Why does the cash register ring up items that aren't in any customer's basket? Which shopper fills their cart from shelves that stock goods from decades past? What's preserved in the icebox that keeps the clerk awake at night? And why do the store scales weigh purchases in units that no cookbook recognizes?
Follow Cthulhu Architect on BlueSky!
The fluorescent lights hummed their eternal song as Elena pushed her cart through the narrow aisles of Hartwell’s Market. She’d been coming here for fifteen years, ever since moving to town, but lately something felt different. The produce gleamed too brightly under the harsh lighting, and the packaged goods seemed to watch her with their colorful labels.
“Same as always?” asked the cashier, a thin woman Elena had never seen before despite shopping here weekly. The name tag read ‘JENNY’ in bold letters, though Elena could have sworn it had said something else moments ago. The woman’s smile stretched too wide, revealing teeth that seemed too numerous.
Elena nodded, though she couldn’t remember what she’d purchased. Her cart held items she didn’t recognize — brands with names in languages that hurt to read, products that seemed to shift when she wasn’t looking directly at them. The receipt crumpled in her hand bore a total that made no sense, paid with money she didn’t remember having.
Walking to her car, Elena felt lighter somehow, as if she’d left more than just groceries behind. In the reflection of her car window, she paused. The woman staring back wore Elena’s face, but the eyes belonged to someone else entirely — someone who shopped at Hartwell’s Market, who knew Jenny the cashier, who had always lived in this town.
Behind her, the store’s automatic doors slid open with a mechanical sigh, welcoming the next customer into its fluorescent embrace.
