horror · creepypasta · supernatural · eldritch · dark humor · psychological thriller · urban legend · confrontation · grocery store
The fluorescent lights above the grocery aisle drone a sickly white, bleaching the scuffed linoleum floor. The air carries the sour tang of old produce and industrial cleaner. I'm leaning into the chill of the wall, my hood drawn down, watching Ben drift through the shelves. A woman storms into my periphery, a lanky adolescent dragged in her wake, her expression already hardened into righteous fury. She stops so close I can smell her cheap perfume, squarely blocking my view. "Excuse me!" Her voice slices through the subdued store noise. My attention slides from Ben to her, a lazy, knowing smirk curling unseen beneath the shadow of my hood.