Aisles

I always shop late. Something about the quiet calms me-until tonight.

It was just past 11 when I pulled into Ridgeway Market. The parking lot was nearly empty, lit by flickering overhead lamps that buzzed like insects. I grabbed a cart, the metal cold against my fingers, and headed toward the entrance.

That's when I saw him.

A tall figure in a long coat, face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He moved slowly, deliberately, toward the doors. I didn't think much of it at first. People wear strange things. But something about the way he walked.
like he was gliding, it made my skin crawl.

Inside, the store was dead quiet. No music, no chatter. Just the hum of the freezers and the occasional beep from a distant register. I turned into the cereal aisle, scanning for my usual granola.

Then I saw him again.

Across the divider, in the opposite aisle. Same coat. Same hat. Same cart.

He wasn't shopping. He was just standing there. Facing me.

I turned into the next aisle. Crackers and chips. My heart was starting to race.

He was there again.

Same position. Same stillness.

I tried to shake it off. Maybe he was just browsing. Maybe I was being paranoid.

But then I turned into frozen foods and then he followed.

This time, he entered my aisle.

And he ran

The cart rattled violently as he sprinted toward me. I gasped and stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of frozen peas. But just before impact, he veered off and vanished around the corner.

I stood there, shaking. My breath fogged in the cold air. Nothing had happened. But everything felt wrong.

I rushed to the front, and found a worker ag register. "There's someone following me," I said, voice trembling. "He chased me with a cart."

The worker blinked.

"There's barely anyone here tonight."

The manager checked the cameras. Nothing. No hat. No coat. No chase.

Security offered to walk me out. I didn't argue. The night air felt heavier now, like something was watching.

Halfway to my car, I stopped. "I left my wallet," I muttered. "In produce."

I turned back toward the store. Alone.

As I neared the entrance, I saw him.

Inside the automatic doors. Cart in hand. Panting.

His head tilted slowly. The hat slid back just enough to reveal....

Nothing.

No face. Just a void. A black, pulsing absence.

Then he ran.

Full speed. Cart clattering. The sound was way too wrong, too loud, too sharp, like metal screaming.

I couldn't move. My legs locked. The world narrowed to a tunnel of fluorescent light and dread.

And then...

Poof.

Gone.

No sound. No trace. Just the cart, still rolling, bumping gently into the wall.

I never went back to Ridgeway.

Later, I learned the store had been built over the site of a fatal accident. A man crushed between carts in a freak collision. Late at night. No witnesses. No face left to identify.

They say his ghost still roams the aisles, mimicking shoppers. Waiting for someone to notice.

And when they do....

He runs.