The Checkout

Riley stood still in the cereal aisle, staring blankly at the endless wall of brightly colored boxes. His basket hung at his side, its plastic handle pressing into his palm with a dull, familiar ache, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, fogged with indecision. Cinnamon squares or oat clusters? He and Maya had gone through this a thousand times, and yet here he was, frozen with the impossible choice.

The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seemed louder today, the flickering bulbs casting a sterile glow over everything. The shelves were perfectly aligned, the boxes stacked too neatly, like soldiers standing in perfect formation. A soft tap-tap echoed from somewhere further down the aisle, the sound of someone’s cart rolling along the linoleum floor. But that too seemed distant, unimportant.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb along the smooth edge of the basket’s handle. The air in the store felt thick, pressing against him in a way that made his skin prickle. It was broad daylight. Just another Tuesday afternoon in the supermarket. There was no reason for his heart to be hammering in his chest, no reason for his stomach to be twisting into knots.

And yet...

"Did you hear that?"

The voice was barely a whisper, like someone standing just behind him, so close that he could almost feel their breath against his neck. Riley’s heart skipped a beat, and he turned sharply, scanning the aisle.

Empty.

His pulse quickened. He could have sworn—no, it had to be nothing. The hum of the air conditioning, maybe, or the subtle creak of the shelves settling under the weight of their contents. Just his mind playing tricks on him. He shook his head, trying to shake off the unease that had settled like a weight on his shoulders.

Behind him, a woman shuffled past with her cart, her face set in a neutral, almost vacant expression. She didn’t seem to notice him, didn’t seem to hear anything out of the ordinary. Riley forced himself to relax, to loosen his grip on the basket. It was just another day. He was just tired.

But as he turned back to the cereal, that prickle of unease remained, stubborn and insistent.

He grabbed a box at random—oat clusters, he thought—and turned to head toward the checkout, eager to escape the artificial light and the creeping sense of wrongness that seemed to hang in the air. The store was quiet, too quiet. The soft beeping of the registers in the distance felt muted, as though the world had been placed under a blanket of heavy silence.

As he rounded the corner into the frozen food aisle, his breath caught in his throat.

"Did you hear that?"

The same voice, soft, just above a whisper, like someone murmuring directly into his ear. He spun around, faster this time, his heart racing, his pulse thudding in his temples.

Nothing.

The aisle stretched before him, cold and empty, the rows of freezer doors reflecting the harsh fluorescent light. His palms were slick with sweat now, and he tightened his grip on the basket, his fingers trembling. He wasn’t imagining it. He *couldn’t* be imagining it.

His eyes darted over the shelves, searching for some sign of movement, some hint of the person—or thing—that had spoken. But there was nothing. Just the cold, sterile air of the supermarket, the soft hum of the freezers, and the flickering lights overhead.

Riley swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He needed to leave. Now. The box of cereal felt heavy in his hand, and he clenched it tightly, his legs carrying him toward the front of the store without a second thought. His mind raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he pushed through the aisles, weaving between shelves that now felt too narrow, too confining.

The checkout line was longer than he’d expected. He stopped short, staring at the row of people waiting patiently with their carts, their faces blank, their eyes dull. They didn’t seem to notice him, didn’t seem to notice anything.

His skin crawled.

The cashier—a teenage girl with pale skin and dark circles under her eyes—stood at her station, mechanically scanning items, her movements slow and deliberate. The soft *beep* of the register echoed through the air, each one louder than the last, a jarring counterpoint to the oppressive silence that had settled over the store.

"Did you hear that?"

The voice was louder this time, more insistent, closer. Riley whipped around, his heart slamming against his ribs. His breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes wild as they scanned the aisles. There was no one. No one *there.*

He turned back to the checkout, his legs trembling beneath him. The line in front of him hadn’t moved. The people stood like statues, their expressions blank, their bodies frozen in place.

He stepped forward, his breath catching in his throat. The box of cereal felt like lead in his hand, and the basket swung awkwardly at his side. He needed to leave. Now.

The woman in front of him—middle-aged, with a tired face and gray streaks in her hair—placed her groceries on the conveyor belt one by one, her movements slow and methodical. Too slow. Like she was stalling, delaying something inevitable.

Riley’s skin prickled with every second that passed, every item she placed on the belt. The cashier scanned them without a word, her face expressionless, her eyes glassy.

The tapping started again.

Soft, rhythmic, barely audible at first, but growing louder with each passing second. Like fingers drumming on a countertop. Riley’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat as the sound echoed in his ears, drowning out everything else.

"Can I help you find something?"

The voice cut through the tapping like a knife, sharp and cold. Riley’s breath hitched, and he turned slowly, his heart racing.

No one was there.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, his legs trembling beneath him. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on him, suffocating him. He needed to get out. He needed to *leave.*

The tapping grew louder, faster, more insistent. It seemed to be coming from all around him now, filling the air, pressing in on him from every side. His pulse thudded in his ears, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Can I help you find something?" The voice was closer now, almost directly in his ear.

Riley stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing. His hands trembled, his knuckles white as he clutched the basket. He glanced around, eyes wide, searching for the source of the voice, the tapping, *anything* that could explain the suffocating dread that had wrapped itself around him like a noose.

But there was nothing.

Just the slow, steady beep of the register, the soft rustle of plastic bags, the rhythmic tapping that had now become deafening.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His legs moved on their own, carrying him toward the exit, the box of cereal slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor as he ran.

The automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, and he stumbled outside, gasping for air as the cool breeze hit his face. The sun was bright, blinding, and he squinted against the harsh light, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

He turned back to the store, his heart still pounding, his hands shaking. The sliding doors had closed behind him, sealing the supermarket in its own bubble of artificial calm.

But even as he stood in the parking lot, bathed in the warmth of the sun, the tapping lingered in his ears, soft and persistent.

"Can I help you find something?" The voice echoed in his mind, a quiet, insistent whisper that refused to fade.