The fluorescent hummed and hissed oddly as it threatened to fail. A million little dead things congregated at the edges of the plastic. The plastic was yellow with age, ready to crumble at the slightest bump. His eyes ached, staring up at the flickering, watery light. You’re not blinking. His eyes fluttered and he rubbed at them, only just noticing the footsteps approaching the front desk.

“Welcome to Videodrone…” He yawned loudly. “What can I do for you today,” he said, no question in the statement.

The man who approached the counter was nervous-looking, fidgeting with a tape in his hands. “Hey…” He looked at the nametag. “Marcus, listen… I’m sorry, I’m sure this is a weird question—”

“Porn is through the curtains. I’m happy to return whatever you’ve brought in while you browse,” Marcus said flatly, starting the check-in process.

“What? No! No, I’ve got a problem.” He slid the tape onto the countertop. The label read, “The Stuff.”

“Hey, good taste,” Marcus said, picking up the cassette. He’d watched it with Luke. He half-smirked. “No pun intended.”

The man stared blankly at Marcus. “I have a problem,” he said again.

Marcus frowned. No fun tonight. “Alright, sorry to hear that sir, what seems to be the problem?”

“That’s not The Stuff. I’ve watched The Stuff a few times now and that sure as shit isn’t it,” he said, a hysteria edging into his tone.

Marcus raised a brow. “Says it on the label.”

“Just, put it in a player, okay?” the man said, glancing around nervously.

They were the only two people in the entire store. Middle of the week, no one came by, and usually, those that did were looking to return something that was past due.

“Okay…” Marcus grumbled. He reached under the desk and popped the tape out of the store’s display VHS, slipping The Stuff in. He skipped through the ads. “Seems normal so far,” he said, looking up at the TVs above them.

The man shook his head. “Skip to about twenty minutes in.”

Marcus watched the display and hit play at nineteen minutes and fifty-six seconds.

On screen, Danny Aiello was explaining that The Stuff had to be safe for them to sell it. The scene went on for almost a minute before the movie flickered, hissing out into static before resolving into a dark grainy image. “What is that?” Marcus asked, squinting at the screen, standing up to get a better look.

“Looks like a barn to me,” the man grumbled, chewing on his thumbnail.

The barn was nearly black, the sky bright enough that it was the most clearly visible thing in the shot besides a single hooded light reaching out from the building. The camera slowly zoomed in, almost giving the impression they were about to snap cut to a scene inside, but instead, a dim red light flicked on through the slats of the walls, dripping out into the dark of the night.

The camera zoomed further, focusing on the front door, the hooded light going out, leaving only the red glare seeping through the walls. The door began to open, and inside there hung a single red bulb, dangling from a long cord, swinging slowly back and forth from the ceiling. Pendulum.

A pit formed in Marcus’ stomach as he stared, a creeping wrongness worrying away at him.

The zoom was leaving the image hazy at best now, but just visible on the floor of the barn was what appeared to be a large black tarp. It was draped over something huge and irregular. Then it began to shift, twisting under the plastic sheet, writhing. As it rose up, the tarp drawing away from the floor, the camera began to shake and just as abruptly as it began, the static returned, and the movie cut back in. Now “Chocolate Chip Charlie” was on the ground, yelling up at the investigator.

You’re not blinking.

Marcus blinked. “What the fuck was that?”

“A problem,” the man said nervously.

Marcus ejected the cassette and set it back on the counter with a clatter, dropping it as quickly as he could. “You can’t go recording home videos over our—”

“I didn’t record that!” the man protested. “I’ve been a customer of this store for years now and I’ve never so much as forgotten to rewind a tape before returning it,” he barked.

Marcus scoffed. “Well, who put it on there then?”

“Whoever checked it out before me!”

Marcus considered this. “Hold on.” He went to the logbook that held the information on rentals and returns for every tape currently in stock. He looked up The Stuff, 1985 and found it was currently checked out by a Kutz, Harold. Before that, it had been checked out a week earlier by someone named Peterson, Maxine.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number on file. After a few rings the line clicked and a woman responded, “hello? This is Max. Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“Hello ma’am, this is Marcus, from Videodrone. I was calling to follow up on another customer’s complaint. We’ve got a copy of The Stuff here that’s been tampered with. Did you notice anything wrong with it when you checked it out last week?”

There was a moment’s pause. “No? I’m sorry, are you implying I did something with the movie?” Max sounded offended.

“No, of course not ma’am, I’m not suggesting that at all. It’s just that there’s a portion of the tape which was recorded over and, obviously, that’s a bit of a problem. I was just checking up on it to see if there’d been anything wrong with the tape when you watched it,” Marcus said, hearing the start of an ‘I’d like to speak with your manager,’ conversation heading his way. “Listen, thank you so much for taking my call. I hope you have a great evening,” he said, forcing the smile to be audible over the phone.

Marcus hung up and looked over at Harold. “Well, apparently it was fine when our last customer had the movie,” he said, side-eyeing the cassette.

“I just… listen, can I get a refund?” Harold asked, fidgeting with his jacket.

Marcus chewed his lip. Vic, the owner, would be pissed that a tape got ruined… but he had no way of proving who did it. It’s not your problem. “Yeah, sure dude. Hold on.”

A few minutes later, Harold walked out of the store and into the night, leaving Marcus alone with “The Stuff: Creepy Barn Edition.” He picked it up and tossed it next to the pile of unopened letters from various lawyers threatening lawsuits over the name of the store, the mechanical counter hanging above it reading thirty-two. He wrote up a short note and taped it to the front of the movie.

It read, “something weird around the twenty-minute mark someone taped over the movie last two customers both deny it was them. Refunded Harold Kutz - Marcus”

That night, Marcus dreamt of a black barn, a tarp, and a red light.

***

“Marcus! Vic’s on the phone! Says you’re in deep doo-doo!” his mother called up from the kitchen. There was a brief pause. “Sorry, I’ve been told to clarify she did not, in fact, say doo-doo!”

Marcus groaned, getting out of bed and stumbling his way downstairs. He grabbed the phone from his mom and yanked on the fifteen-foot cord, making sure the slack was on his side. “Hey Vic, what’s—”

“What the fuck is this?” Vic accused.

“Like I said on the note, someone clearly recorded over the tape, but I don’t know who—”

She cut in again. “No, what the fuck is on the tape?”

“It’s some barn, why?”

Vic could be heard breathing on the other side. “Listen, just… when you get in after school, I wanna chat, okay?”

“Uh… yeah okay,” Marcus said.

When Vic hung up Marcus walked the phone back to its receiver and looked at his mom. “Hey Mom, are you okay with me working tonight?” He wasn’t scheduled that day, but with the way Vic had sounded, he hadn’t wanted to argue with her.

“Sure, sweety. Just make sure you eat something more substantial than candy and popcorn when you get home, yeah?” she said, smiling with a warmth that made Marcus conscious.

“What?” he asked, sheepish.

“You’re just such a good kid, I’m lucky.” She laughed, getting back to prepping a crock pot dinner that Marcus was excited to come home to.

***

Vic paced around the store, trying to keep her cool, biting her lip hard. She was fine, this was fine and she knew there was a totally normal explanation for why her grandfather’s barn was on that tape. “FUCK!” she yelled, throwing down the carpet sweeper she’d been dragging listlessly. You need a drink. She stomped over to the cooler and opened the door, pulling out a liter of Mister Peppy, twisting it open and quickly downing nearly half the bottle.

She gasped as she lowered it and wiped her mouth. “Fuck this. Fuck every part of this,” she mumbled, slamming the door shut. She sat back down behind the counter and rubbed her temples.

A cow looking up at her, doe eyes, puppy dog, begging. The shotgun heavy in her hands, too small for this.

She turned on another tape for the store’s display TVs. The tape hadn’t been fully rewound and Arnold Schwarzenegger strode into the mall, shades and all. Noise, a distraction, anything to get her through the time ‘til she could figure out what the hell was going on. You should watch the movie, relax. Her eyes glazed as she stared up at the TV.

***

The walk to Videodrone wasn’t too bad, just a few minutes down the highway from the school. Marcus waved at the bus that would have taken him home, a few of his friends hanging out the windows. “GOOD LUCK, STARMAN!” Luke called out. Marcus flipped him the bird and continued on. None of them seemed to get how freaky it’d been.

“It was like some alien abduction shit!” he’d explained. That was when Luke had started in on the Starman stuff.

The parking lot was empty except for Vic’s car, a beat-up Ford Pinto, dull brown and mud-caked. The wind rolled by, pulling an empty plastic bag with it, dancing away into a nearby field.

Marcus pushed open the front door, spotting Vic immediately. Five empty bottles of Mr. Peppy strewn about the countertop, a halo of plastic around the sleeping head of Vic.

“Hey! Vic!” he called out, making his way over.

She started awake, scattering the bottles. Her eyes were wide, a deep shine of fear. Her eyes flitted, not seeing Marcus.

He snapped a finger. “Hey, earth to cadet Vic. Come in, Vic!”

She blinked hard, eyes dilating smaller, normal. “Hey, kid. Sorry about the mess.”

Marcus started picking up the bottles. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. “Yeah, I don’t know, I’m fine.”

“You drank enough sugar and caffeine to give a horse a heart attack, and managed to fall asleep,” he said, grabbing the last bottle and tossing it into the bin near the counter.

She rubbed her eyes. “Just been a little anxious.”

“I know the tapes aren’t cheap, but I don’t think it’s that big a deal…” he said, fishing new bottles from a box inside the office.

“Yeah, that’s the part I wanted to talk about.” She took a deep breath. “So, you’re positive you don’t know how that got onto the tape?”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, like I said on the note, our last customer didn’t find anything weird and Harold—” “He prefers Harry.”

“Whatever, he brought it in with the weird footage on it. Was really pushy about the fact that he didn’t do it.” He walked back to the fridge and opened it, pushing each bottle into place. “Hey, why do you only carry Mr. Peppy?”

“It’s the only soda for the discerning taste,” Vic said, adding, “and it’s the cheapest I can find.” A smile edged into her lips.

“Har har,” Marcus fake laughed as he closed the fridge. “So, you’re spooked. What’s up?”

Vic shook her head. “Not your place to worry about it, kid.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“You’re in high school.”

Marcus pulled his backpack off. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” she repeated, mocking. “Please put up the returns and restock the candy, okay?”

Marcus tossed his bag over to Vic, who put it behind the counter, before grabbing his Videodrone hat from the shelves next to the front counter. “Did you order more Reece’s Pieces?”

“Do I look like I’m made of money? No one eats them but you,” Vic said, switching out the display tape and sliding in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi.

“Bogus…” Marcus grumbled. “You know, E.T. liked Reece’s. Who’s going to argue with E.T.?”

Vic scoffed. “Yeah, I’m happy to argue what’s good snack food with the walking scrotum.”

“Gross!” Marcus laughed, rolling the basket of cassettes out to the floor.

***

The sun set, and the parking lot lights came on, impotent against the encroaching night. The bright fluorescents inside the store did better, leaving a halo of light around the outside of the store through its floor-to-ceiling windows.

Marcus grabbed the next movie from the New Releases!!! section and popped the case open. Care Bears 2 hadn’t been rewound, tapped out all the way to the end. Unsurprisingly, children’s movies often didn’t get rewound.

“Found another one.”

Vic nodded, reading through the catalog of upcoming releases. “Thanks, Marcus. Hey, apparently I can finally get Back to the Future! Good shit. You got any movies you’re hoping to rent in the next lot?”

“I don’t know… Hey, can we get Enemy Mine yet?” he asked, taking the tape up to the display VHS player and popping it in.

“What the fuck is Enemy Mine?” she asked, flicking through the catalog quickly, trying to find it.

Marcus smiled. “It’s rad. A dude gets dropped into a grinder at one point.” He held down rewind and glanced up at the TVs, watching the Care Bears lose, the villain escape, and all the good undone. He smirked. “Y’know, I get that it’s faster to just do the quick rewind, but it’s really funny watching it play in reverse.”

Vic looked up, seeing the Care Bears pulling down the festivities, uncooking their treats. “Plus, it’s not a bad way to spend your time when you’re paid by the hour.”

Marcus was about to protest when something flickered across the screen, a bottle, a red light, a small room, then suddenly the movie returned and a fat vulture sat there. He let go and paused. “You saw that, yeah?”

Vic nodded, her throat tightening. “You want me to watch it first, kid?”

“Not a kid,” Marcus snapped, pressing play.

The vulture spoke, “I’ll be back for you!” before a harsh static flicker consumed the image.

An apartment, compact. To the left, the front door, to the right, the kitchen, an open plan. The lights were dim, giving the shadows in the room a hazy feel. Atop the dividing counter, a bottle stood, whisky. The camera turned and zoomed in on the bottle, centering it in the frame. Suddenly the light in the kitchen turned red, and the shadows darkened to near black. The bottle trembled and suddenly fell over, glugging whisky out over the counter and pouring onto the floor. The camera kept zooming until the neck of the bottle filled most of the screen.

A hand, fast and sharp, snatched the neck of the bottle from behind the counter, squeezing tightly. The bottle began to crack under the pressure. About to shatter. Then static obliterated the image once again and the movie returned.

You’re not blinking

Vic blinked, shook her head, and scowled. “Weird.” But she was just thankful it wasn’t…

Marcus slapped the eject button, yanked the tape from the player, and hurled it across the store, causing it to knock down a wire candy rack.

“Hey! Don’t hurt the merch,” Vic snapped, hopping over the counter, pulling the rack to standing, and picking up the battered tape. She frowned and clicked the top of the cassette into place. She stomped back over to the counter and looked down at Marcus.

He was breathing heavily and shaking, eyes dinner plate wide, vacant.

“Kid, you okay?” Vic asked, reaching a hand out.

He flinched and looked up at her. A few blinks and his eyes focused again.

He nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Marcus…” she said, re-offering the hand.

He ignored the proffered hand and stood up, brushing off his pants. “It’s fine. Just freaky,” he insisted, grabbing his backpack. “My mom should be here soon.” He tossed the hat back onto the shelf.

He won’t tell you anything. Leave it be. “Alright, kid. If it’s not okay, I’m here though, yeah?”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, heading for the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called as the door slammed shut behind him, lightly vibrating the windows.

Vic’s lips pulled down, brow furrowed. She considered going after him, maybe if she just— Leave it be. It wasn’t worth the fight.

That night, Vic dreamt of a too-small apartment, a bottle, and a red light.

***

It was warm, too warm. The fluorescent lights hiss hummed and matched the drone of the other students filling the lunch room. The press of bodies and clatter of trays too much. You should eat. A forkful of green beans tastelessly made its way to Marcus’ lips.

“Dude, Marcus.” Luke nudged him. “Seriously, what’s up?”

Marcus shook his head and looked down at his tray. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Did that creepy tape give you nightmares?” Luke asked, leaning in closer, whispering so others wouldn’t hear.

“Nah, I’m good.” A knot was forming in his throat. It was getting harder to breathe. He swallowed around it.

Luke took his hand and squeezed. “You can talk to me, Marcus.”

Marcus yanked his hand away. “Don’t be such a fucking spaz, Luke. I said I’m fine,” he bit back.

Luke looked hurt. “You don’t have to go mental on me, Marcus. I’m just trying to be a good… friend.” He grabbed his tray and got up, walking away.

Marcus closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, but the knot wouldn’t go away.

***

The door swung open and Vic looked up. “Hey, Marcus!”

When he smiled, it didn’t meet the bags under his eyes. “Hey, Vic. Oh, don’t let me interrupt you. I can see we’re really bustling.”

The store was empty, and Vic had been in the middle of stacking empty VHS cases vertically and seeing how tall she could make the tower.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked. He won’t want to tell you, let it go.

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep great last night, but I’ll be fine.”

“You can take the night off if you want, I don’t mind.” She smiled, and slowly placed the fourth case. “I think I can handle the blistering pace of Rome on a weekday.”

Marcus gave a genuine snicker and nodded. “I may take you up on that, but first I want to see you get that fifth case on there.”

She grinned and stood on her tiptoes, trying to get close to eye level with the tower atop the counter. Slowly, carefully, precisely she lowered the case into place. If someone walks in and sees this, you’re going to look unprofessional.

The door opened with a shriek and Vic jumped, knocking the cases to the floor. “Ah! Welcome to Videodrone!” she yelled a little too loud.

Standing at the door was a woman in a broad-shouldered suit, slate grey with a pocket square. Her shirt was brilliantly white in the fluorescent glare and her tie blood red. In her hand, she carried a briefcase, slick midnight black with a gold clasp on its front. In her other hand, she flipped a quarter, flick, snatch, flick, snatch. The rhythm was harsh and ongoing.

Vic frowned. “You can leave your letter letting us know your displeasure about the shop name here on the counter.”

Marcus looked her up and down. “Hey, the 1920’s called, they want their suit back,” he said, tossing the backpack behind the counter.

The woman again let out that harsh laugh, snapping her feet fourteen degrees to her right to fully face Marcus. That’s a good one, Mr. Williams. I’ll keep it in mind. Now, she said, turning back to Vic with the same quick movement, flick, snatch, I’ve heard from the grapevine, that you might have, in your possession two tapes which might need to be “fixed.” Vic could hear the quotes around the word “fixed” and it gave her a shiver.

“Uh… I might. I’m sorry, who are you?” Vic asked, stepping around the counter and walking over to the woman.

The name is Con Centus, but you can call me Con. I work for Veritas, she said, catching the coin and holding out her hand.

“I don’t know what Veritas is,” Vic said. “Are they a parent company of Zenon Films?”

Yes, that would be accurate. Con nodded.

Vic shook her hand. “Well, it’s good to meet you Con, but I’m not sure how you even knew about the tapes.”

Well, we heard about a complaint and a refund that was issued. She snapped her head three degrees to the left to look at Marcus before snapping back. She continued flipping her coin, flick, snatch, flick, snatch. We were worried that there might’ve been an error in the recording and, of course, that just won’t do.

Vic slowly nodded. “Alright… well, the tapes are over here.” She walked Con to the back counter and pulled out the two offending cassettes.

Perfect. This will only take a few moments. She set her briefcase on the counter and took the tapes from Vic, setting them beside the briefcase. All the while, flick, snatch, flick, snatch. With precise movements, she opened the clasp and slid a device out, setting it atop the bag. It looked halfway between a reel-to-reel recorder and a VHS player. She plugged it into the wall socket and lights leapt to life, flashing, throbbing, breathing. Con opened the device, a portion of its case lifting like a top-loading VHS player and she slid in The Stuff. She snapped the top closed and clicked the play button with a solid KUHCHUNK. The tape quickly ran through the first twenty minutes before a bright red light illuminated and the tape slowed to a crawl.

“So… what does this do?” Marcus asked.

Con didn’t turn away from the device. It “corrects” “faults.” The quotes falling heavy on either end of each word. The light suddenly turned green and the tape stopped. She rewound the tape, flick, snatch, and removed it, popping in Care Bears Movie Two.

The tape rolled along at a brisk pace and Vic watched it carefully. “How does it do that?”

Trade secret, Con responded sharply, flick, snatch. Rest assured, the “faults” will be “corrected.”

The red light blared and the tape slowed, grinding through the offending section. Vic thought she could hear something, rhythmic, past the flick, snatch. Glug, glug, glug. Then the light turned green and Con rewound the tape.

And that, as they say, was all she wrote, Con said, ejecting the tape and setting it beside its partner.

As she packed away the device Vic cleared her throat. “How much do I owe you?”

Flick, snatch. Nothing, Ms. Garcia-Mitchell. This service is provided free of charge. However, she turned around sharply, inches from Vic’s face, any further “faults” will not be the responsibility of Veritas or its subsidiaries. Have a good day.

Let me go, you don’t need to worry anymore. Vic let her go, chewing on her lip and glancing at Marcus. When the door shut Marcus turned to her. “So we’re playing the tapes, right?”

She had already grabbed both of them and began walking to the VHS player.

The red lights, the barn, and the bottle were gone.

***

Marcus had called his mom and after twenty minutes, Vic had been alone in the shop once again.

She was so relieved. Whatever that shit on the tape had been, it was gone now. She knew she’d sleep well that night.

The hours had dragged, and no one came by the shop until nearly seven at night, the sun beginning to kiss the horizon. Harry walked up to the counter, holding a copy of Cujo. “Hey, Vic. Busy night?”

“Oh sorry, Harry, I’ll be with you in a minute. We’re a bit backed up.” She turned to the empty air beside him. “Welcome to Videodrone, what can I do for you today?”

They both laughed and soon he was leaving, waving goodbye.

Vic sighed.

Maybe it wasn’t worth staying open during the weekdays… but if she wasn’t, that could complicate the overdue fees. Maybe she needed a drop-off box, like a mail slot. She’d get right on buying and installing that when her next influx of cash came in. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

Maybe she’d just turn in early. After all, she was looking forward to sleep now that the tape had— don’t think about that. She coughed and grabbed her keys. “Fuck it. The joys of being a small business owner.”

As she shut up the store, she stared out over the tapes and worried. What if something was waiting for her out there? I warned you. She shivered, turned the key in the lock, and then headed for her car.

The lonely Pinto huddled in a corner of the parking lot, tilted up lightly on the small hill, the lights above flickering softly, barely operational. The wind picked up and Vic hurried up, fumbling for her keys. She got in and blew air through her lips. “All good, breathe in.” She did. “Breathe out.” She did. Then she turned the key in the ignition.

Her brake lights flared to life and in the rear view, Vic saw a tarp on the asphalt of the lot.

She blinked hard. Still there.

She kicked the door back open and stood up, looking behind the car. The tarp didn’t go anywhere, placed carefully over a large lump. Huge, in fact, to Vic. She inched around the Pinto and bit her lip hard. She wanted to yell at it, rush it, throw off the tarp, prove there was nothing, but instead, she found the last few steps to the tarp impossible to make.

The tarp fluttered without breeze, breathing in, and breathing out. It rippled, trembled, and tumbled off the mass.

Vic cried out and covered her mouth, eyes burning with tears and fear.

A cow, black and white, lay on the ground, its head lolling, mouth opening wide, issuing forth a bellowing low. It shook Vic’s chest and she choked back a sob. “No, no, it’s not here.” She started to turn away and stopped as a voice called out behind her.

“Look at me…” the voice wheezed, low, bassy. She could only see the cow in her periphery. “Look at me,” the voice said again, louder.

She turned her eyes and gaped in horror as the cow’s head lifted off the ground, blood gushing from a wound in its neck, a ragged bullet hole. “Look at me!” its voice hissed harshly like a death rattle.

She covered her eyes and it started screaming, lowing, and roaring. Louder, and louder. She shook like a wind chime in a storm and tears burned her cheeks. For several moments she thought it was still screaming until she felt her throat going hoarse. She snuffed the sob, and the scream, and forced her fingers open.

The lot was empty, and her brake lights were off, having burnt out. No tarp, no cow.

She collapsed beside the Pinto and convulsed with great heaving sobs.

***

When Marcus got to the store Saturday afternoon, Vic looked like hell. “Damn, Vic, what happened to you?”

Her eyes were dark, hair unkempt, and she flinched when Marcus walked in. “S-sorry, had a spook last night and…” She bit her lip. “I didn’t get good sleep.”

Marcus frowned. “Yeah, I get that feeling. Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve got the store handled now and you can go get an early night.” He grabbed his hat and pulled it on. “Backup has arrived!”

Vic smiled, grabbing her keys. “Yeah, I think that’s for the best. Thanks for working the weekend.”

“It’s Rome. What else was I going to be doing?” Marcus asked, taking the seat behind the counter.

“Seeing Luke?” she suggested, nudging him and winking. Marcus shot her a look that took her aback. “Damn, sorry.” She held up her hands and went to grab her bag. “Hey, make sure you keep the popcorn warm… maybe have a little and enjoy a movie while you wait for the late rush.”

Marcus nodded. “Thanks, Vic,” he said, flicking the switch on the popcorn machine and going about pouring in the kernels and butter.

They said goodbye and soon Marcus was alone. He grabbed Moonraker and popped it in the player.

***

With fingers drenched in butter and nearly a whole liter of Mr. Peppy down, Marcus watched in rapt fascination as the horrors unfolded on screen, Poltergeist now residing in the tape player. He smiled to himself as the little girl said eerily, “they’re here!” Luke would love this movie. He was more of a horror junkie than Marcus. Don’t think about him.

The first night he’d spent at Luke’s they’d watched Alien together. That was also the first time they’d kissed… It’s your fault, really.

Marcus frowned and dropped the bag on the counter, spilling it a bit. “Fuck…” he grumbled and walked around the counter to pick up the kernels that had fallen.

There was a flicker out the front of the store. He lifted his head and saw that a lone light in the parking lot had turned red, blood red. Standing beneath it was a silhouetted figure. Broad-shouldered, hair short, clutching a bottle. It started walking for the front door, and Marcus dove over and behind the counter without hesitation, huddling under it.

The front door slammed open, shuddering all the windows in the store and making Marcus flinch.

“Where the fuck are you? I know you’re in there, you little queer!” The footsteps boomed across the carpet, shaking the floor beneath Marcus who whimpered and covered his mouth. “You think you can hide from me?” it yelled.

As the stomping got louder, red light flickered closer and closer. If it found him there, he’d… Marcus bolted from behind the counter and screamed as something grabbed his shirt and yanked him back. “Come here, you little faggot!” it roared.

He was slammed hard against the wall, both shoulders held in place. Marcus stared up into the eyes of his father, the bottle discarded behind it, softly glugging whisky onto the carpet. Marcus shut his eyes and willed his tears to stop. “Why’re you crying? Why?! Look at your old man,” it growled, pulling him forward and slamming Marcus against the wall, his head snapping painfully back. “Fucking look at me! LOOK AT ME, YOU PUSSY!” It shook him harder and Marcus felt drywall crack and his head spin.

Marcus sobbed hard, sucking in big lungfuls of air before starting to scream, his lungs rattling with it as he opened his eyes, staring up at his father. He screamed louder, harder, his throat feeling as though it were being ripped apart. Fear slowly subsumed by rage as he pushed away from the wall, screaming fiercer, eyes locked on his father’s face. His father’s arms suddenly buckled and it stumbled back, a… smile on its face?

Suddenly his father collapsed to the floor, breathing harder, the two of them staring at one another before its breathing hitched, and stopped.

Marcus stared at the empty patch of carpet, the bottle and its contents gone.

He fell back against the wall and started crying again, pulling in his legs, but never looking away from that space.

***

Vic stared at the hole in her wall.

She’d found it when she came in that morning and had done her best to ignore it while she got the store ready. Now, everything was done, and there was nothing to distract her. She leaned forward and could see small flecks of red. She’d wait for Marcus, ask him what’d happened. If she called now, it’d just feel like she was accusing him. Yeah, it was better to wait.

She did her best to not think about the parking lot…

The carpet needed vacuuming. There were bits of popcorn on the floor. It was funny how, universally, kids didn’t see the messes around them. Also, the windows could do with a wipe down, and it wasn’t like she was going to pay someone to come out and do it for her. She really couldn’t afford it.

A few hours after lunchtime, the front door opened and Marcus walked in. Vic was crouched over the rows of tapes, lifting them and wiping the dust away. “Hey, Marcus!” she called out.

Marcus grunted in response, trudging up to the counter and pulling on his hat, not looking at the hole in the wall.

Vic stood up and stretched, trying to look as nonchalant as she could, and walked back to the counter. She gestured at the wall behind him. “So, you wanna tell me why there’s a hole in my drywall?”

The bottle, glugging lazily. “It doesn’t matter, it’s over.”

A little kid, eyes full of fear. “There’s a hole in my wall.”

His breath, staggering. “I’ll fix it for you if you want, get me some spackle and paint and—”

Arms shaking, tears burning. “What are you so afraid of?”

The hands, digging into his shoulders. “I’m not fucking afraid! Okay? You think I can’t handle it? I’m fine!”

The weight of it all, too much. “You’re just a kid! You don’t have to do this alone, you fucking idiot!”

The spittle hitting his face. “I’m not an idiot and I. Am not. A kid!”

The light turned red. Not just the fluorescents, not just the TVs. Outside, even the sun was scarlet.

Neither moved. Neither spoke. Fear lancing through both of them and pinning them where they stood.

Something thumped against a window from the outside of the store. When they looked, a large smear, red, was traced along the window, dipping down and behind the racks of tapes. Then, whatever it was, it began to move, thudding lowly, dimly. Its back barely rose above the shelves. Limply, a hand slapped up against the glass, dragging along and leaving a trail behind.

Marcus ducked behind the counter and huddled in a corner as Vic continued to stand, staring it down, waiting for it to come into view by the front door.

“It’s not real, he’s not real,” Marcus whispered as he tried to shut out the red light which seemed to seep in past his shut eyelids, leaving the dark a bloody murk.

Vic’s breathing was shallow and she bit her lip so hard a dribble of scarlet ran to her chin, eyes deer-wide.

It finally got to the door and Vic could barely process what she was seeing. The torso of a cow, her cow, opened and half-butchered. One leg was that of the cow as well, though the skin was sloughed and dragging behind it. The other was a man’s, his pants melding back into the flesh of the cow. Its arms were hinged the wrong way around and a broken bottle was clutched in a malformed hand. The face was split in two, half a terrified calf, half a furious man who looked too much like Marcus. “I ay gruh!” it screamed from the other side of the glass, its misshapen head unable to form proper words.

The door shattered as the bloody pulp of a hoof-fist punched through it, spilling glass down the center of the store.

Vic cried out, flinching hard. She couldn’t do this, she wasn’t big enough, or strong enough! She ran to the office and locked herself inside.

Marcus shook with terror behind the counter as the sound of heavy footsteps crunched over broken glass. “He can’t get me. He doesn’t even know where we live,” he whispered to himself, repeating this like a mantra, getting louder as the thing screamed out again. “I ay gruh!”

Marcus slowly opened his eyes and scowled, trying to harden himself. He could do it again. He could face him.

Then it stepped around the corner of the counter and Marcus gasped, muscles frozen.

The eyes of the thing rolled down and looked at him, “I ay gruh!” it bellowed, lifting the broken whiskey bottle.

Marcus bolted for the other side of the counter, throwing himself over it. He ran for the rows of cassettes and heard the thing begin to run, its unsteady gait rocketing around the counter. He glanced behind himself and saw it slam against a shelf, scattering tapes and toppling the metal shelf, sheering the bolts that held it to the ground as it tumbled over, screaming out in pain and rage. “I ay gruh!”

Marcus started to circle around, heading for the front door, and as he neared the glass, something big slammed into him and he thudded heavily against the window, his head ringing from the blow. The cow’s head pressed against his cheek as the thing held him down, its eye lolling as it lowed out a pitiful sound and his father’s face screamed out. “I ay gruh!” The bottle raised high and glinted in the red light.

This was it. Marcus would die here. Afraid and alone. He closed his eyes.

There was a resounding crash of wood and the thing screamed in pain as it fell off Marcus. He opened his eyes just as a hand grabbed his. Vic stood there, dragging him to standing. Scattered around them were the broken remains of a shipping crate, and spilled boxes of Reece’s Pieces.

As they both stumbled back, towards the shattered front door, the thing dragged itself to its feet. They watched as its head split further and the jaws of the cow and Marcus’ father formed further, flesh and bone knitting itself together out of nothing. Vic pushed Marcus behind her.

Marcus’ dad’s face split into a half-finished smile. “Maybe you should get an adult to handle this?” The cow began lowing loudly, begging, pleading for death. Marcus took her hand and stared it down. “You don’t get to hurt me anymore!” he yelled at it.

“What’d you say, you fucking queer?” it bellowed, thundering towards them.

Vic whimpered and shut her eyes before Marcus squeezed her hand. She opened her eyes a crack and looked over at him. Marcus glared at the thing and refused to back away. A child, small for a boy, but all the bravery of a centurion facing down an insurmountable foe. She turned her head and yelled at the thing. “I put you down myself!” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “Lucy, you have to go!”

Marcus stamped a foot and took a single step towards the thing. “You never deserved me or Mom!” His voice seemed to shake the windows, and the thing stumbled, the broken bottle falling from its hand.

“You can rest, baby! I was too young, but I’m still here!” She blinked away her tears and stepped towards it too. Her voice was thunder at the edge of a storm, rattling bones and homes.

The thing’s face grew placid, peaceful, almost, and it fell back onto the ground, the blood growing dry, crusty, aged.

“You can’t hurt me!” Marcus screamed a sonic boom that dropped the thing to its back, gasping, wheezing, and shuddering.

They held one another’s hands and watched it die, one last rasping breath, and—

The red light was gone, but the destruction stayed behind.

Vic pulled Marcus in and hugged him tightly, who hugged back just as hard, both of them sobbing loudly as they fell to the ground. They stayed there for a few minutes and let each other cry.

Slowly, they pried themselves from one another and sat there, staring dumbly around at the broken glass and shelves. “What was it?” Marcus asked.

Vic shook her head. “I…” She was going to say she didn’t know, but she shook her head again. She grabbed a box of Reece’s Pieces that lay on the ground beside her, opened it, and held it out for Marcus. “I had a cow when I was younger, or, my grandpa did. Her name was Lucy…”

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