From: QuickStop Manager Your shift has been extended.

Marcus had been working at the QuickStop for eight months. It was a small gas station at the edge of town. One pump. One cooler. One bathroom that never locked. The night shift was usually quiet. A few trucks. A few drunks. Nothing scary. But tonight was different. It started at 11:00 PM when a woman in a white car pulled up to Pump 2. She pumped exactly one gallon of gas. Then she walked inside, bought a carton of milk, paid with a $100 bill, and sat down in the corner booth. She hadn't moved since. Just sat there. Staring at the window. Not blinking. Marcus tried to talk to her. She didn't answer. He tried to call his manager. No answer. He tried to call the police. The line was dead. At 1:47 AM, the text arrived. Your shift has been extended. Do not leave. Do not unlock the doors. Marcus walked to the front door and pushed. It didn't open. He pushed harder. Nothing. The lock was broken. The door should have opened. But it didn't. It felt like something heavy was holding it shut from the outside. He looked through the glass. The parking lot was empty. No cars. No people. Just the woman's white car at Pump 2. But the pump was still running. The hose was still in her car. Gasoline was pouring onto the ground. A huge puddle was spreading toward the store. Marcus ran to the back door. Same thing. Locked. Stuck. He couldn't get out. He went back to the front. The woman in the booth hadn't moved. But her milk carton was empty. And her face was different. Her mouth was open wider now. Too wide. Like her jaw had unhinged. "You should sit down," she said. Her voice was low and wet. "They'll be here soon." "Who?" Marcus asked. "Who's coming?" She smiled. Her teeth were black. "The ones who extended your shift." Marcus grabbed his phone. No signal. He tried the landline behind the counter. Dead. He looked at the security camera monitors. Every screen showed the same thing. The front door. The parking lot. The puddle of gas growing wider and wider. Then he saw something on the last screen. Camera 7 pointed at the road. Headlights. A line of headlights. Cars were coming. Dozens of them. All moving slow. All driving toward the station. The first car pulled up. An old sedan. No driver. The door opened by itself. A man got out. He had no face. Just smooth skin where his eyes and nose and mouth should be. He walked to the front door and pressed his blank face against the glass. Then more cars arrived. More faceless people. They surrounded the building. Dozens of them. Pressing their faces against every window. Against the glass door. Their hands slapped the walls. Soft at first. Then harder. Marcus backed away. The woman in the booth stood up. Her body made cracking sounds. "They're here for the shift change," she whispered. "But you're not leaving. No one ever leaves." She walked toward him. Her feet didn't touch the ground. Marcus ran to the cooler. The big walk-in freezer in the back. He pulled the heavy door shut behind him. It was dark. Cold. His breath fogged in the air. Outside, the slapping stopped. Then the front door broke open. He heard hundreds of footsteps. Soft. Wet. Coming closer. The freezer door handle turned. Marcus held his breath. He closed his eyes. The handle stopped turning. Then a voice. Not the woman's voice. A deeper voice. A voice that sounded like gravel and old radio static. "Your shift has been extended indefinitely. The cooler is your new booth. Welcome to QuickStop. Population: you." The lights went out. And somewhere outside, the gas pump was still running.