Title: Night Clerk

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Original

Status: Complete

Disclaimer: This story and all characters are original and copyrighted

Archive: Mailing lists and WWOMB, otherwise, ask

Notes: Written for the Halloween Tales Contest at writing.com

Rating: R

Notes: Written for the Halloween Tales contest at writing.com. Heh. And I'm sending it to my Mary Sue list because, yes, I have been a graveyard clerk, and often fantasized about doing something like this.

Night Clerk
by Scribe

*A full moon. Wouldn't you know we'd have a full moon for Halloween--on a Saturday?* I thought sourly. *Like I really need the added lunacy.* Usually I don't mind working in Mom and Dad's store--after all, they're family, and they understand my peculiarities. But the bad thing is that I'm expected to go along with their kitschy promotions, and they're holiday happy.

By October 1st all the store windows were covered in murals. There was an entire grave yard, complete with ghouls. There were rubber bats hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the aisles, and the green slushy mix had been labeled Witch's Brew. About the middle of the month I got sick of explaining over and over again that it was really lemon-lime. Mom had even dug up a tape recording of eerie noises and vague, menacing sounding chants, and I was supposed to play it over the sound system all night long. Fat chance. I compromised by playing my Rob Zombie tapes during the wee hours.

I hadn't wanted to work Halloween. A woman really doesn't want to work alone in a convenience store on a night when there's gonna be a lot of people running around in masks, right? I wanted them to get my brother to work it but... well, full moon, ya know? And Mom and Dad didn't want to just shut down for that one night, because a local group had opened a haunted house just up the block, scaring the bejesus out of people with rubber severed limbs and blood squibs, and that generated some decent traffic. We can always use the extra cash, so I couldn't very well refuse.

I wouldn't wear the pointed hat, though, no matter how much Mom coaxed. My only concession was putting an orange Smiley face on my usual black t-shirt. Hey, at least it had blood-dripping fangs.

Things went pretty smoothly most of the night. Our family has run this store for a couple of generations, and we get on good with the neighbors (mutual protection society, ya know?), so I had a lot of parents bring their kids in--lots of little ghosts, pirates, and Smurfs. I had a Jack-o-Lantern full of little mini-candybars next to the register, and I told them I only gave treats for tricks. I got a lot of fancy jumping up and down, and a few karate or ballet moves. Everyone got a treat, natch, and the parents got to ooh and ah over how cute the kids were.

They all wanted to 'pet the stuffed kitty' on the end of the counter. Boy, did they get a surprise when Hepzibah cracked one green eye open and yawned at them. I know that having a black cat on the counter in a store isn't exactly up to health code regulations, but we never worry about being reported. Ya see, the chief health inspector makes it a point to always take care of us himself. He's got some *ahem* unusual dining habits that we help him out with, so he looks out for us.

Anyway, it was getting late--past one, and the traffic had dried to a trickle, then pretty much died. I was to the 'puttering around, reading magazines' stage. I knew when they pulled up that they were going to be trouble.

To start with, the same ratty car pulled past three times, cruising back and forth slowly. I couldn't get a good look at who was inside it (wasn't gonna let them see me looking, anyway--no need to let 'em know their 'prey' was on to 'em). Then they pulled into the lot, but they made sure to drive around to the 'blind side' entrance, and park at the side of the building, theoretically out of my sight. Nobody outside the family knows about the little black and white tv under the counter--the one that runs the feed from our security camera.

I checked it, and what I saw made me get on the phone. "Ma?" I said quietly. "Send Chuck over. Yeah. Yeah, I think so. If I'm wrong, where's the harm? He just gets some fresh air. What?" I checked the box I kept on a back shelf. "Damn! I thought I had at least a couple left. Have him bring at least one. No, tell him to wait around the side. He'll be able to tell if anything needs to be done. Sure, I'm fine. Love ya, too." I hung up and studied the screen again.

It was a couple of guys, looked like late teens or early twenties. Old enough to know better, in other words. I could tell they were drunk just by the way they were holding each other up and visibly giggling. We can't get sound, but I have real good eyesight, and am a pretty damn good lipreader. I didn't like the references they were making to 'that hot Goth bitch', especially not the way one of 'em was rubbing his crotch when he said it. I glanced down at Hepzibah. "Trouble comin', kitten." She yawned, showing a lot of pink gullet and even more pointy teeth, stretching her paws to that the fish-hook claws showed briefly. Then she appeared to go back to sleep.

They were looking all around to make sure there wasn't anyone else around as they came through the door. I could have told them that there wasn't much chance of that--this neighborhood is pretty dead after midnight. We only stay open as a courtesy, in case someone really needs something in the middle of the night. The bell rang as the door swung, and one of the dorks grabbed the door, grinnin', and shook it back and forth, making it clatter.

"Yeah, right, I noticed ya come in," I called. One of 'em strutted up to the counter, while the other headed back toward the cooler. I didn't watch him specifically, but I noticed he was going past the sodas and bottled water toward the beer. Not only did he look too young, but it was after legal hours, too, so I knew he was going to be a problem.

The one at the counter grinned at me. "Whazzup, Elvira?"

I rolled my eyes. "The name's Carmilla. I'm too tall to look like Cassandra Peterson, and my bust isn't as big as hers, either," I informed him.

He raked his eyes over me. "Looks plenty big enough to me."

His friend was coming up the aisle, a twelve pack of Budweiser in each hand. I raised my voice, "You can't buy that!"

He cackled, speeding up as he headed for the door. "Who the hell's buyin'?"

"Damn, why couldn't you wait, man?" his friend snarled. "I ain't had time for any fun with Morticia."

His friend kept walking toward the door. "Then do it, all ready. I'll keep watch out in the car." He was moving at a jog, now, and slammed the door open. I had a feeling that his horny compadre might very well find his happy ass left behind, once the sleaze got his beer safely in their getaway car.

He slammed through the door just as the jerk at the counter reached for the front of my shirt, saying, "How about I give you a treat, and you turn a trick?"

He did manage to actually wrap his fist in my shirt--just before Hepzibah rared up and sank everything pointy she had into his arm. He screamed like you'd expect someone who'd just gotten ripped by four sets of claws and a set of teeth to scream--if they were a twelve year old girl, I mean.

He shook his arm real hard, and got Hepzibah loose, but only because she'd decided to let go. He stood there, staring at his ripped up skin, turning green at the sight of the blood pattering down on my nice, clean floor, and shrieked, "Your cat bit me!"

"What an idiot," I drawled. "Worried about a cat when you have a vampire in front of you."

I dived over the counter and took him down just as the screams and growls started up outside. As I drained the crook, I saw, from the corner of my eye, the lights go off in the house across the street. Over the years, the neighbors have gotten a very laissez fair attitude about what goes on in our store.

After I was done, I dragged the corpse back behind the counter, then went outside. I swore when I saw that one of the twelve packs had split open when the second crook dropped them. We'd have to write it off. Mom and Dad weren't about to sell beer when it had probably been shaken up--they had too much respect for their customers.

Crook number two had made it to the far side of the car. The big gray wolf that had torn his throat out was snacking on the softer, more easily removed portions of his body. "Chuck!"

He stopped, whining apologetically. "Don't give me that! Not only can't you digest it, you know we have to save that for Mister Dibbs! We didn't have anything for him last month, and it wouldn't be fair to ask him to take short measure." Chuck tucked his tail, then rolled over and showed me his belly. I caved, as usual. Everyone has a soft spot, and mine is my baby brother. I scratched his ruff, then his belly. "No, I won't tell Dad. I'll just make sure they're bagged up real good before he comes in."

I hoisted the body up onto my shoulder. It was pretty easy--he couldn't have weighed more than one-eighty--not like that rapacious pro-wrestler I had to take down once. "Did you bring it?" Chuck wuffed, then trotted over the the grass beside the cement. He nosed around, then came back, a thick, wickedly pointed stake clamped in his jaws. "Way to go, Chucky. We don't want that one inside getting up in three days, do we?" I giggled. "Though knowing Mister Dibbs, by then there might not be enough of him left to be much of a problem." I took the stake and scratched behind his ears. "Tell Mom she won't need to heat up any cow blood for me."

He gave me a doggie grin. "No, I'm not likely to get fat. I don't think his cholesterol level was very high. Just remember to come relieve me on time." Chuck danced a little. "No excuses, bro. Moonset comes way before sunrise, ya know, and I'm tired." I started toward the store, ready to double-garbage bag the two new chunks of carrion, and store them in the back part of the cooler to await pick-up by the city's only ghoul. "I'm gonna hit that coffin like a ton of bricks."

The End