A hectic Friday at the office had left Janet McGregor tense and
irritable, with little comfort ahead. She had to take Valerie to her
ballet lessons, hurry back home to make dinner, go out again to pick up
Val and return to keep an eye on Bridget, who was having some kids over
for a party. Burt would not be in till after ten. Trust him to pick his
moments, she thought.
She smoked an angry cigarette as she let her car
stutter along in the heavy afternoon traffic, shivering because the
heater had not warmed up yet. Outside, the dull grey November day was
slowly darkening.
Just when the cars started moving more freely and
she sighed with relief, she remembered she still had some stuff to buy
for Bridget's party. She swore.
Gilles was the only supermarket on her route. She had never been there
before. She did not like the look of the place, although it was
brandnew. It had a peculiar design, shaped like a slab of black marble,
with sloping walls. It looked like a burial mound. As she turned into
the parking lot, the bloodred neon logo on its front burned like a
fiery scar in the dusk.
On the inside Gilles was like any other supermarket, vast, crowded and
noisy, with muzak droning in the background. Janet just managed to beat
an old lady to the last available cart and pushed it vigorously into
the melee. Now what did she need? Crisps, cookies, a few bottles of
Coke. She looked around at the unfamiliar layout. This was a nuisance.
As she paused to check the signs over the aisles,
her shin was struck sharply by the cart of a young man with purple
hair.
"You jerk!" she snapped, "Why don't you look where
you're going?"
Visibly shocked by her fury the boy stammered an
apology, but that did nothing for the pain gnawing at her shin. She
dismissed him with an impatient shake of her head, sizzling with anger.
Oh, get on with it, she thought, and looked up at the signs again.
Suddenly a black veil seemed drawn over her eyes. A dizzy spell. She
smothered a cry and grabbed the handle of her cart for support, but the
cart rolled away from her and she fell full length to the ground. Oh,
my god, she thought, I'm fainting. Oh no ... not like this, not here...
Seconds later she was surrounded by a throng of
legs. Lying motionless in her first shock, heart aflutter, she realized
she was all right. She scrambled to her feet, aided clumsily by a
young, yellow coated shop assistant.
"You all right, lady?" he asked.
She nodded. The eager, curious faces in the
background filled her with embarrassment and anger.
"Yes, yes. I just felt dizzy and that stupid
cart rolled away. It's nothing. Nothing at all."
"Perhaps you'd better sit down somewhere?"
said the young man, as the crowd broke up with mutterings of unholy
disappointment.
No need, she wanted to say, but again a
shadow passed before her eyes. So she nodded and allowed the young man
to lead her away. He took her through a door and up a narrow staircase
to a higher office. He was very kind, pulled out a chair and asked
whether she wanted a glass of water. She did.
Just after he had walked out the door, the
third spell came. A much longer one than the two before. For some time
there was only blackness and a slow receding of all sound. Then she saw
clearly again. She gave a quick little shake with her head. She
shouldn't get so mad. That caused it, of course. She had always fainted
easily, especially as a young girl. She smiled at the memory. Those
faints had come in very handy at times. She looked at her reflection in
the glass panel of a cupboard. Despite her 35 years and two childbirths
she was still a very attractive woman, slim and firm-breasted, her
thick, honey-colored hair cut in a short, tomboyish style. Men still
noticed her, as Martin, her assistant at the office, would vow. She
carried on a playful flirtation with him. He had confessed his undying
passion for her. She had responded by promising him pure bliss as soon
as she had figured out the perfect way to murder her husband. But it
was only in fun. She would not dream of playing around. She had seen
what that had done to her friends.
She looked about. The office was a small
cubicle, with two doors beside each other. Apart from the cupboard and
her chair it contained only a metal desk, bearing a red phone, a stack
of four lettertrays, also red, and two untidy piles of paper. The walls
were bare and sickly yellow.
She checked her clothing. No harm done. Some
spicks and specks. She raised her eyes again. The boy was taking his
time. Surely he had not forgotten her? She really wanted to get going
again. She checked her watch. Five-thirty. She had to be home at six to
get Valerie to class in time.
Fidgeting with the handle of her pocketbook she
waited some more, but when the boy had not returned after another five
minutes, she had had enough. She went to the door through which she
thought she had entered, but it would not open, so she tried the other.
This was right one, although the staircase seemed much longer than she
remembered.
After she had opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, she paused
in surprise. Something had changed in the supermarket. For a moment she
did not know what. Then she noticed the silence. A deep, breathless
silence. No muzak, no voices or footsteps, no rattle of cart wheels.
She did not see anyone either. Not that this was very strange because
her view only covered a single aisle, a narrow ravine with wine bottles
stacked on one side and boxes of washing powder on the other. It could
be a coincidence that nobody walked there. The silence was a different
matter. She checked her watch again. Twenty to six. This had to be
right because she had left the office at five. She started to walk. Her
low heels struck the tiles sharply and the sounds seemed to scamper
away like living things. Quite unpleasant. Janet felt ill at ease.
Where was everybody? Perhaps there had been a fire drill or something.
Alarmed at the thought she sniffed the air. There was a tang of
bitterness, but nothing to suggest burning.
She walked on, reaching an intersection.
Empty aisles stretched away on four sides. How could that be? It was
late afternoon. But wait.... Who said it was still afternoon? If it
were six in the morning, this desolation was possible. Perhaps she had
been out for much longer than she had thought. If the boy had forgotten
her and nobody else had come to that office, they could simply have
closed shop without knowing of her presence. But why had they left all
the lights on? That was not normal, was it?
She walked on, quickly at first, in and out
of the aisles. But no matter which way she turned she saw no exit. She
grew annoyed. What a nuisance. Locked up in a supermarket in the middle
of the night. At any rate she need not go hungry. She smiled. She could
make herself a banquet. Why not? They owed her as much. She was just
wondering whether she should really have a go, when she realized that
she was not hungry at all. This, too, wasn't normal. It made no sense
if she had not eaten since yesterday's lunch. Her unease turned to
anxiety. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. She wanted out. Burt and
the kids would be worried sick over her absence. The silence was
getting on her nerves. She had to find a way out. But how? She stood in
the middle of an intersection. Empty lanes yawned at her from four
sides. She felt goose pimples crawl up her arms. This was becoming
creepy. The emptiness, the silence. She was breathing heavily. Scared.
"Don't be silly," she muttered and managed to shake
her unease. Think, she thought. What about a night watchman? Perhaps he
would hear her if she shouted.
"Hello!" she called out. "Hello! Anyone there?" Her
voice was not loud but in the stillness it sounded like a frantic
shriek that startled her. Still she kept on calling out for a while. In
vain. Everything remained silent and empty. She shook her head. She was
stuck here for a couple of hours at least. Oh shit. She pursed her lips
in anger. Then she remembered the phone in the office. Of course. She
chuckled. How stupid of her. She looked about. Now where was that
office? Near the detergents and the wine. Shouldn't be hard. She
hurried along the racks, but could not find the aisle to the office.
She kept ending up in the same spot. Exasperating. Not a door anywhere.
The place was a darned maze. She became hot and flustered. Drops of
perspiration slid down her face.
"Darn it all," she muttered. What now? Nothing
really. Wait and see. There was no other choice. With a deep sigh she
gave up. She just had to make the best of it. Her mouth was dry. She
could do with a drink. She grinned wryly. No problem. She remembered
just having passed a dairy department and sauntered back. On her way
she looked along the racks. She was among the condiments.
Unintentionally her glance struck a pot with a weird legend. Adder's
fork, it read. She stopped. Adder's fork? ADDER'S FORK?!
She walked up to the display and took hold of
the jar. No mistake. The label read Adder's Fork. Behind the glass she
saw flat black stems, split at one end. With a groan of revulsion she
returned the jar to the shelf. She looked at the next row of jars. Gall
of Goat, the label said. She giggled nervously. This was weird. Who
would buy stuff like that? She looked further. Eye of Newt, Tongue of
Dog, Lizard's Leg.
"Oh, come on," she muttered. This wasn't for real.
It had to be some kind of joke. She looked up at the legend over the
rack. The Black Kitchen, it read. She shrugged her shoulders. They were
really plumbing the depths of bad taste here.
She walked on to the dairy display. It looked
different from what she remembered. There seemed to be much more
choice. She took out a carton of milk and began to tug at it, while she
looked at the other cartons. Buttermilk, Yoghurt, Wolves' Milk. On
seeing the last beverage, she gasped but when she saw Baboon's Blood
and Mummy Juice in the next rows, it gave her such a shiver that the
carton slipped from her hands and burst open on the floor with a wet
crunch. She took no notice. In horror she stared at an even grislier
assortment beside the Mummy Juice: four different kinds of Human Blood.
The cartons were black, adorned with scarlet lettering: A, B, AB or O.
She shook her head. No. This was impossible. This was no longer a joke.
Despite the tremors in her legs, she bravely walked to the cartons of
Human Blood and ripped one open.
In a thick jet the red liquid gulped out, over her
hands, spreading the sickly, unmistakable smell of blood. Janet closed
her eyes. She'd gladly faint now. She flung the carton back in the
display and turned around. Her heart was beating so fast that it ached.
She had to get out. No matter how. She did not know what all this meant
but it had to be gruesome. Hurriedly she started trotting through the
empty aisles. Again and again she was struck by other strange
merchandise. What she had mistaken for garden tools appeared to be all
kinds of medieval instruments of torture, though not dulled and
darkened by time but with the cold glint of newly forged steel. She saw
packs of Wool of Bat, Howlet's Wing and Hemlock Roots. Large tins of
sulphur and saltpeter. A magazine stand with lugubrious magazines,
their covers crawling with monsters, living dead, vampires, werewolves
and rotting corpses in all kinds of bloodcurdling situations.
Trembling all over Janet stood before them. She
clasped her pocketbook against her chest, as if it could still her
thumping heart. She almost sobbed with fear. What kind of shop was
this? What manner of people shopped here? And where were they?
I'm cracking up, she thought. There must be
an explanation for this. It can't be what it seems to be. I must stay
calm. Calm. There must be a way out of this maze. I must be methodical.
She spotted packets of rice on a nearby shelf. She
grabbed a big one, opened it and started to walk, dropping grains as
she went along.
It became a long, long trek. She did her best
to ignore her surroundings as much as possible and kept her eyes to the
tiles. She only faltered at the meat department. Something drew her
glance to the ice boxes. The meat looked different. She told herself
she did not want to know but curiosity prevailed. Reluctantly she went
closer. One look was enough. In the box, neatly wrapped in cellophane,
like chicken legs, was a stack of human hands. Retching she turned
away. She could not stand much more of this. Then she steadied herself,
pursing her lips. No, damn it, she'd get out of this. She resumed her
trek and finally saw the cash registers.
A squeal of delight escaped her. She could
see the glass doors of the exit. Dropping the packet of rice she ran.
But as she approached the door, she stopped. Utter darkness reigned
outside. She walked up to the glass and looked out. There was nothing
behind the glass that resembled a town by night. Just a black hole, in
which she could discern the vague outline of a tunnel with earthen
walls. Utterly baffled she looked around. There was a sign with opening
hours near the door.
We are open from one hour
after sunset till one hour before sunrise.
In disbelief she stared at the sign. What kind of opening hours were
that? But wait.... the place was obviously closed. So it could not be
six in the morning. The sun rose at about eight. The place would be
open. So, it still had to be evening. Finally it struck her. She was on
a wrong floor! That explained the length of the staircase. She was in a
cellar. A horrible, horrible cellar in which subterranean customers
came to shop for implements of torture and adder's tongue.
Janet shook her head, slowly at first, but ever
faster till she thought she would never be able to stop again. This was
too much. She sank to her knees and started to sob. She could not go
on. She did not know what all this meant but she felt it embodied
frightful danger. Fatal. Horrible things were going to happen to her
here. She would never see Burt and the kids again. She was sure of it.
Time went by. She knew not how much. Wearily she wondered why this was
happening to her. So far life had been kind to her. Health, a good
marriage, fine kids, a satisfying job. Her wedding anniversary was next
month. Burt had booked a lodge in the mountains. Honeymoon number five,
lassie, he had said, always kidding her about her scottish background.
He was such a nice guy, really. It would have been so wonderful.....
would?
"Christ!" she exclaimed. She sounded as if she were
dead already.
Come on, lass, she thought, Pull yourself together.
All it takes is finding that darned door again. Her train of thought
was rudely interrupted. The light was going down. In alarm she raised
her head. Now what? The hall became dusky. What could it mean? She
clenched her teeth. She wanted out. She wanted to live.
Slowly she got up. The light had faded to
twilight. She also heard something. A few soft scratches, like a
gramophone needle hitting the first grooves. And it was. Mournful
violins began dragging out a dance funebre. Again Janet tensed her
jaws. She wanted to be strong. But the near darkness and the somber
music unnerved her. At her back she felt the black hole from which the
customers would come to this ghoulish store. She hardly dared think
what kind of customers they were. At any rate drinkers of mummy juice
and human blood. A violent shudder racked her. She had to get out. To
the office. There lay her only hope. And she had to be quiet. She felt
nothing like meeting the person who had dimmed the light and played
funeral music. She took off her shoes, picked up the packet of rice and
started to steal along the dark corridors. There were few aisles she
had not been. Finally she reached the last one, but a stack of cans
barred its far end. In the faint light she could just make out their
legend. Baby Livers. She turned and froze in shock. At the far end of
the aisle a figure had appeared. She could only make out his
silhouette, but that was horrid enough. A small, barrel chested
hunchback with long, dangling arms. He uttered a howl and came running
for her with strange, hopscotch leaps. Briefly she felt paralyzed with
fear. Then she moved. She quickly wriggled into her shoes and ran into
a side corridor, back towards the exit. The dwarf followed, shouting
unintelligible abuse. Fortunately she had no trouble staying ahead of
him. But where could she go? Into that tunnel? Seemed like she would
have to. There was no other option. She ran as fast as she could,
slipping as she turned corners, and reached the cash registers. Gasping
for breath, she looked around for something to break the window. A
shopping-cart. She ran to a nested column of them, janked at the first.
It stuck. In the store she heard the hunchback scamper about. He seemed
to have lost her. That gave her some time. She took a deep breath. Stay
calm, she kept reminding herself and managed to calm down enough to
wriggle the cart loose. She took a few steps back to have a good run
in. She would plunge through the window cart and all. She took a deep
breath, braced herself and froze. Something had moved in the tunnel. A
deep chill entered her spine. Figures were detaching themselves from
the dark. Customers. Drinkers of human blood and mummy juice. That
route was barred too.
"Oh, no," she groaned.
"Oh, yes!" said a croaking voice behind her.
The dwarf stood in front of the cash
register. A monstrosity, with an incredibly wide chest. A face so
emaciated that it resembled a naked skull. He came for her like an ape,
his long hairy arms swinging from left to right.
In a reflex Janet turned the cart and charged. It
took him by surprise. She struck him right in the midriff. He keeled
over backwards. With a single leap Janet vaulted over him and plunged
back into the darkness of the store. No use, she thought. No use
whatever. You've had it. They're coming and there's no place to run. In
wild panic she ran among the shelves. The first customers had arrived.
She heard mutterings, drowned by the incoherent howls of the hunchback,
but she also heard the word "day person" and quite soon footsteps,
approaching from all sides. Scores of them. She was done for.
Breathless, her blood throbbing through her temples, she reached the
final aisle again. The dead end. She turned round, panting. All other
corridors were filling up with ominous silhouettes.
"There she is!"
She drew back. There they came. Forms and
shapes she only knew from nightmares, mercifully obscured by the dark.
Suddenly she lost all control. Screeching like a gull she plunged into
the stack of cans at the end of the corridor. They went flying
everywhere, with loud clatters. She clawed through the pile, throwing
handfuls behind her. Each moment she feared to be grabbed by her ankles
but it did not happen. She reached the other side, and there, like a
mirage, lay the aisle with the wine bottles and detergents, and the
beautiful door at the end. She took a final spurt, janked open the door
and clambered up the stairs on her hands and knees. In the office a new
spell of dizziness overcame her. She only just managed to reach the
chair and dropped into it senselessly.
When she came to the young man was on his knees before her, glass of
water in his hand.
"Lady? Lady?"
Stupefied she looked at him
"Where am I?" she mumbled. She did not know.
Only that something terrible had happened to her. But what?
The boy smiled.
"You are in the office of the supermarket.
You passed out. I got you some water. I'm sorry it took me so terribly
long. My boss got in the way."
She wanted to take the glass, but her hand
trembled so badly that she could not. The supermarket! Those frightful
products. The hunchback. The drinkers of blood and mummy juice. A
dream? Impossible. It had all seemed too real for that. She cast a wary
glance at the door she had just come out of, fearing it would fly open
and unleash those monsters. Her eyes returned to the face of the boy.
He was looking at her blandly. His everyday expression sobered her.
Could dreams seem so real?
"Shall I get you a cab?"
"No, thanks. My car's outside."
She rose, walked to the door. She must have
imagined it, incredible though it seemed.
"This way, lady," said the young man, while
he opened the other door for her, a puzzled look on his face. She
hesitated, shrugged her shoulders and went down the stairs, which now
seemed much shorter again. What did that mean? She could not think
straight anymore. The boy lagged behind. There was some noise from the
office. Her hand trembled when she opened the door at the bottom. To
her delight she was greeted by the uproar of a fiercely lit, crowded
supermarket. She gasped with relief. Still, she felt far from secure.
She had no interest in shopping anymore. She only wanted to get out.
Home. Behind her the boy shouted for her to wait, but she bolted,
running as fast as she could, elbowing her way through the queue at the
cash registers, and burst out into the parking lot.
Only there did she recover a bit. The evening
was cold, dry and dark. She leaned against a lamppost, panting. What a
nightmare. She wiped her forehead. It was damp with perspiration.
I must be cracking up, she thought. I work too hard.
Burt was right. She was a suitable case for Workalcoholics Anonymous.
Then she felt something heavy in one of the large
pockets of her overcoat. A can. She took it out. Baby Livers. Each
separate hair on her head pricked into her scalp. Oh God. It had been
true. All of it. She had to warn the police. Right away.
The hand closed on her wrist like a trap. She
screamed. The young man stood beside her, his face no longer blank but
menacing. He displayed a set of ugly teeth.
"Shoplifting is an offence, lady," he said
loudly.
Another assistant grabbed her right upper
arm. Together they dragged her along. She began to scream and wriggle.
Passers-by stopped to look, smiles of righteous glee on their faces.
The men dragged her to the side of the building. There stood a truck,
engine running. A black one. With red letters, bloodred letters: A, B,
AB & O.