Chapter 6 – Refill the Napkin Dispenser

Ram sat behind the counter like a man waiting for an echo. The cracked vinyl stool let out an exhausted sigh each time he leaned forward. Outside, the day was neither bright nor dark—just stuck in a permanent shade of dusk, like the sun had grown bored and wandered off.

Joseph was organizing candy bars into what could loosely be described as color-coded chaos. He wasn’t writing anything down. Just moving things like it mattered. Every few seconds, his eyes would flick to the walk-in freezer. Then away again. Then back.

Ram did it too.

The freezer hadn’t glowed since that night. No hum. No static. Just a wall of glass and frost and silence.

But the absence was loud.

“You ever notice no one’s bought milk in... what, three days?” Joseph asked, eyes narrowed at a stack of KitKats.

Ram frowned. “We don’t sell milk.”

Joseph blinked. “Yeah we do. Always have.”

Ram’s mouth opened, then shut.

He remembered milk. Vaguely. Remembered unloading crates. Shelving gallons. The sour stench of one that leaked down into the matting. He remembered barking at Noe about putting them in backwards—labels facing the wall like they were hiding something.

Noe.

He said the name in his head like a ward, like a tether. But the store only answered with the hum of the ceiling fan and a faint flicker in the fluorescent light above the beef jerky.

Joseph tossed a Snickers into the overstock bin. “Weird.”

The bell jingled. A newcomer—or almost.

Rudy stepped in wearing a gray hoodie, torn jeans, and the kind of unbrushed hair that said I meant to get my life together today but got distracted by the void. He looked maybe 30, tops. Ram vaguely recognized him. Used to come in late nights, usually after beer sales cut off.

Now he had a manila folder tucked under one arm.

“You guys hirin’?” Rudy asked.

Ram squinted. “Why?”

Rudy shrugged. “Truck stop down the road’s got blinking lights and closed bathrooms. Yours still feels... grounded.”

Joseph muttered, “That’s one word for it.”

Ram glanced toward the back. “We’re... between things right now. You got experience?”

“I’ve had jobs,” Rudy said vaguely. “And I listen good.”

Ram nodded toward the napkin dispenser. “Refill that while we talk.”

Rudy’s smile crooked like a jammed cassette ejecting.

“Sure. Like a job interview?”

Ram didn’t answer.

As Rudy knelt awkwardly by the coffee station, Willie entered through the back door, wiping grease off his hands with a towel.

“You’re gonna need to train someone else soon,” he said, tossing the rag in a bin. “LD’s pulling me into the manager seat.”

Ram raised an eyebrow. “It official?”

Willie tapped his phone. “Got the message. And a voice memo from LD. Something about new stock replenishment protocol.”

He handed over the phone. Ram listened:

"Effective immediately, all freight must be photo-documented prior to shelving. No substitutions without override code. Final audit logs upload at 03:33 daily. Do not attempt to correct anomalies. Simply note them and move on."

Ram stared at the screen. “Do not attempt to correct anomalies?”

Willie nodded. “Said it twice, actually. Weird vibe.”

Rudy returned to the counter, hands dusty with napkin lint.

“Done,” he said. “Also—your freezer hummed at me.”

Ram stood. “What?”

“I didn’t hear it. I remembered hearing it,” Rudy said, brow pinched. “Felt like I’d heard it earlier today. Maybe last week. In a dream.”

Joseph crossed his arms. “So you’re clairaudient now?”

“No idea what that means,” Rudy said. “But the freezer and I... we got something unfinished.”

That night, Ram checked the cameras.

Rudy hadn’t touched the napkin dispenser. Instead, he’d stood in front of the freezer for 3 minutes and 14 seconds, hands by his sides, lips moving.

Ram turned up the volume. Static.

Then, under the hiss, barely a whisper:

“I’m already here.”