Smartly Titled: The Night Shift

It wasn’t that I hated the night shift, it was quite the opposite, actually, I loved it. It was far quieter than the daytime hours and, while we did have our share of trouble with drunks, addicts and other sorts of undesirables, they usually don’t cause nearly enough trouble to be overly worried about. Whenever one of them does come in, I’m tasked with serving them; I’m not really that small of a guy, and the few others that I share the graveyard shift with deem my size intimidating enough.

Now, we do get regulars at these hours of the night, it was just as common as the daytime hours’ workload, mostly they were other night shift workers, insomniacs and the occasional non-trouble making addict, with the occasional prostitute and dealer not there to make trouble or work, some just prefer the quiet of the night in comparison to the hurried, bright hours of the day, I can understand that.

The man I’m talking about seemed to be no different than these others, he would come in at exactly midnight, every night, and go and sit in the oldest booth in the restaurant, which was further away from the others, separated somewhat and right by the window that just bordered the alleyway next to us; the others were scared to death of him (I work the night shift with an assortment of younger men and women, usually students, so they usually cower behind me) and as I’m the manager of the night shift, I usually go and take his orders.

Now, I only work the night shift. I had very specific conditions to starting my work here, conditions that my employers were actually happy to hear about as no one WANTED to work the night shift, and my permanent presence ensured that SOMEONE was always there, at least. I’ve been working the night shift for over three years now, but this man had been coming in for around five months now; sometimes, that meant some casual talking and maybe even a name and some details of our personal lives, the usual. I had something akin to that with some of the other ‘regulars’, especially an insomnia writer that frequented the night shift, as well as the addict that lived three streets down, whenever he decided that food was more important than whatever his current fix was. Or I decided to be a good samaritan and sponsored him, anyway.

But not this guy.

He wasn’t the worst we had, by far, always polite and never bitchy when his order managed to take more than the standard five-ten minutes, but he never spoke more than ‘Hello, I want [order]. Thank you. Goodbye.’

His order changed every now and then, so it wasn’t made even weirder by him permanently ordering the same thing, anymore at least; the first month he came by, he always ordered just a black coffee, and, every other day the same toasted cheese sandwich. He only changed when I persuaded him that our eggs weren’t bad either, he should try them, that it was the daily special.

He was reluctant, but only nodded his consent, his head permanently ducked and covered by a thick, wool-lined hood with a surgical mask on underneath; sure, it would look suspicious and for the first few weeks I WAS suspicious of him, thinking he might be scouting us out to rob or bomb the place, but the more he came around and we actually got used to our nightly ghost, those thoughts just kind of evaporated.

Even some of the students have gotten more used to him and some even offered to go and take his orders when they were feeling particularly brave, but he was still always so soft spoken and polite when he requested that only I could take his order, though never using such direct words. Not even I knew why he only wanted me taking his order, and my unawareness never changed, even when my colleagues pestered me about it about three times a month; was he someone I knew, but I couldn’t recall him, maybe because I’ve never even seen his face fully? Or was it some sort of crush? A stalker maybe?

I didn’t know, but even though he was antisocial personified, and a bit weird, I never got any bad vibes from him, he didn’t APPEAR to be a bad person, always just sitting by himself and never striking up any sort of conversation with us or the other patrons.

But, curiosity can only go unsated for so long, and one night, that curiosity got the better of me and, when I took his order, I dared to speak out of our unofficial, pre-arranged script.

“So...what’s your name?”

His shoulders twitched, like my sudden not-usual words took him by surprise, maybe even scared him, but he whispered a name out, “Ruvaen.”

It took me a bit by surprise, I had never heard of a name like that before, could he be a foreigner? It was pronounced Rue-Vein, and it definitely didn’t SOUND local. I didn’t hear any sort of accent in his voice either, but he could have moved here when he had been real young, after all.

I shrugged the assumptions away and continued in what I hoped was a friendly, non-intrusive voice, “Nice to meet you, Ruvaen, I’m Lucian” I laughed a bit, making sure to keep it brief and soft so as not to have him twitching anymore, “You’ve been coming in here for some time now, I just thought that it was weird that we still didn’t even know each other’s names, I know all my other regulars.”

“I won’t be a regular for much longer” he admitted in that same, soft voice and I blinked, gaze turning a bit worried as I stared down at him; that tone sounded so FINAL...I really hope that the guy wasn’t dying, or planning on killing himself for that matter.

I forced my voice to be steady, “Oh? That’s too bad, you’ve been such a constant around here that no one else ever sits at this table, it’s like it’s been unofficially marked as yours alone.”

He shrugged, or, more accurately, his shoulders gave another one of those twitches, “Everyone avoids me, those that don’t...regret it. No one wants any contact with me.”

That was just fucking messed up, just plain sad honestly. Looking down at him, I noticed something that I just...never had, which made me a bit uneasy, like HOW had I never noticed the guy never seemed to change clothes? Thinking back, it seems that he has always been wearing the same thick, wool-lined jacket over black jeans and boots, even when he had been coming by in the beginning, when it was had been the last of the summer months, when even the nights were close to unbearably hot, this guy has never once taken off his hood or mask. Did he...have a defect, maybe? It would make sense why he was always hiding inside his clothes.

Not wanting to push on that sort of subject, in case it wasn’t true, I said instead, “That’s not true, the people here don’t mind you, hell, my usual night time customers scare my students here so badly they are too terrified to even come out of the kitchen, but you’re different. They actually WANT to take your order, some even talk about you - all good things, all good things - before and after you’re in here--”

“And how long do those students last?”

His words had, for the first time in my entire life, a block of ice settling in my chest and I finally understood why the feeling terrified people; the words were ominous and more than a bit threatening and, more UNKNOWN THOUGHTS filtered to my mind, how it was TRUE. The kids who DID get the courage to come and talk to him, they usually request to be only on the day shift, on the best occasions, a lot of them outright quit, and...Maggie had even died, killed by her crazed girlfriend.

I shook my head, those incidents couldn't be because of Ruvaen, though, it should be just coincidence.

But...Maggie’s girlfriend was pretty adamant that the girl’s murder wasn’t actually HER fault, she blamed some sort of black-misted THING that MADE her kill her girlfriend; most believed she was trying to go for the insane plea, but it didn’t work and she still got life with parole only after 30 years, I think, I hadn’t followed the case too closely.

Ruvaen looking up at me had my rabid thoughts slowing to a stop so fast I nearly got whiplash and all I could do was stare into those eyes, not brown or even caramel, but pure golden, or maybe more like molten amber than actual gold; the iris’ bigger than any other I’d ever seen, and the pupil so small that it was nearly lost between all the brightness. They had to be contacts, didn’t they? Those eyes...they weren’t HUMAN.

“I’ll only be around a few more days” he spoke, his voice not above his usual whisper, but it still made my ears ring, “You’ve already had far too much contact with me, it’s a miracle you’re still alive, but...you’re...GOOD. I have nothing against you, so it can’t hurt you, but you should not talk to me until I leave. Just leave an order on my table before I arrive, and don’t let your students come into contact with me either. I don’t want to be responsible for anything else happening to any kids.”

It’s more than I’ve ever heard him talk, the sound of his soft voice lulling me and making me want to...I don’t really know, but I wanted to do something. He...must have seen something because those bright eyes widened and he stood up quickly, having to make a grab at his hood as it fell back and I got more glimpses of his ever elusive skin; scarred and cracked, like third degree burns that hadn’t been treated right...or were still raw.

THAT was the first time that I actually got scared and I took a step back, but Ruvaen didn’t react to me and merely walked out of the restaurant and into the night, quickly blending in and vanishing with his own dark clothes.

I was almost immediately swarmed with my colleagues and several other patrons and I noticed that I was on the ground, that I had collapsed and was sitting flat, chest heaving as I tried to calm my erratic heart and lungs, head ACHING and spinning, tipping the world clean on its axis.

They thought he must have said something to me, must have done something, and some even wanted to go and hunt Ruvaen down and demand answers, while others were more calm and insistent that they call the police and an ambulance.

I shot them all down, nothing had even HAPPENED, I had just...had a moment of weakness and somehow collapsed. Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten yet that day; they didn’t seem to believe that any more than I did, but they did back off enough for me to sign out and leave earlier than I ever have on this job.

The next night, I talked to the staff, including a new employee who was working the night shift for the first time, instruction them to not go close to Ruvaen’s table, to leave him alone and not even look over at him; they were confused, not knowing who RUVAEN was, but immediately understood when I explained. I had a coffee made, as well as chose a random dish for him to eat and laid it all out at his table; at midnight, he came, ate and sat in silence, staring out the window until well after 3AM, before leaving, money and a large tip with my name written on it left behind.

This continued for another month and then, for the first time, he didn’t show up at midnight, nor at one, or two. The same thing happened on the second day, the eighth, the twentieth, and then I stopped counting after day fourty.

I didn’t understand why it bothered me, why it worried me that he had stopped showing up, was it because of what he had said the last night we had talked? Had he really died, or killed himself? There was no way I could track him, though, I had a first name and while it was a weird one, I didn’t have the means of trying to use it to FIND him anyway...so I just had to lie to myself that I didn’t care and I wasn’t looking outside every night at midnight to see if I could find him.

The big news broke big around that time, how some big-time gangbangers had been found, gutted in ways that had nauseated veteran cops and detectives alike, how the details had been so brutal that even the usual leaks had refused to drop anything to the press.

The following night was also Ruvaen reappeared again, but sooner than usual, when the 10PM rush was still going on; he walked in, the others moving aside unconsciously and most not even looking at him, but he didn’t go to his table as usual, he came straight to the counter where I was working and I could only stop and stare at him.

“I...it doesn’t want me to be here, it warned me, but I had to come by...to tell you...and to say goodbye, I guess” he nodded to me, his whisper almost being drained away in the noise surrounding us, “I had to warn you, is more appropriate, that if you ever see me again, don’t even look in my direction, I can’t control it next time, and...stay inside on August 2nd, it’ll be snowing that day, it’ll be dangerous and you’ll be safer inside.”

He didn’t say anything more, only turned to leave and I shouted his name without even noticing it.

The moment that weird name left my lips, however, I froze, as did everyone else around me, but...it seemed that they had been put on PAUSE. Because, while Ruvaen himself didn’t turn around, the shadow at his back did and it stretched up and wide, so much that it seemed to shroud the world in darkness and my throat squeezed shut.

“DO NOT TOUCH WHAT BELONGS TO THIS ONE.”

The voice...was scalding, searing my mind and I never even bothered trying to choke down air; the feelings lasted for far longer than it should have, yet, it did and, when I came too, I was in the hospital, the doctors informing me that I had not only collapsed at work, but it seemed that I had had a seizure that resulted in my heart stopping, it was momentarily, but they were looking over me as a 23 year old shouldn’t just collapse like that without some underlying condition. They found nothing, I had been completely healthy, baffling all who had been looking after me, but that had managed to get discharged soon enough.

I quit my night shift job as soon as I was out of the hospital and made sure to heed Ruvaen’s warning, staying inside for the entire week of the 2nd of August, for that year and every year following. Something big, something DANGEROUS always seemed to be happening around my vicinity at that time.