by D. M. Guay
The Graveyard Shift
24/7 Demon Mart 1
D M Guay
Copyright © 2019 Denise Guay Trowbridge
All rights reserved.
Cover by James at Goonwrite.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and real places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
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Contents
Hello, my name is Lloyd, and I'm a total loser
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Book Sausage
Epic Cheesy Potatoes Recipe
Who the Heck is D.M. Guay?
Books by D.M. Guay
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Hello, my name is Lloyd, and I'm a total loser
I'll let you in on a little secret. When the gate to hell has been kicked wide open behind you, and you're suddenly fighting for your life, elbow-deep in the slimy lime-green gut of a one-eyed, bloodthirsty hell beast, you can't help but stop and ask yourself some questions. Like, how did I get here? Or, how did my life slide so far off the rails? And, how the hell did I get this job in the first place? Who was dumb enough to think I was qualified to battle a horde of monsters and stave off the apocalypse?
Oh, that's right. I remember now. Student loan debt. And, of course, the devil.
Chapter 1
Frozen sludge swirled around and around in the dispensers. Safety-cone orange. Neon lime green. Solo-cup red. No one loved slushies more than me, and they all looked so damned delicious.
The 24/7 Dairy Mart had one hundred thirty-seven flavors, more than any other convenience store. That's the only reason I regularly pedaled my busted-up Huffy the two miles from my postcard-perfect neighborhood to this sketchy, forgotten dirt bag corner of the suburbs.
The blinking neon mud-flap girl on the sign above Sinbad's Gentleman's Club and the creepy statues in the window of the Jesus Saves Discount Religious Supply store were enough to keep most respectable people away. This street was so seedy it couldn't even land a Starbucks. But as I stared down the sixty-foot row of slushy flavors, I was thankful for the ugly, forlorn parts of Columbus, Ohio, because that's where all the good stuff was.
Shoot. I better pick a flavor and fast. It was midnight already. I had to be online in thirty minutes, cutting up demons in Diablo 3 with my best friend, Big Dan. Tonight was my night. I was gonna beat that level 70 Nephalem Rift in under ten minutes this time. I could feel it. Those monsters better be quaking in their socks, because they were about to face the one and only Lloyd Wallace, a.k.a. AwesomeDemonButtKicker98.
I glanced at the smoking-hot chick guarding the door of the beer cave. And, okay, I admit it. I lied. The slushies weren't the only reason I came here. Her name was DeeDee. She worked the graveyard shift, ten at night until six in the morning, five nights a week. Yeah, I may have ridden my bike by here a few times just to figure out her schedule, but I'm totally not a stalker. I mean, I don't think I am. Anyway, if you were me you'd do it, too.
DeeDee was a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe, if Marilyn's hair were dyed Manic Panic Shocking Blue and her slinky white dress were swapped out for black tights, combat boots, and a sterling-silver septum piercing with a diamond bead. DeeDee's skin was flawless and her curves stretched the seams of her cut-up Cure T-shirt so tight Robert Smith was blushing. Her lips were painted that dark burgundy red that looked like dried blood, and her black liquid eyeliner curled up to a sharp, deadly point at the edges of her brown eyes. Or blue eyes. Maybe they were green? It's not like I ever got to see them. DeeDee had never looked at me directly. Or at all, really. One day that would change. She was my soulmate. She just didn't know it yet.
I stared at her a good long minute, too long, imagining what it would be like to run my hands over Robert Smith's hair...uh, on the shirt, not on the real Robert Smith. I bet that would be pretty scratchy, not soft and curvy and... Oh, boy... Nope. My downstairs started to tingle if you get my drift. Cut it out. Focus, Lloyd. slushies. Only twenty minutes until it's time to kick monster butt.
I grabbed a Colossal Super Slurp cup—the one that's basically the size of a vertical punch bowl—and decided to get wild and crazy and blind random pick tonight's flavor. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers across the front of the machines. Eeny meeny miny. This one. I opened my eyes. Yuck! A big cockroach sat on the Perdition Peach nozzle, and the damned thing looked like it was staring right at me, peering into my soul. Wait. Is it wearing a name tag? I squinted. A tiny rectangle of white was stuck to its belly. I swore it said, “Hello, my name is Kevin.”
Dude. Mom's right. I need to leave the basement more often, get some sunshine. My eyesight is going. The roach's antennae flipped back like cat ears as it looked me up and down. Gross. I flicked it to the floor. I swear it flipped me off before wriggling under the cabinet. Blech. I can't stand bugs. They're so gross. Now, where was I? Oh yes. slushy time! Not the peach though, because, ew, roach.
The Inferno flavor was right next to it. I'd never tried that one before. I stuck my cup under the spout and pulled the lever. A river of blazing orange blurped into my cup, sloshing and expanding until it erupted through the hole in the plastic dome lid like an angry volcano. Yeah. I knew I should stop pouring once it got to the part where the cup met the lid, but I never did. If I was gonna shell out $1.09 with tax, I had to get every penny's worth. I wasn't exactly rolling in dough.
I dunked the straw in and licked the slush off the outside of the cup before any of it could drip onto the floor. Wowza. Inferno, huh? It tasted like campfire smoke and brown bananas, in a weird but oddly satisfying way. It'd pair well with the pizza rolls Mom's got stashed in the freezer. Big Dan, Diablo 3, slushies and pizza rolls. The perfect Saturday all-nighter. I better step to it. Those demons weren't gonna slay themselves.
I fished all the lint and coins out of my pocket and stepped toward the register. Then I stopped cold. Shit. There was more lint in my hand than coins. I counted. One quarter. Nine pennies. Four nickels. Three dimes. One of them Canadian? Double shit. Eighty-four cents, only seventy-four American. I swore I had dug exactly a buck nine out from under the couch cushions before I rode over here. Wait. I'd heard a clink when I hit that monster pothole outside the Cash4Gold around the corner. My quarter must have flown out of my pocket.
Great. What do I do now? I couldn't put the slushy back in the machine, so I either had to pay for it or steal it. Or...go halfsies? I looked around. No one was near the register. DeeDee didn't notice me, just sat on the stool outside of the beer cave picking at her black fingernails, bored. I quick-scanned the store for Comb-over Carl, the middle-aged dude with the three hairs gelled over his bald spot. He
usually worked the weekend graveyard shift with DeeDee. Hot dogs flopped lazily on the rollers. Pizza hardened in the warmer. The anemic fluorescent strip lights flickered, reflecting in the high-shine polish of the linoleum floor. No sign of Carl. Or anyone at all. The place never seemed to have any customers. I was always the only one.
All right. Decision made. I'd put my change on the counter and casually walk out the door. It wouldn't technically be stealing. I'd be paying for most of my drink. Then again, what kind of broke ass, can't-do-math loser would DeeDee think I was if I left eighty-four cents on the counter and skipped out? I'd have a better shot with her if I stole it. At least then I could deny deny deny if she ever asked.
I had no choice but to slurp and dash. I casually strutted toward the exit, clutching the Colossal Super Slurp to my chest.
“What the hell do you think you're doing, asshole?” DeeDee yelled. I heard a thud, like something heavy hit the floor.
Aw, man. Why did she have to catch me? Why couldn't it be Comb-over Carl? My heart thumped so hard it rattled my ribs as I turned to face the consequences. Great. Just great. I was going down for shoplifting to the tune of a dollar nine. I always imagined if I landed in jail, it'd be for something spectacular, like stealing a cop car, high on bath salts, wearing only the top half of a furry Panda costume, but with no underpants, like totally Porky Pigging it down there. Something memorable. But no. I was going down because I lost a quarter in a damn pothole. My tax dollars hard at work. Remind me to write a strongly worded letter to City Council after Mom made bail.
“Help me, stupid!” DeeDee grunted.
“What?” I turned around.
DeeDee was rummaging through a cabinet in the wall. Carl was on his knees in front of the beer cave with his eyes closed and fingers intertwined, praying. Huh. It took me a hot minute to realize DeeDee was yelling at Carl, not me. And she was acting really weird. Like really really weird. DeeDee began karate-kicking like a lady Bruce Lee, but her fists chopped at nothing and she round-housed thin air. Carl's face had gone white. He was drenched in sweat, screaming, “Oh Jesus, help me! Gaaaaahhhh!” and trying hard to keep the beer cave door closed. The door kept bucking open, like something was pushing on it hard, trying to get out. Except there was nothing there.
Okay, then. So, they're both either batshit crazy, or the door to the beer cave needed serious repairs. Either way, I could make a clean getaway. I swiveled to leave and made it two steps from the exit—home free, suckas!—when something hit me hard from behind, clipping my shoulder and knocking my precious Colossal Super Slurp right out of my hands. I swear time slowed down as I screamed “Nooooooo!” and watched my slushy hit the floor, bounce twice, then super blurp across the linoleum. As my Inferno formed an icy puddle on the floor, my dream of a perfect Saturday shattered. Mom's pizza rolls weren't gonna be the same without it.
But I didn't have time to cry, because my feet went total Fred Flintstone, slipping and sliding on the sugary goo. So did Comb-over Carl's. He clearly was the guy who'd hit me. We both fell. Carl landed on top of me and we were spinning in the melting syrupy slush, trying and failing to stand up and get away from each other. Then his feet kicked, and his shoe landed right in my nuts. I screamed. An unholy one, because you know, direct shot to the nuts.
“Sorry, man,” Carl said, as he used the leverage he got from planting his foot in my junk to shoot straight up to the door.
His name tag spun on the floor, making slushy angels in my spilled Inferno. I picked it up and called after him. “Hey. You dropped your name tag.”
He looked back at me. He was halfway out the door and his eyes were giant half-moons. He seemed totally spooked. “I quit. This place is cursed. See?” He pointed at something behind me, then pushed the door open so hard he knocked over my Huffy. One of the brake levers broke off and rolled away. Aw, man. My bike! Well, in his defense, the lever was duct-taped on.
Carl sprinted across the parking lot and disappeared into the inky black night. I'd never seen an old dude run so fast. I heard a crack, crack, slurp noise behind me, so I turned around to see what it was.
What. The. Fuck. Is. THAT!
Three spiky green tentacles, fat as tree trunks, dripping with slime, with thick barbs sticking out of the ends, hung out of the beer cave door, slapping at DeeDee, who jumped and dodged, narrowly missing each one. The tentacles thwapped the floor, crunching holes in the linoleum, slithering after DeeDee as if their sole purpose was to pound her into oblivion.
“God damn it,” she cursed, dodging another slimy thwack, then shot what looked like a taser through the door into whatever was attached to those unholy appendages. The taser zurp zurped. The tentacles undulated. “Dude. You aren't getting through here. How many times do I have to tell you? No means no! Don't be gate rapey.”
Whatever DeeDee had done didn't stop the slime fest for long. I nearly pissed my pants when the door opened and a single giant yellow...what the hell is that? Oh shit. It's an eyeball! emerged. No. Way. The tentacles had a face. A face? Well, no mouth, but an eye. That counted.
I sat, paralyzed on the outside, wet butt stuck to the floor by melting Inferno sugar glue, but absolutely losing my shit panicking on the inside. A sizzling szzzzz szzzzz sound snapped me out of it. Ow! Ow! Ow! I looked down. Carl's name tag was burning my fingers like they were raw burgers on a grill. Wisps of me-flavored smoke rose into the air, and I hot potatoed it back and forth between my hands, too dumb at the moment to just drop the damned thing. What the fuck, Hello My Name is Carl!
“Don't just sit there. Help me!” DeeDee's voice was strained. I looked up. She was talking to me and looking right at me, for the first time ever. WIN!
Except, the thing with tentacles had gotten her. She was all wrapped up. The tentacles squeezed her, and eyeball dude seemed happy, like a discarded pet python that had just caught its first meal in the Everglades. I stared at her. Jesus. Even with her veins popping out from struggling to breathe, she was so smoking hot. I love you, DeeDee! Wait. I should help her. Yes. Nothing says, “I love you” like a good saving.
Now was my moment. “Hey, ugly. Let her go!”
The thing's one giant yellow eye focused in on me, and even though I couldn't see an eyebrow, I swear it furrowed because now it looked extra mad. Great.
Naturally, I panicked. Then I did something that was probably stupid but was the only thing I could think to do at the time. I threw Carl's smoldering name tag straight at its one giant eye like it was a ninja throwing star. I mean, I Chuck Norrised the hell out of that thing. The hard edge of plastic landed right in the middle of that one awful mean yellow eyeball, and it burned it (Him? Her? I wasn't looking under a tentacle to find out.) like it burned me. The creature hissed and screeched like an alien in a 1950s sci-fi movie. It let go of DeeDee, and it flailed around, knocking chips off racks and two-liter sodas off their pyramids. Tentacles thwapped. Tostitos and Fritos rained down like confetti.
DeeDee tucked and rolled and the thing trained its oozing, injured eyeball on me. The tentacles, slimy and oh so so so disgusting, slithered and snaked toward me. Then, it got worse. The rest of the thing emerged from the beer cave, breaking the door clean off the hinges. Oh, so many more tentacles.
Woah boy. I'm screwed. My stomach clenched and my mouth watered. Hot barf lapped at my tonsils. Nope. No way. No barfing in front of DeeDee. I swallowed that bile right on down as I watched the thing slide past a chest-high stack of Natural Light cases. It was a halo of lime-Jello green tentacles around that single yellow eye. The eye had a single red pupil, long not round, like a cat. And I was pretty sure it was mad. Like super mad. Yellow goop oozed over the “Carl” on the name tag still lodged in its eye. I'd injured it, and the thing was crawl-thrashing right at me, hellbent on revenge.
Okay. Okay. If it bleeds, I can kill it, right? I grabbed the closest thing to me and prepared to fight. Sadly, the closest thing was the long red slushy straw with the scoop spoon at one end. I gripped it like a knife. Welp. This is it.
I'm dead. Dear Baby Jesus, heat up the oven. I'm having pizza rolls in heaven tonight.
Tentacle dude pulled himself closer to me, the barbs of his appendages punching holes in the linoleum, the tentacles slapping the edges of my melted puddle of Inferno. Just when the tip of the first slimy tentacle tusk lifted up, ready to spear me, a flash of blue arced through the air. Blue. Blue hair.
DeeDee jumped on its...back? It was hard to tell what bit because, you know, halo of tentacles. DeeDee lifted her arms and thrust a flaming sword right into the middle of its creepy red pupil. And when I say flaming sword, I literally mean a sword that was on FIRE. The creature popped like a pus-filled balloon. Gelatinous green chunks and putrid yellow sludge sprayed the floors and walls. And me. Oh, Jesus. It smells like hot boiled garbage. So naturally, I immediately projectile barfed right into that puddle of Inferno and guts.
Chapter 2
It was a quick barf, but bright orange because I had Cheetos for dinner. Hey. Don't judge me. Like you never have?
Anyway, I made the mistake of looking down at myself. I was soaked head-to-toe in upchuck, monster guts and slushy. Carl's name tag had somehow dislodged from that creature's eyes and landed in my lap. There was a piece of tentacle stuck in my shoelace. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.
I panicked and shook my shoe fast then faster trying to get the bit out without actually touching it. Finally, the chunk flipped off, skidding through the melting Inferno. Then I realized even my underpants were soaked through with this unholy soup. Talk about an epic case of swamp ass. All in front of the hottest girl in the Columbus, Ohio, metropolitan statistical area.
