The Dark God (Part 8)

Updated: Mar 24, 2020

It’s been about an hour since my last post.


We haven’t had any customers yet, and if the gas station weren’t an active crime scene I might have asked one of the other employees to squeegee the large pool of blood into the drains by the cooler.


For those of you out of the loop, you may want to catch up by reading my earlier posts:


Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 6 -- Part 7


I don’t know what Arnold’s personal grooming routine looks like, and I have to assume he spends at least twenty minutes a day in moustache prep, but even factoring that in he should have made it to the gas station by now.


I called him a few minutes ago to make sure he hadn’t gone back to bed, and to make sure I hadn’t imagined the phone call in the first place. The conversation went something like this:


“Yeah?”


“Hey, Arnold? You on your way?”


“Sit tight, we had a little emergency.”


“Ok.”


“The road between town and you is blocked off.”


“Ok… Which one?”


“All of them. Even the service roads. It must have been a freak storm. I’ve never seen anything like it. All the roads are covered in trees. But they aren’t, you know, fallen. The trees are growing in the middle of the street. I’ve been trying to find a way around all morning, but I’ve given up. I’m about to head through on foot. Just to be clear, you said you heard from Spencer Middleton last night? Has he made any other contact?”


“Well, actually, he’s here. He came in and some stuff happened and now he’s dead.”


“What!? You’re telling me there’s a dead body at the gas station?”


I already told him all of this. Man, I really miss Tom.


“Did you not realize that?”


“I’m sorry,” he answered, “When the phone rang earlier I had just woken up from this beautiful weird dream of a... dark god... calling me into his eternal grace, taking me by the hand and guiding me into blessed oblivion, freeing me from all the pain and suffering of this mortal prison. Nurturing me like a child and inviting the world into a realm of higher existence, allowing me the privilege to devote myself to his glorious servitude.”


“Ok,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you when you get here.”


I ended the call and checked the charge on the phone. The battery was sitting close to fifty percent.


“What’s the deal, Lucille?” asked Benjamin.


“Arnold is on his way here on foot. But we might have another problem.”


“Holy shit, you guys see that?” Carlos asked, pointing out the window. I couldn’t quite make it out from where I was seated behind the counter, and I didn’t feel like hobbling over a corpse just for a look.


“What is it?” I asked.


“There’s a bunch of naked people out on the road walking this way.” Carlos answered.


“The hell you say?” said Marlboro, who had suddenly taken interest. He pressed his face against the window for a better look. “Those aren’t just any people. I know them. That’s Marla! and Tyler! And there goes Fred! At least, those were the names I gave them.”


Benjamin crossed to the frozen drink machine, throwing over his shoulder a quick “They friends of yours?”


“Family, actually. Well, they were anyway, before they disappeared. But I don’t remember them looking like that.”


“Like what?” I asked, starting to get an uneasy feeling.


“Like…” He took a second to find the words, but all he came up with was “They look funny.”


They continued walking closer to the gas station. Close enough by now that I could see them. At least a dozen people, stark naked. The closer they got, the more details I could make out, the more I wish I couldn’t. Their eyes were milky and pale, maggots crawling out of infested crevices all over their bodies. Their skin dirty and covered in lesions and bruises. Marlboro was certainly not wrong, they looked funny.


I’m sure you know the Hollywood-style Zombie walk. The shuffle of an undead body with impaired motor skills. The scariest part of these “people” approaching the front doors of the gas station was that they were walking one hundred percent perfectly normally. Just a bunch of decaying nudists out for a stroll.


There was a loud crash that snapped us out of our probably-rude staring. We all turned to see that Benjamin had pulled the frozen drink machine to the ground, and was attempting to drag it over Spencer towards the front doors, the sticky syrup concoction spilled out all over the ground, mixing with the congealed blood and coating the floor in a red and brown and purple viscous soup. There’s no way we won’t have an insect problem after this.

Marlboro and Carlos didn’t have to ask what was going on. They instantly knew the plan and began yanking down whatever fixtures weren’t bolted in place and piling them up in a barricade against the glass doors.


I would have helped if it weren’t for this broken leg. Besides, it looks like they’ve got this under control.


“You boys think you can stay alive long enough for help to arrive?” Benjamin asked.


“We’ve got almost ninety years experience staying alive between the three of us,” Carlos joked.


Benjamin directed his next question to me. “You got any weapons in this place?”


I told him no. The only thing I have is a half-empty canister of gasoline in the supply closet and some really hard jerky, but he was welcome to whatever he could find. That’s when he started Macgyvering some spears out of chair legs and broken glass from the drink case.


About ten minutes ago, the gas station lost power. Now really would be a great time to have a giant pet glow-in-the-dark butterfly.


Stupid racoons.


It’s been pretty quiet, save for the wet guttural whispering coming from those “people” outside. Benjamin is still searching for weapons while Carlos finds things to push against the front door, and (assuming he hasn’t fallen asleep) Marlboro has taken the back door. I was feeling pretty useless after Benjamin confiscated my crutches, so I figured I would take this opportunity to type up the account of what happened, just in case Arnold gets here too late. And in the spirit of preparedness, I should say a few things to whoever finds this message (or is it “whomever”? I never could get that right.)

First, to the owners: I’m sorry about the mess.


Second, to her: I’m sorry we didn’t run into each other one last time.


Third, to whomever keeps dumping tar into the ditch outside of the gas station, I hate you.


I guess that’s all I have to say. It’s been a weird, crazy ride.

This is Jack from the gas station, signing off one last time…





I didn’t die!


Sorry it’s been so long since the last update, I just got my laptop back from the police. (Special thanks to whoever gilded me, by the way. I don’t know what to do with reddit gold, but it brings warmth to my soul.)


I know you guys are probably wondering what happened. Well, last week I met a dark god.





We were in that gas station without power for hours. It’s cold this time of year, so we huddled together around a plate of scented candles and ate pork rinds and canned beans. Marlboro almost dozed off a couple times before Carlos decided to loot the energy pills behind the counter. He handed them out and we all took a few, washing them down with cold coffee and telling ourselves it was for “alertness,” but all they did for me was create a heartbeat arrhythmia. That sure would be funny, if those things finally broke in here just to find the four of us dead from heart attacks.


Well, not “funny.” But, you know.


Carlos tried to strike up a conversation with Benjamin a couple of times, but the bearded man wasn’t very social.


“You Army?”


“Nah.”


“I knew a guy. He was a ranger in the Army. You remind me of him.”