The Night Shift

“Welcome to All-Night-Con, we’re happy to serve you!” Mel sang, baring all her teeth.

The customer with “yesterday” penned under his eye and a shirt that read “don’t talk to me” stared back.

The door shut.

Humming happily, Mel continued to restock the crisp display.

Mel was fifteen when she first started working for Mr Idō at his convenience store. He usually didn’t employ anyone that young, but he was kind to Mel. She had always come in with her father as a child, and being one of the few immigrants in town at that point, he was a bit softer towards her. He was a good boss, who paid you full wage for sick leave and always gave you extra hours if you needed them.

At first, she ran the afternoon paper route for him. Then she worked in the back doing stock intake and assisting him with filing. Finally, she had convinced him, seven years after that initial interview, that she could be trusted on the night shift.

He had left that night, at 8pm sharp, leaving Mel a list of chores to do until, written in his neat calligraphy-style writing, in his little black book.

‘Yesterday’ man was flitting around the chocolate, messing up the display as he rummaged between Galaxy and Dairy Milk.

The door chimed.

“Welcome to All-Night-Con, we’re happy to serve you!”

Mr Idō stumbled over the step, furiously gripping onto the door handle. “Melanie-”

His hands were smeared with blood, clutching his side. ‘Yesterday’ yelped at the sight of him and backed up, bringing the crisp stand crashing to the ground.

“Mr Idō!” Mel shouted, as his knees buckled. She hurtled towards him, kicking loose crisp packets out of the way, “what happened? You!” she turned to ‘Yesterday’, blinking rapidly. “Ring an ambulance.”

Mel kneeled down next to Mr Idō, coaxing him into leaning on her. His hand still clung onto the door handle. Mr Idō’s hair was flattened on one side of his head, as though he had fallen asleep on it.

His breathing was laboured - Mel checked his side; the blood was starting to pool around her knee. The wound was dark, lost somewhere between his jumper, shirt and undershirt.

“Melanie,” Mr Idō rasped. “The book-”

Mel’s vision clouded. “I didn’t - I haven’t done everything yet but-“

“No,” he hissed, jaw clenched against the pain. “The back - key - safe.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” Mel nodded. “You’ll be able to get it when you get back.”

“No,” Mr Idō hissed again. “In the safe - ah - don’t let them find it.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Mel chanted. “It’s gonna be fine.”

‘Yesterday’ started picking up crisps and sirens were wailing down the street.

-

Mr Idō had been carted away in the ambulance, the police had taken a brief statement and ‘Yesterday’ had vanished sometime between the ambulance arriving and finishing picking up the crisp display.

All that was left was Mel, the pool of Mr Idō’s blood in the doorway and the little black book of chores.

By the fifth time she scrubbed underneath her nails, she could not tell if the red staining was from the blood, or the scalding water.

Mel started with the mopping. There had only been a few customers since the last mopping at 10pm, but Mel still had another four hours of her shift to go - a little stabbing wouldn’t stop Mr Idō from checking all of the chores had been done.

She started on aisle two: out of sight, out of mind.

Why was Mr Idō even here to get stabbed?

The Fanta oranges would go off soon, she must remember to tell the day-shift.

Who would want to stab Mr Idō?

Someone forgot to order bread last week, better leave that voicemail before she leaves.

What had he said about a key?

The blood in the doorway was starting to dry - would bleach be good enough?

Mopping only took so long, so checking the inventory was next - all perfect, just like it had been at midnight.

The bleach stung her eyes. The more she used it, the worse the stench on blood clung to her nostrils. Her breath was bated as she waited for the chime of the doorbell, the regular muttered curse of Mr Idō lamenting that the chores had not been completed, before delighting in the custom they had received that day.

Another sponge wrecked. Mr Idō would not be happy that she was blowing through the stock.

Her knees ached against the cold floors, but seeing the white marble effect would be worth it once she was done.

What had Mr Idō said about the book?

Something about the back?

Thumbing along the back of the book, she felt a rise in the leather. A surge of mania went through her, the thought of ripping open the book, tearing through it like the flesh in Mr Idō’s side.

Careful not to tear anything, she pulled at the spine, hoping to find an entrance somehow.

Outside, the sky was starting to lighten; sunrise. Should she call someone? Was the shop going to remain open? Was Mr Idō going to live?

A small key clattered on the counter. The back of the book was ripped; Mel’s fingertips were raw.

The safe was located in the corner of the stock room, in the freezer section of a broken fridge.

Everyone knew not to touch the safe - Mr Idō was particularly strict about that rule. Flashing before her eyes, Mel remembered when she had first found it, and being particularly curious, had asked Mr Idō about it.

Spittle flew from the corners of his mouth. “Don’t ever go through my personal belongings again!” he had roared. It was extremely unlike Mr Idō to shout, but when he did, he did it well.

Trembling, Mel lifted the key to the safe. She took a deep breath, jimmied the key around a little bit and - click! The door swung open.

Feverishly, Mel looked inside.

Sat right in the middle, was a lonely ice cream tub.

Mel grabbed it, tugged open the lid and staring back up at her was £20,000.

The door chimed.