“And the buck soared down the hill like a rabid wolf! I was sure it would impel me with his razor sharp horns. Right as I was about to turn tail and run, I was tripped from behind by a rock! I REACHED for the knife at the last second and SPLASH!” Charles shouted, thrusting up his hand like he was holding an invisible knife, “it plunged into the heart of the mad deer. The mouth was foaming and the blood poured onto me like a crimson waterfall. It was gruesome – it was hell, but I escaped a deadly chase alive and relatively unharmed.”
POW!
A gun shot blasted the tiled ceiling, causing dust and debris to rain down, along with shrieks from people tied up against the wall. Charles fell to his feet in fright, right in front of the man with the shotgun.
“I TOLD YOU ALL ALREADY!”
“So-so-sorry.” Charles whimpered, barely able to look up at his imprisoner.
The pack of cigarettes he had just bought dropped out of his front shirt pocket and he dared not reach for it and make any sudden moves.
The man with the gun was dressed in all black including a ski mask, hiding his identity and the only thing worse than his weapon was the bulky apparatus with dozens of pockets stitched to the vest, along with several wires connecting tubes sticking out of them.
He walked with heavy, pounding steps as if something about this random group of people disturbed him with an unnatural amount of striking animosity.
“You have three chances to tell me a funny story or I will blow this whole place up to shards and ash!” the Gunman shouted, turning around to the others for a second.
“But – that was – was one of my better ones.”
The gunman lifted Charles up by his polo shirt and slammed him against the snack shelf, which had been forcibly moved to block the entrance of the gas station store. On particularly bad luck or a well thought out plan, this hostage situation had gone perfectly. All the windows were blocked by shelves or curtains and the only other exit had already been locked, having not complied with the fire emergency exit standards in the first place.
Adding more to extreme circumstances this particular gas station did not have a panic button and the gunman had explained that a cell phone jammer had cut off access to the phone signal. It was near midnight and the building was located on the far side of town, not well traveled.
“Well! Why did they vote you as the one to tell me a good tale! Why! Charles! Why!”
“I DONT KNOW WHY!” Charles shouted with tears.
“He said he was funny!” barked the old woman with gray hair and a green blouse.
“Yeah. Mentioned to me in line that he wanted to be a comedian.” agreed the man with a bushy mustache and equally hairy arms.
“I thought his jokes were funny.” said the bald, gold chain owner of the gas station, who was named Rob.
“He is funny. Just give him some time.” said the blonde woman with the short cut hair.
“Thank – you – Ra-racheal.” Charles stammered, having some comfort that his apartment neighbor was sticking up for him.
The gunman threw Charles back on the ground in front of the group.”
“Stand up already!”
Charles scrambled to his feet, having no choice but to obey. There was an empty spot in the convenience store, where the shelves were moved away, giving ample room for a person to dance and jump around. Four other people had their legs and hands tied up with zip ties and all sat immobile against the wall facing Charles.
“You told a long winded joke with a sour punchline. Then you told a trite, overused horror story with a lame ending!” The gunman spat on the floor, then knocked over a small shelf of peanuts.
“AAAARRRRGGGG! Give me a better story!”
Charles’ face twisted with agony.
“I just wanted a pack of smokes on my off day from work. I didn’t expect to perform! Why are you doing this? It makes no sense!”
This peeved the gunman as he lifted the button attached to his vest and lightly pressed to top of the red button.
“NO!” shouted the entire room.
“Life is boring, you see. If I don’t get to hear a really good story, then why should I continue living? I need excitement to keep going. This is exciting!” the gunman grimaced.
“Just! Tell! Another! Story!” shouted the old lady.
“Ok! Ok! I will tell something else – a story about work!”
Intrigued, the gunman pulled two chairs from the side, scraping the floor with a loud shriek. He pushed one in front of Charles, then sat in the other one.
“Where do you work?” he grunted, and pointed with the gun to sit.
“The L-Mart on 2nd. I work in stocking. We have all kinds of strange things happen there.”
“Where’s the story? What does work have to do with it?”
“Well – you – know. It will get better. Sometimes unexpected things happen at work. The mundane can only happen for so long, until one good one pops up by chance. ”
“You better hope it does.”
Charles swallowed a mouthful of spite, overly concerned about his drool slipping out, even at this point, he wanted to have some dignity. The gunman had such violent eyes, full of rage and spite that it made him incredibly nervous. His eyes felt overwhelming, yet somehow terrifyingly familiar – he dare not stare too long to guess why.
“It was one long, agonizing night shift. Nothing was going right that night, nothing did that day shift either. The day manager, Tim, had forgotten to unlock the front doors, overflowed the employee bathrooms, and fell asleep during the shift, from what I heard.”
“Sounds like this day manager is a dingus.” the gunman said and leaned back in his chair.
Charles felt an ounce of relief, having hooked the gunman with a good introduction.
“He certainly is, but I haven’t even seen him for the past two weeks since I was moved from day to the night shift. An abrupt change, that really has me wondering what the heck I did that made me get pushed to that shift – ah – well no more on that – I got a story to tell. One that has the mystery of the cloaked man who appears in silence and leaves without a trace.”
The gunman scratched his chin and even the others against the wall looked interested in this next tale.
“My friend Sara had been looking into this for a while. She swears someone had been stealing food from the break-room.”
“Missing lunch. A fiendish food stealer is the worst kind of criminal.” the gunman shook his head.
“Of course.” Charles agreed, “and everyone’s lunches had been missing for a while too. Particularly Tim’s pieces of chocolate cake that he left for some odd reason in the fridge. Those were made by his husband – delicious – scrumptious – moist pieces of cake, waiting to be ate.”
“Oh. It does sound fantastic. Tell me more. Really.”
“At least as far as I was told by Tim. You know. I’ve never had any – I wanted to – but – eh – eh…”
Charles glanced briefly at the gunman who was tapping his shoes on the floor in displeasure as he rambled off track.
“Anyways!” he began again, “last week, I went hunting with Sara on my break around the store. Trying to see if we could sniff out some clues and such. We dodged around shelves, ducked beneath clothes racks, and checked the back rooms for lurking entities. It was not until about two am on a destined and auspicious night, full of fog, bleak rain – a Wednesday – of all days, that we finally saw something. I haven’t told anyone about it! Sara saw a flutter of cloak go by the ice cream aisle. She gave a yell, called me over from the bread aisle to help chase something down. We thought he might be Felix or Jamie pulling a prank, but as soon as we went running, I finally saw it! There was a cloak, a figure dashing around, but no feet ever touched the ground! The cloak was levitating! Beyond belief I know, but I had to keep running!”
Charles sat in the chair, moving his arms around and making grand gestures to try to build some excitement and he was convinced it was working. The gunman lowered his gun and slouched his shoulders.
“The cloak flew past meats, knocking things around the fruit bins too, and finally into the break room. Sarah had slipped on some water and twisted her ankle, so she didn’t see what happened next. But as soon as I got into the break room the lights flashed, then a gust of wind knocked me to my feet, and when I opened my eyes, it disappeared! It left a wake of destruction as surveyed the room. The tables were broken, the fridge was overturned, and the day manager’s cake was spilled all over the floor. I felt so bad that I cleaned it up myself. But! I can’t tell you how wild it was to chase a ghost! A real ghost did this!” Charles exclaimed, clapping his hands like he was trying to drum up support.
The gunman had not moved his gaze at him, slowly breathing through pursed lips, contemplating the next move.
“That…” he said in a grouchy voice.
Charles shivered and held in a scream as much as all the others did.
“Was good.” he said to an immediate relief around the room.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Rob signed.
“I knew you could do it.” Rachael cheered.
The mustache man simply gave a thumbs up to Charles while the old lady shrugged apathetically, then said, “should have opened with that one.”
“No one believes me!”
“It didn’t have to be real for it to be a good story!”
“Unfortunately, I do like real stories.” the gunman retorted.
Charles’s eyes went wide in fear.
“I prefer the honest truth to the fictitious imagination. If a tale isn’t enthralling on its own merits, experienced by the storyteller themselves, then I don’t want to hear it. Why bother? Tell me the damn truth or die!”
The gunman held up the button to the bomb and pressed down on it slightly.
“Got any last regrets?”
Charles weeped.
“Yea-ye- yeees. I – I -”
“I what?” the gunman demanded.
“I actually made up the whole story about the ghost destroying the break room!” Charles screamed out, confessing his sins, “Sara actually slipped chasing me down, because she knew I was the one who was eating Tim’s delightful chocolate cake from the break room when no one was looking! I had to pay her a hundred dollars to keep quiet.”
Charles broke down in tears, sobbing while apologizing on his knees.
“I – I – so-so- sorry!”
Then, through his misty vision, he looked up and he heard applause. He had to rub his eyes around on his snot covered shirt to see the oddest of all scenes.
Everyone was clapping.
“What’sss going…on?” Charles pleaded.
The others were free and standing up congratulating him like it was he just won employee of the month. Even the gunman had put his gun down and cheerfully clapped along.
At last the gunman took off his ski mask to reveal his identity.
Charles could not process the moment.
“T-tim?” Charles gasped.
It was indeed his middle age, pot belly day manager of the L-Mark supermarket. It would have been strange for Charles to see him outside work. This was an exponential degree more strange to see him with a bomb strapped to his chest. Not to mention, the mild mannered, ne’er-do-well had never seemed like the guy to take hostages or act aggressive in any capacity.
“Your day manager finally got you to admit the truth. I knew it was you the whole time, but I had no evidence since the cameras short circuited and the work orders have been backed up.”
“Bu-but-”
“But nothing! I may be a dingus, a fool, and not always on time for each shift, but I don’t eat other people’s food!” Tim exclaimed, pointing his thumb to chest.
“You set all this up because I ate your cake.” Charles said as his mouth went dry.
“Yes! And I will do it again if you ever do and this time I will have a real bomb!
“And everyone here was in… on it?”
Charles looked around to see others shake off their zip ties and dust themselves off, like this was a scene from a movie being filmed.
“Sorry, Charles. I got paid well for this whole thing.” Rob said, returning his shelves to the rightful place.
“I was just lucky I got to be used as an extra for something. No one gives me roles.” the mustache man explained, shook hands with Tim and left the store.
“I just like seeing people suffer.” the old lady said, flipping her head and exiting too.
“Rachel? I have known you for five years.” Charles said in disbelief.
“Yeah. But that was before I knew you were a food stealer.” she commented with her head turned up, too ashamed to look at him.
Charles looked down at the scuffed and worn down floor as Tim stood over him.
“Learned your lesson?” Tim asked.
“Yeah. I should have quit smoking.”
Off Beat Off Kilter | Robert Eugene Stories 