Hollow Pines Gas & Market (Part 1)

I guess this is the only website that works out here.

I'm not even joking. Whenever I try to check anything else, it either times out or shows me a page that just says "Access Restricted By Local Infrastructure" in Comic Sans.

Yes. Comic Sans.

So here I am, talking into the void, trying to maintain my sanity behind a gas station counter that seems to have materialized out of thin air. The counter is a worn-out, chipped piece of wood, and the gas station is a small, isolated building surrounded by darkness.

I work the night shift.

My coworker is a possibly stoned goth girl named…well, I don’t know if I ever got her actual name. I just call her “Dude.” Her perpetual state of chill is both baffling and entertaining.

Our other coworker is Greg?. With a question mark. That’s not me being weird. It’s literally on his name tag.

Greg? is…Greg?

I think he’s made of bugs.

But he’s nice about it.

Anyway, this is where I’ll be chronicling my slow descent into either madness, supernatural horror, or maybe both. Not for fame or fortune—just because this is the only site that loads, and I’m bored.

When I thought things couldn't get any weirder, a stranger walked in and ordered' the usual' as if he were a regular. But I've never seen him before in my life.

Neither has Greg?.

And our manager comped his purchase and said “Don’t ask questions.”

Cool. Totally normal.

Emily’s at the slushie machine, like always. She’s got her hood up and earbuds in and is somehow sipping a grape-and-lime monstrosity with a spoon straw while still looking vaguely intimidating.

I once asked her if she actually works here or if she just loiters behind the counter long enough for management to give up and put her on the payroll.

She shrugged and said, “I think I was born behind the counter.”

Fair enough.

Greg? is currently trying to stock bags of chips but keeps knocking them over with his elbows.

I’d say he’s doing his best, but honestly, I think this is his best.

He keeps muttering, “Normal human actions… yes… shelf interaction… casual product handling…” under his breath.

So yeah. Tuesday.

The radio is stuck on Tally Hall's "Turn the Lights Off."

I don’t mind the song, honestly. It's catchy.

Except every time the lyrics say, “Turn the lights off,” the gas station lights actually turn off.

When the lights flicker back on, something is standing in the middle of the store. It's tall, wrong, and has too many arms. Emily doesn't react. Greg? is unfazed. I'm frozen in place, my mind struggling to comprehend what I'm seeing.

Emily hasn’t reacted.

Greg? is still stacking chips, completely unbothered.

The thing tilts its head at me.

The song hits the chorus again.

Turn the lights off.

Darkness.

When the lights come back, it's gone.

I stare.

Emily sips her slushie.

“Happens sometimes.”

Cool. Totally normal.

I haven’t even had time to process the mild demon encounter when the door chime goes off.

A man I've never seen before walks in.

He goes straight to the counter and says "The usual."

Now, I’ve been working here for a week.

I know the regulars.

I’ve never seen this guy before.

I glance at Emily.

She’s suddenly paying attention.

I glance at Greg?.

Greg? is watching him. Not blinking. Not smiling. Just…still. His unnerving stillness adds to the growing sense of unease.

I punch random buttons on the register. Nothing rings up.

The manager steps out from the back.

Takes a small bag from under the counter.

Hands it to the man.

Says "On the house."

Smiles, but his teeth don't look right.

The man nods once and walks out.

I wait for someone to explain.

Emily just goes back to her slushie.

Greg? leans close to me and whispers:

“That guy doesn’t have a smell.”

Cool. Totally normal.

Greg? whispering, “That guy doesn’t have a smell,” is not what I need to hear right now.

I stare at him.

He stares back.

I could ask him to elaborate.

I could accept that he just… says things sometimes.

I could quit my job and live in the woods.

But instead, I just sigh and rub my temples. It’s too late for this.

Emily shrugs and goes back to her slushie like this is normal.

I make a mental note: Investigate later.

(Translation: Forget about it until it happens again.)

At some point, Emily goes outside for a smoke break.

Greg? is still pretending to be a Normal Human™ by casually restocking shelves while actively vibrating.

I decide to check the security cameras.

Bad idea.

The footage shows:

1. The man walking in.

2. The manager was already waiting for him, bag in hand.

3. The man looking directly into the camera.

Not at the counter.

Not at me.

At the camera itself.

Like he knew I’d be watching later.

I rewind.

Rewatch.

At the exact moment he turns to leave…

The screen flickers.

When the feed comes back?

He’s already gone.

Not walking away. Not out the door.

Just… gone.

Greg? appears behind me. Too quietly.

I jump. He grins.

"Whatcha watchin’?"

I close the tab immediately.

"Nothing."

Greg? nods like that answer makes sense. Then he just…wanders off.

I hear a bag of chips hit the floor.

Emily comes back inside and smells like cigarettes and mystery.

I try to ask her about the guy.

She just shakes her head. “If you’re smart, you’ll stop thinking about it.”

Which is the least reassuring thing she could say.

Greg? chimes in unhelpfully:

"Yeah, it’s like that time I found my own name written in the break room three weeks before I started working here. Just don’t think about it too hard, dude."

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Okay. Sure.

I’m just going to let that one go.

Emily sips her slushie.

Greg? restocks a single bag of chips and acts like he solved world peace.

The radio still won’t change songs.

Outside, the night is eerily quiet, adding to the unsettling atmosphere of the gas station.

I start typing this post.

Not for help.

Not for answers.

Not for anything, really.

Just because this is the only website that works.