: things I barely remember. It started like any other night.
[43:06] Speaker 1: Customers drifting in and out, Liam nodding off in his chair,
[43:10] Speaker 1: me doodling the outline of a face on a Receipt.
[43:15] Speaker 1: But the headache shifted, tightening like a vice around my skull.
[43:19] Speaker 1: I tried to ignore it, took a swig of energy drink,
[43:22] Speaker 1: wiped my brow. Then suddenly the world spun. The fluorescent
[43:28] Speaker 1: lights blurred and stretched, the floor tilted beneath. Me, I
[43:32] Speaker 1: barely had time to register before everything went black. Next
[43:35] Speaker 1: thing I knew I was flat on the wet floor,
[43:37] Speaker 1: cold and disoriented. Liam's panicked voice floated above me, distant
[43:41] Speaker 1: and urgent. Mate, you're seizing. Hold on, hold on. I
[43:45] Speaker 1: tried to move, but my limbs felt heavy, useless. My
[43:48] Speaker 1: chest heaved, heart pounding like it was trying to escape.
[43:53] Speaker 1: I couldn't think straight, the edges of my vision flickering
[43:55] Speaker 1: in and out. Then came the ambulance sirens, rushing in
[43:59] Speaker 1: like a lifeline. Somewhere between the seizure and the ambulance,
[44:03] Speaker 1: I lost hours. I was no longer the guy behind
[44:05] Speaker 1: the counter, but a patient caught in the middle of
[44:07] Speaker 1: something way bigger. I woke up to harsh white lights
[44:11] Speaker 1: and the firm squeeze of Aisling's hand. She looked exhausted,
[44:15] Speaker 1: scrubs wrinkled, hair pulled back but a granola bar still
[44:19] Speaker 1: clutched in one hand. Her eyes were wet but she
[44:22] Speaker 1: tried to mask it with a tight smile. You scared
[44:25] Speaker 1: the shite out of me, she whispered, voice breaking. Dr.
[44:28] Speaker 1: Byron entered then, sharp, no nonsense. She carried a clipboard
[44:33] Speaker 1: and a face that said, business. You're lucky, she said bluntly.
[44:39] Speaker 1: The scan showed a bleed. We were prepping for surgery
[44:42] Speaker 1: when I noticed it wasn't just a clot. It was
[44:45] Speaker 1: an aneurysm. My stomach dropped. If you'd drilled, I croaked. Dr.
[44:52] Speaker 1: Burns' eyebrow raised. You'd be dead. I swallowed hard. The
[44:58] Speaker 1: truth hit me like a punch. One wrong move, one
[45:01] Speaker 1: millimeter off, and I wouldn't be here. No. More sketches,
[45:05] Speaker 1: no more late night shifts, no more dumb doodles on receipts.
[45:08] Speaker 1: I stared at the ceiling for days, the white paint
[45:11] Speaker 1: blurring into the fear inside me. Iceling brought me tea,
[45:15] Speaker 1: the kind that actually tasted like something, the small comfort
[45:19] Speaker 1: I needed. But I couldn't shake the thought of how
[45:22] Speaker 1: close I came to losing everything. Two weeks later, I
[45:25] Speaker 1: stood in front of my manager and handed in my notice.
[45:29] Speaker 1: He barely looked up, just shrugged. You'll be back, he
[45:32] Speaker 1: said like it was a joke, but I wasn't. That
[45:34] Speaker 1: night I dug out the old portfolio. Forgotten sketches, unfinished comics,
[45:39] Speaker 1: pages filled with the dreams I'd shoved aside. I posted
[45:42] Speaker 1: my first comic online, tagging a small indie publisher on
[45:46] Speaker 1: a whim. I figured, why not? What did I have
[45:49] Speaker 1: to lose? For the first time in years, I felt
[45:53] Speaker 1: the spark again. The tiny flame of hope and purpose.
[45:56] Speaker 1: I still got headaches, sure. But now they came with
[46:00] Speaker 1: something else. Determination. Six months later, life isn't perfect. I
[46:05] Speaker 1: still have bad days. still worry about the future, but
[46:09] Speaker 1: I'm creating again. Eisling laughs as she frames my first
[46:14] Speaker 1: rejection letter, calling it my badge of honor. Liam bought
[46:18] Speaker 1: a copy of my zine, probably just to be nice.
[46:21] Speaker 1: And Dr. Byrne, she got a special dedication page in
[46:24] Speaker 1: my debut comic, The Woman Who Saved My Brain. Sitting
[46:29] Speaker 1: at my drafting table, rain tapping softly against the window,
[46:32] Speaker 1: I realize how close I came to never drawing again.
[46:35] Speaker 1: Almost dying in a 7-Eleven was a wake-up call I
[46:38] Speaker 1: didn't know I needed. Now, I'm alive. And for the
[46:42] Speaker 1: first time in a long time, I'm ready to live.
[46:49] Speaker 1: It's 3.12 a.m. on a mid-January night in Toronto. Outside,
[46:54] Speaker 1: the wind howls like it's trying to scrape the city clean.
[46:57] Speaker 1: The temperature stubbornly stuck at minus 22 degrees Celsius, wind
[47:01] Speaker 1: chill making it feel even colder. I'm Maya Patel. 19
[47:05] Speaker 1: years old nursing student and the reluctant night shift clerk
[47:08] Speaker 1: at this 24 hour seven 11, 11 months in just
[47:12] Speaker 1: four weeks shy of switching to day shift. And I
[47:15] Speaker 1: swear I'm counting down every second. This place is sandwiched
[47:19] Speaker 1: between a dry cleaner. That's been closed forever, at least
[47:21] Speaker 1: since last November and a payday loan shop that smells
[47:25] Speaker 1: faintly of desperation and stale coffee. The flickering yellow light
[47:29] Speaker 1: of the seven 11 sign throws ghostly shadows over snow
[47:32] Speaker 1: banks piled up like forgotten mountains. It's a bleak setting,
[47:36] Speaker 1: but it's my reality, and for now it pays for
[47:38] Speaker 1: my tuition. Nights are slow, except for the occasional late
[47:41] Speaker 1: driver or lost soul who stumbles in. Most customers are
[47:45] Speaker 1: the same faces, repeated like a broken record. But there's
[47:49] Speaker 1: one that stuck with me, the 3 a.m. regular. Every Thursday,
[47:54] Speaker 1: sharp at 3.15 a.m., the door chimes and in walks
[47:57] Speaker 1: a man, 30-something, always in the same beaten-up Canada goose
[48:01] Speaker 1: jacket with a broken zipper. Never changes the order. One
[48:06] Speaker 1: sugar-free Red Bull, two Lotto 649 scratch-off tickets, and one
[48:10] Speaker 1: pack of juicy fruit gum, which he never opens. I've
[48:14] Speaker 1: watched him for two months now, an odd fixture in
[48:16] Speaker 1: my otherwise monotonous nights. He's quiet, keeps to himself, and
[48:21] Speaker 1: never talks much. I'm not sure what draws me to him,
[48:25] Speaker 1: but there's something about the way he moves, the slight
[48:27] Speaker 1: slump in his shoulders, that tells me this isn't a
[48:30] Speaker 1: guy living an easy life. He's tired. We're both tired. Tonight,
[48:35] Speaker 1: I'm just finishing wiping, down the counter when the door
[48:38] Speaker 1: chimes again. I glance up instinctively. There he is, like clockwork.
[48:44] Speaker 1: But something's off right away. First, he's not wearing his
[48:47] Speaker 1: usual work boots. Instead, he's in socks with sandals. Socks
[48:52] Speaker 1: and sandals at minus 22. I do a double take.
[48:57] Speaker 1: Then there's a strange smell. A sharp, acrid bite in
[49:00] Speaker 1: the air that doesn't belong. It's not the cigarette smoke
[49:04] Speaker 1: he usually carries. It's chemical. Like something burning plastic or cleaning. Solvent.
[49:10] Speaker 1: And then his hands. They won't stop shaking as he
[49:12] Speaker 1: places his items on the counter. My stomach tightens. Something's wrong.
[49:18] Speaker 1: Rough night? I ask myself. voice automatic, but I'm already
[49:21] Speaker 1: scanning the Red Bull with a little more concern than usual.
[49:24] Speaker 1: He lets out a laugh, but it's not right. Half cough,
[49:27] Speaker 1: half choke. His breath smells sharp, almost metallic. That's when
[49:32] Speaker 1: my eyes catch. A dark stain creeping up from his
[49:36] Speaker 1: sleeve cuff. It's deep red. Too thick to be coffee,
[49:40] Speaker 1: too vivid to ignore. My gaze flickers to the security
[49:44] Speaker 1: camera above us. The one that's been dead since September
[49:47] Speaker 1: because of a raccoon incident. As corporate called it, I
[49:51] Speaker 1: know the layout of the store better than anyone. And
[49:54] Speaker 1: the camera's light should be blinking, yet it's completely dark.
[49:57] Speaker 1: I swallow hard, fingers twitching over the silent alarm button
[50:01] Speaker 1: beneath the counter. Corporate swore it was linked directly to
[50:05] Speaker 1: police dispatch. I've never pressed it before. I wonder if
[50:09] Speaker 1: it even works. The man notices my glance and follows
[50:12] Speaker 1: it to his sleeve. His voice is quick and clipped.
[50:16] Speaker 1: Kitchen accident, he says, eyes darting away. The scratch-off tickets
[50:21] Speaker 1: tremble in his hands as he pushes them toward me.
[50:24] Speaker 1: Just these tonight. The panic rising in my chest doesn't
[50:28] Speaker 1: make sense yet, but something in his whole posture screams alarm.
[50:32] Speaker 1: I try to keep my voice steady. Your total's 12.50,
[50:36] Speaker 1: but I'm watching him like a hawk waiting for the
[50:39] Speaker 1: slightest sign that he might bolt or break down. The
[50:43] Speaker 1: smell hits me again, the acrid chemical burn. It's not plastic,
[50:48] Speaker 1: it's cleaning solvents, like the kind you'd find in an
[50:52] Speaker 1: industrial dry cleaner. That's when my brain clicks. The dry
[50:57] Speaker 1: cleaner's next door, the one marked closed for renovations since.
[51:02] Speaker 1: November has been shut for longer than they say. His
[51:05] Speaker 1: apartment is above that place. and his wife hasn't come
[51:08] Speaker 1: by for the usual Thursday night Ben and Jerry's in
[51:10] Speaker 1: six weeks. I've pieced together something terrible without even trying.
[51:15] Speaker 1: This man, my 3 a.m. regular, is fighting something no
[51:19] Speaker 1: one can see. He's carrying a secret, and I'm the
[51:22] Speaker 1: only one who might know it. The scratch-off tickets sit
[51:25] Speaker 1: in front of me, trembling. He looks ready to run,
[51:28] Speaker 1: or maybe to cry. Neither would surprise me. Everything okay?
[51:33] Speaker 1: I ask softly. He shakes his head, but says nothing.
[51:37] Speaker 1: I force a smile. Take care of yourself, okay? Before
[51:41] Speaker 1: I can say more, the door crashes open. Three guys
[51:45] Speaker 1: stumble in, laughing and shouting. Hockey players from the local
[51:49] Speaker 1: community college, drunk and loud, breaking the fragile. Silence. The
[51:53] Speaker 1: man freezes. He stops mid-payment, eyes wide and wild. I
[51:56] Speaker 1: don't blink. I tell him, keep the change. He doesn't hesitate.
[52:01] Speaker 1: In a blur, he's gone, like a shadow swallowed by
[52:04] Speaker 1: the night. The hockey players swagger toward the Slurpee machine, oblivious.
[52:09] Speaker 1: I watch. The door where he disappeared and feel something
[52:12] Speaker 1: cold twist inside me. I wanted to press the alarm.
[52:16] Speaker 1: I wanted to call the cops, but I didn't, because
[52:19] Speaker 1: maybe I thought he'd be okay. Maybe I thought someone
[52:22] Speaker 1: else would notice, or maybe I was just scared. Three
[52:26] Speaker 1: days later, the police showed up. They found him. His
[52:31] Speaker 1: body was discovered when the smell... From the dry cleaner's
[52:34] Speaker 1: apartment became unbearable. Cleaning chemicals, blood, and silence. I transferred
[52:39] Speaker 1: to another 7-Eleven across town, a place without ghosts. The camera,
[52:45] Speaker 1: still broken. The silent alarm. It turns out it really
[52:49] Speaker 1: was connected. Corporate logs showed they received 17 signals that
[52:53] Speaker 1: night from this location. But no officers came. Why? Company
[52:59] Speaker 1: policy required three separate presses before the police were alerted.
[53:04] Speaker 1: I only pressed it once. Now, whenever the door chimes
[53:07] Speaker 1: at 3.15 a.m., I don't look up right away. I wait.
[53:12] Speaker 1: I listen for voices. I can't unsee that night. And
[53:16] Speaker 1: the worst part? The real horror isn't just the man
[53:20] Speaker 1: or the stain or the cold. It's knowing how close
[53:24] Speaker 1: I came to trying harder. Thank you.

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