The Market's Edge

Frank had been working at the Market longer than he cared to admit. Time, or whatever strange version of it existed here, had no real boundaries. It didn’t matter whether it was minutes or eons. The aisles of the Market stretched out in every direction, filled with impossible choices—rows upon rows of desires, regrets, and memories that never truly belonged anywhere. It was Frank’s job to oversee them.

Most of the time, he was content with his place. He didn’t mind checking people out, guiding them through the Market. It was routine. Predictable. But lately, there had been a shift in the air. Something had changed. There were whispers. Shadows. A feeling that someone—or something—was watching him.

It was late one evening when Frank first felt it—something watching him from the edges of his peripheral vision. At first, it was just a flicker of movement in the aisles, a shape that seemed to bend the light in unnatural ways. He chalked it up to fatigue. He’d been here longer than he could remember, after all.

But tonight was different. The aisles felt too quiet, the air too still. Frank stood behind the counter of Checkout Line 13, reviewing a receipt that made no sense, when he heard it—a whisper, faint but unmistakable.

"Frank..."

His heart skipped. He froze. His eyes darted over the shelves, but there was no one there. No customer, no visitor, just the usual rows of boxes and forgotten choices. He shook his head, brushing the unease away.

"Frank..." The voice came again, this time colder, as if carried on an unseen wind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

He stepped out from behind the counter, his eyes scanning the aisles. There was a shadow, deep and unnatural, moving with purpose—but when Frank looked directly at it, it vanished.

It was as if the Market itself was holding its breath, waiting for something.

The next day, a man appeared. His name was Henry, and he walked down the aisle toward Checkout Line 13 with purpose, his eyes scanning the shelves in a way that made Frank uneasy. He didn’t look lost—he looked like he was searching for something, and not just any something.

He stepped up to the counter, his eyes locking with Frank’s. Henry’s face was familiar, but not in a comforting way. There was something unsettling about him, a dark, calculating energy that seemed out of place in the endless rows of choices.

“I need something,” Henry said, his voice low but forceful.

Frank didn’t respond immediately. He simply stood there, watching him. Henry was clearly familiar with the Market, perhaps more so than anyone else who had ever come through.

“What are you looking for?” Frank asked cautiously, leaning against the counter.

Henry didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze shifted to a shelf in the back of the store. “I know there’s a way out,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Frank to hear. “You can help me find it, can’t you?”

Frank’s stomach churned. No one—no one—spoke of the exit. There were rumors, yes, whispers from some of the more desperate souls that passed through the aisles, but no one ever mentioned it openly. And definitely not in front of someone like Frank.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank replied, his voice stiff. But his mind was racing. Could the Market be unraveling? Had the rules been broken before?

“I’ve been here before,” Henry said, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it now. “And I will leave. You’ve seen them come and go—people with the same faces, the same choices. But the exit is real, and I know it’s here.”

Frank felt a cold chill spread down his spine. The Market shifted around him, the shelves bending at the edges, like they were listening, reacting.

“You’re not supposed to talk about it,” Frank said, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Henry smiled, his eyes darkening. “That’s the problem with this place, isn’t it? You keep the rules, but the rules are what trap us here.”

Frank’s blood ran cold. This man wasn’t just a customer. He was a threat—someone who might know more about the Market than Frank did.

As the days passed, Frank couldn’t shake the image of Henry, his cryptic words lingering in Frank’s mind. And then, Evelyn appeared.

Evelyn was like the others—confused, disoriented, trying to make sense of her surroundings—but there was something in her eyes. It wasn’t panic. It was something else. Something deeper, like she was searching for something she couldn’t quite name.

She wandered through the aisles aimlessly, as if looking for a purpose. Frank didn’t speak to her right away, but eventually, their paths crossed. She looked at him for a moment, then to the shelves, her face a mixture of frustration and curiosity.

“Where am I?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.

Frank didn’t know how to answer. He had long stopped asking that question. But there was something about her that pulled him in, like she was fighting to understand this place, unlike the others who simply gave in.

“Are you looking for something?” he asked, more out of habit than genuine interest.

“I don’t know,” she said with a shake of her head, her voice tinged with both fear and determination. “I just... I need to find something important. I don’t remember what it is, but I’ll know it when I see it.”

Frank watched her for a long moment. There was something about her energy, a refusal to accept the Market’s rules. He wondered if she had already started to question the truth of this place. She didn’t seem like the type to follow its logic without question.

Over the next few days, Evelyn came back. Each time, her eyes grew sharper, her resolve harder. She would search the shelves, her hands trembling as she reached for items that seemed to call to her, but always retreating before she made a choice.

There was something she wasn’t saying, something that lingered in her silence. And Frank couldn’t help but wonder—was she also hearing the whispers? The same ones he had?

Meanwhile, Frank couldn’t shake the image of Henry and his questions about the exit. His words echoed in Frank’s mind, the idea of leaving, escaping, becoming increasingly dangerous in his thoughts.

One night, Frank found an old scrap of paper behind the counter. It was a faded map, crude but detailed, showing a path through the Market that he had never noticed before. The map was filled with symbols he couldn’t understand, but at the center was an icon that sent a shiver down his spine: a door, drawn in stark black lines.

Could this be the exit? Was someone still trying to escape?

But Frank knew better than to trust the whispers. The Market didn’t let people escape. It controlled them. He had seen it happen before—those who defied the rules, who sought the exit, were never the same after. They were lost to the Market, broken and twisted into something else.

Then, one night, the three of them found themselves in the same aisle.

Frank, Henry, and Evelyn—drawn together by forces neither of them could understand.

Henry appeared first, walking with that same determined energy, his face drawn with both urgency and resolve. Evelyn stood a few steps behind, her eyes wide, but there was a fierce determination in her gaze that matched Henry’s.

Frank watched them both from a distance, unsure of what to do. The Market was shifting again. The aisles were closing in, warping like a twisted maze.

Evelyn spoke first. “Do you know where we are?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Henry didn’t look at her. His focus was on something else—something beyond them, beyond the shelves. “There’s an exit. I know it.”

Frank’s stomach churned. “You’re wrong. No one leaves the Market. It traps you. It consumes you.”

Evelyn stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t believe that. I believe there’s a way out, Frank. And we’re going to find it.”

As if on cue, the aisles around them began to twist, the walls narrowing, the shelves warping in on themselves. The Market was reacting, shifting, watching. Henry took a step forward, his hand outstretched, and Frank tried to warn him, but it was too late. The walls closed in too quickly.

Henry reached for a door that materialized from nowhere, his fingers brushing the handle.

There was a loud, cracking sound. The Market reacted.

The walls shifted violently. Frank watched in horror as Henry’s form began to fade, his body warping and dissolving into the shelves, consumed by the Market’s power.

“No!” Evelyn cried out, stepping forward, but it was too late. Henry was gone.

Frank stood frozen, his heart pounding. The Market had claimed him—just like it claimed the others before him.

And as the aisles returned to their eerie silence, Evelyn turned to Frank, her face resolute.

“I told you,” she said softly. “I’ll find a way out.”

Frank could only watch her, feeling the weight of the Market’s grip tighten around them both. The rules were clear: those who sought the exit were punished. But Evelyn was different. She wasn’t going to give up.

Neither was Frank. He had witnessed enough to know that the Market’s hold could be broken—but it would come at a price.

And Evelyn? She might be the one to finally pay it.