Chapter 9 – The Message That Wasn’t

A Forklift Phantom

The sound came from behind the store. It wasn’t the first time Ram had heard it—that low, mechanical hum of a forklift in reverse, complete with that high-pitched beep-beep-beep. Only this time, the sound was sharper. More deliberate. Like something wanted to be noticed.

He and Joseph both turned toward the back room in unison, neither saying a word.

“Did you hear that?” Ram asked, already knowing the answer.

Joseph nodded slowly. “It’s not in your head, bro.”

The two made their way toward the receiving area, footsteps soft but anxious. The metal door to the alley was closed, locked from the inside. Ram turned the handle, expecting resistance—and got it.

Still locked.

No movement on the camera feed either. Just static.

Nothing on the Dock

Ram unlocked the door and opened it just a crack, peeking into the loading zone. A light breeze blew in, carrying the smell of stale fryer grease and warm asphalt. The alley was empty. No truck. No forklift. Not even a trail in the dust to suggest movement.

“What the hell?” Joseph muttered, stepping out beside him.

There were fresh tire marks—just two short parallel streaks leading nowhere. They ended abruptly, like someone had dragged a ghost pallet halfway and then vanished. No boxes. No shrink wrap. Nothing.

Ram crouched and ran a finger along the black marks.

Still warm.

“LD,” Joseph said with a half-laugh. “Gotta be. Who else ghost-delivers?”

Ram stood. “LD doesn’t make noise when he drops things off. Remember the onboarding pack for Rudy? It just… appeared.”

They stood in the silence, the beep-beep-beep now gone. Only the wind rustling through a crushed soda can against the fence remained.

“Maybe it’s a glitch,” Ram said finally.

Joseph wasn’t convinced. “Maybe it’s not.”

LD’s Non-Message

Back inside, Ram checked the inbox again. Nothing new from LD. No instructions. No directives. Just the stale auto-pinned messages about handwashing signs and stock rotation.

Then the voice crackled again from the office intercom.

“Message… corrupted… onboarding complete… shift logs enabled…”

Ram grabbed a pen and jotted the fragments. “That’s three days in a row of corrupted messages.”

Joseph leaned against the wall. “LD’s getting sloppy.”

“Or someone’s messing with the signal.”

“Who?”

Ram had no answer. But the tone of the voice—mechanical, yes, but also… strained—had started to feel more like someone shouting from underwater. Each message more garbled than the last.

He typed a response.

LD, please clarify. We heard delivery sounds but nothing was dropped off.
Rudy’s onboarding complete. Shift logs confirmed. Awaiting stock instructions.

He hit send. The message blinked once, then vanished.

Schedule Talk Over Plastic Nachos

At the front counter, the team gathered around a tray of microwaved nachos with plastic cheese and too many jalapeños. It had become a makeshift meeting tradition.

Willie unrolled a printed schedule and laid it flat. “Alright, starting tomorrow, we rotate. I’m mornings, Joseph takes swings, Ram and Rudy got afternoons.”

Rudy smirked, licking cheese off his fingers. “Sweet. Afternoon shift means I get the weirdos and the lotto rush.”

“Embrace it,” Joseph said. “That’s where legends are made.”

Willie looked up. “Y’all remember to do the phaser logs?”

Ram nodded. “They’re already syncing to LD’s portal. I don’t know how, but it’s working.”

“I didn’t scan anything,” Rudy added.

“You don’t have to,” Ram replied. “Just walk through the store and think shift complete. LD does the rest.”

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “So he’s psychic now?”

“More like he’s listening,” Ram muttered.

No one laughed.

The Backroom Breathing

Later that night, Ram returned to the back room alone. He stood in front of the walk-in freezer—the same one he had entered weeks ago. The handle was clean. The hinges recently oiled. There was even a laminated cleaning checklist now posted next to it, with signatures in LD’s blocky digital font.

But something was wrong.

The door was breathing.

Or at least, it sounded like it. A slow whoosh-whoosh of air pushing in and pulling out, like a lung behind metal.

Ram pressed his hand against the door.

Cold. Not freezing.

“LD,” he whispered. “What’s behind here?”

Nothing answered.

He waited. Five seconds. Ten.

Just as he turned to leave, a sudden knock echoed from inside.

Knock-knock-knock.

Three slow taps. No urgency. No rhythm. Just… presence.

Ram took a step back.

Then he turned, flicked off the back room light, and left without a word.