The Night Shift, page 1
The Night Shift
A Prequel to ‘The Jumper’
David K. Hulegaard
Copyright 2012 by David K. Hulegaard. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. No reference to any real person, living or dead, should be inferred.
Cover Design by James McDonald
www.houseoflore.net
Books by David K. Hulegaard
Noble
The Jumper
Anthologies
Resistance Front
Coming Soon
Noble: Bloodlines
Strangers
Official Website
www.davidhulegaard.com
@HulegaardBooks
For Jennie,
Your unwavering support and love is more than any man could ever ask for.
Acknowledgements
To Laurie Laliberte, a simple “thank you” hardly feels like enough. I appreciate your patience, your wisdom, and your ability to sift through the layers of rubble to find the story lurking within. If only I could see my words through your eyes so that I might decrease the amount of time you spend editing them.
Help support independent authors. Please consider leaving a review so that others can find and enjoy this story.
Craig Dixon woke up to the not-so-subtle pressing of a boot against his ass.
“Get up, dude! You’ve been sleeping all day. How is it possible that a guy can be late for his night shift because he slept in too late?”
Craig rubbed the drool from his mouth and said, “What time is it?”
Quinn stepped to the side and pointed at the L.E.D. on their cable box glowing “3:15 p.m.”
“Shit!” Craig sat up on the couch. The crinkle of an empty Fritos bag under his thigh startled him. He crumpled it up in anger and tossed it on the floor. A line-up of beer bottles decorated the table in front of him. He grabbed them one by one and shook them until he found one with more than a swallow still left inside. He guzzled the remains and belched.
“Eloquent as always, Craig.”
Craig flipped him off.
“You’re cuttin’ it a little close, though, aren’t you? Doesn’t your shift start at four?”
“It’ll be fine, bro.”
“Sorry, man, I don’t mean to ride your ass or nothin’, I just don’t want you to get fired on your first day. I mean, I love you like a brother, you know that, but you can’t pay your half of the bills sittin’ around playin’ Nintendo all day.”
“Xbox.”
“Whatever, man. You get my point.”
“Yeah, yeah. Toss me that hair-tie, will ya?”
Quinn scanned the trail of condensation rings and Frito dust until he found Craig’s mangled hair-tie at the edge. He lanced it with the eraser end of a pencil and handed it over to Craig as though it carried the Ebola virus.
Craig snatched the tie and put it between his teeth as he pulled back his hair.
Quinn looked on in horror. “That is just wrong, man.”
Craig rolled his eyes and tied back his ponytail. “There, good as new. Now…” He patted his pockets. “Have you seen my keys?”
“Seriously, dude? That’s it? You’re not going to shower or anything first before you go to work?”
“Why? It’s not a fucking date. I’m going there to sweep and scrub toilets all night.”
“Uh, hardly the point, dude.”
“I’ll tell you what, bro: If I start to get rank, I’ll lather up with a urinal cake. Deal?”
Quinn smirked and said, “Just get out of here before you get fired, okay?”
“Relax, I’m not gonna get fired.”
“Um, you will if you’re late for your first day on the job.”
“I won’t be late. When the hell have you ever known me to be late for anything?”
~ * * * ~
Craig arrived at the Emily Glavine Youth Community Center ten minutes late. He took a final drag of his cigarette before putting it out against his dashboard. He swished around a cup full of mouthwash before spitting it out his car window onto the blacktop. He gave himself one last look in the rear-view mirror and adjusted some loose strands of hair off of his face. “Let’s do this.”
Craig tried to enter the building quietly, but he underestimated the weight of the front door. It slammed shut behind him despite his best effort. He winced and froze in place.
“Hello?” a woman called out.
“Um, hello. Mrs. Pinkerton? It’s Craig Dixon. I start the night shift today.”
“Oh, yes, of course!”
Ms. Pinkerton’s high heels clicked against the tiled floor as she made her way into the lobby to greet him. She smiled and shook his hand. “Craig! It’s so nice to meet you in person finally.”
“You too, Mrs. Pinkerton.”
Goddamn, she is hot, he thought.
“Actually, that’s Miss Pinkerton, but please, call me Janice for crying out loud.”
“Oh, are you sure?”
“Absolutely! You’re a part of our family now and we want you to feel comfortable here. Did you find the place okay?”
“Yeah, it was pretty easy to spot. Not a lot of old buildings like this downtown anymore.”
“Good, good. I was just wondering if the agency might have given the wrong address because I was expecting you a little closer to the other side of four.”
Craig blushed and said, “Right, about that. See—“
“You just stop that right there, Mister! We’re just excited to have you on board. Can I show you around?”
“Oh, uh, sure. I—“
“Fabulous! Follow me.”
Craig had expected his new boss to be irate. Maybe even enough to tell him to turn right back around and go home. At the very least, he had expected some form of a tongue lashing over his tardiness, but Ms. Pinkerton seemed so cool about it. She shrugged it off without even giving him a warning.
Over the next twenty minutes, Ms. Pinkerton gave Craig the grand tour of the building. She spotlighted all of the areas he’d be cleaning, such as the bathrooms, classrooms, offices, and cafeteria. In total, the square footage he’d be responsible for cleaning felt disproportionate to the size of the building itself. A six hour shift to tend to such a small area seemed like a cake walk. Am I being punk’d? he thought. Is this like some shitty economy version of Candid Camera or something?
The tour ended back at the lobby from which it had started. Ms. Pinkerton clutched a clipboard against her chest and crossed her ankles. “Craig, this job may appear to be easy, but it is no less important to us. We need you to do your best and get the job done before your shift ends at 10:00 p.m. each night. Do you think that’s going to be a problem for you?”
“No sweat at all, Janice. You just leave it to me.”
“Fantastic! Well, then I guess that covers pretty much everyth—Oh! Wait! Before I forget, there is just one rule you need to know before I turn you loose.” She pointed up the staircase to the floor above them. “The second floor of this building is off limits at night, so you need to make sure that you stick to your job responsibilities and stay down here on this floor. Do you understand?”
Craig scratched his head and said, “That’s kinda weird. Why is it off limits?”
“Oh, I know, right? It seems silly, but it’s for your own safety.”
“My safety?”
“Well, we’re doing some reconstruction work up there and the contractors found some black mold. We don’t want you inhaling that stuff, now do we?”
Craig furrowed his brow and attempted to process Ms. Pinkerton’s logic. “But, if there’s black mold up there, why is it only dangerous at night?”
“Look, Craig,” she said with a hardened voice. “Just don’t go up there at night, okay?” She forced a smile and said, “Can you do that for me?”
“Sure thing. You’re the boss.”
“Wonderful! Now, if you’ll come with me, there’s one last stop we need to make.”
Ms. Pinkerton led Craig past her office and through a skinny hallway back to the cafeteria. She unclipped a key from her key ring and handed it to Craig.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I’m sorry that I forgot to cover this earlier, but this is now your key to the supply closet. I just had it made this morning, so I haven’t had the chance to test it yet. Seems like a good time, though, yeah? Would you do the honors and give it a couple of tries?”
Craig inserted the key into the lock and twisted. A loud click jarred the door free from the threshold.
“I think we have a winner,” Craig said. He looked inside and saw a cart loaded with various cleaning supplies and containers. An MP3 player and headphones were wrapped around the handle. “Damn! You guys really do think of everything, don’t you?”
“Oh, that must have belonged to the previous night shift custodian. I guess I should probably… no. You know what? Go ahead and use it. It will be good for you to have some music.”
“Are you sure? Do you think he’ll be mad when he comes back for it?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” She mumbled, “He hasn’t shown back up for work since.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, nothing. Listen, Craig, it’s about time for me to shut down my computer and get going. Do you have any other questions?”
“Just one: How do I lock this place up at night when I’m done?”
She turned and walked back through the hallway.
“Have a good night, Craig!” she called out.
“Thank you, Janice. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The front door slammed shut and Craig got started.
~ * * * ~
The night shift wasn’t so bad. The face-melting guitar riffs of the Foo Fighters on the borrowed MP3 player kept Craig company as he emptied trash cans and dusted the office.
Even at a fairly slow pace, Craig was able to get most of his work done in record time. Trash emptied, check. Furniture dusted, check. Bathrooms cleaned, check. All he had left to do was wash the floors. That would take him maybe an hour and leave him with more than an hour free.
A red light popped on from the top of the MP3 player. Craig held it up and squinted to read in the dim light of the building.
Low battery? Fuck! he thought.
He pressed STOP and took out the ear buds, thinking he should save the rest of the juice for when he mopped later. He sat down at a table in the cafeteria and drummed on the surface with his fingers as he contemplated his next move. He considered getting the mopping over with, but didn’t want to be stuck staring at the clock waiting for his shift to end. Either way, he was going to have a lull in activity, but couldn’t decide which option was the lesser of two evils.
His mind began to wander.
He thought about his conversation earlier with Ms. Pinkerton and not being allowed on the second floor. He wondered why she’d make up something as ridiculous as her “black mold” story. What was so secretive about the second floor? The curiosity tickled a part of his brain that he couldn’t reach. He wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until he got an answer. He had to know.
~ * * * ~
Craig stood at the bottom of the staircase and gazed up the pitch black second floor. The stairs disappeared about half-way up, so he squeezed the handrail and found his footing on each step before advancing.
When he reached the landing at the top, Craig slid his hand along the wall in search of a light switch. Unable to find one, he crept forward and continued to investigate. The moon peeking in from cracks in the gray sea of clouds provided the only light, so he slid his hand along the wall as he walked. His fingers brushed against something solid but fleshy, making him jump.
Was that a hand? he thought.
On instinct, Craig balled up his fist and threw a punch. It smacked against the wall. He’d expected it to land against the side of an intruder’s face, but there was nothing there. Nothing at all. Craig felt silly for giving himself such a fright.
His eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness. He could now pick out larger shapes and see a rough outline of what the area around him looked like. He stared down the hallway ahead, which had been swallowed up by a thick darkness.
He saw the outline of a humanoid shape, darker than even the pitch black of the hallway, dart across his line of sight. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes. When he could refocus, the humanoid shape had moved closer. Craig fell back against the wall and shrieked.
What the fuck is that? he thought.
The figure drew closer. Craig backpedaled and tried to feel for the handrail of the staircase, but he had drifted off course. He continued to back-up until he’d run out of real estate and smacked against a large casement window. He turned to face the window and banged on the glass to try and get someone’s attention, but the alley behind the youth center was empty.
Craig spun around to look behind him, but saw only darkness. The humanoid figure was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief and wondered if he had imagined the entire thing, or even gotten a little too close to the cleaning supplies.
He struggled to figure out where on the second floor he was. He remembered the Zippo he’d tucked into his pocket before starting his shift. He fished it out and flicked the thumbwheel, but it didn’t ignite.
He flicked it again.
Nothing.
Quinn had showed him a trick once for just such an occasion. He bit down on the chimney and cleared away the gunk obstructing the flame’s flow. He spit and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coveralls.
Come on, you bitch!
He flicked the thumbwheel again and a tall plume of fire shot up from the chimney. The stern expression of a pale teenage boy’s face met him. Craig saw the Zippo’s flame reflected in the boy’s cold, black eyes.
He dropped the lighter and ran away as fast as he could. He tripped over an ottoman and fell forward. He heard a crack and felt his wrist snap as his hands came up to brace his fall against the hardwood floor. He grabbed his forearm and rolled over onto this back.
The teenage boy stood over him. His long, dark and wavy hair obscured all but a scowl on his face.
Craig saw the staircase in the distance. He dug his elbows into the floor and pushed off with his feet as he inched away from the motionless boy. He crab walked a couple of feet before the boy took a step toward him.
Then another.
And another.
Craig felt trapped in a game of cat and mouse, but the staircase was within reach now. He dug deep and found a reserve tank of energy locked up inside. Each agonizing motion of his elbows moved him closer to escape.
The boy gained on him.
With one last push, Craig made it to the staircase. His elbow erupted in a sickening pop. Tears along the sleeves of his coveralls exposed shredded skin. Blood soaked the tattered edges of the remaining fabric. He breathed in heaves as his ribcage rattled.
The boy stopped at Craig’s feet.
This is the end, he thought.
The boy raised his head up and locked eyes with Craig. He curled his upper lip and growled.
“I’m done,” Craig wheezed. “I can’t move another inch. Just do what you’re gonna do and get it over with”
The boy rocked his head from side-to-side and continued to stare.
“I said just fucking do it already!”
The boy opened his mouth and contorted it into a disfigured shape not possible on a human face. He roared a demonic scream that Craig could feel against his skin. He leaped on top of Craig and pressed down on his chest.
A silent tear fell from Craig’s closed eye.
The pressure was gone. Craig stared at the back of his eyelids counting the beats of his heart as it pounded inside his chest. He opened his eyes and heaved a sigh when he saw nothing above him but ceiling. Silence had reclaimed the room. He fought through the pain to sit up at the top of the stairs.
The boy stood in the middle of the room, bathed in moonlight, staring out the casement window. He turned his head and looked at Craig for a moment before running at the window and leaping through the glass.
Craig made it back up to his feet and labored down the staircase to the lobby. He didn’t know if the kid was all right, and he couldn’t have cared less. The only thought on his mind was to get the hell out. He looked at the janitor’s cart still sitting in the middle of the floor, and bolted past it to the exit. Flipping burgers sounded like a welcomed alternative to employment at the Emily Glavine Youth Community Center.
The job market sucked, but it was a challenge he’d rather face than the supernatural.
Let some other poor asshole deal with the ghosts.
David K. Hulegaard, The Night Shift
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