The gentle hum of the air conditioning overhead looped the same sound I had been hearing for the past 4 hours. The same sound I hear every workday, usually 5 days a week. Working in a quiet garden centre isn’t bad - I’m not gonna complain about things not being busy if the pay is the same - But it does get boring. It’s a little busier in the summer months, but outside of that, I’m surprised the place even bothers staying open.
The boss has a strict “No Phones” policy outside of breaks, so if there’s nothing else to be done, I often find myself just standing at the cash register, listening to the familiar gentle hum. Letting it hum, as my mind hums with it, symphonizing our repetitive existence. I enter the building at 8am, and leave at 4pm. Between those hours, I am simply waiting.
Just waiting. For the workday. To. Be. Over.
The humming continues.
Despite the dull atmosphere in a store where almost nothing was moving, I still failed to notice the customer approach me until she spoke to me. I wondered if she thought I was possessed, or asleep, or dead. It certainly isn’t normal for someone to be so distracted with so little going on - Then again, the things she said to me weren’t quite normal, either.
“Hello?” Her voice made me jolt just a little, as my eyes focussed onto her. She was holding a small wishing well that we sell. It’s a small wooden one, and goes about up to your knees.
“Hi madam, how can I help you?” I tried to put on my customer service voice gradually throughout that sentence, morphing out of my ‘holy shit I’m so bored’ voice.
“I want to return this wishing well,” she spoke seriously, yet without missing a beat, continued with, “it’s not granting my wishes.”
I tried not to laugh; My intention was not to question or ridicule any of her beliefs. But, come on, really? I cracked a smile, and tried to cover it up by looking down at the product and saying the first thing that came to mind.
“Oh, should it?” I immediately knew she wouldn’t like that response.
“Of course it should, it’s in the name.”
Truly shocked that she wasn’t joking, I composed myself mentally, and told myself that I’ve dealt with worse. Besides, the wishing well didn’t look used - Our policy would still allow for a return. If she had the receipt.
“Do you have the receipt?”
“No, I don’t have the receipt.”
Of course she doesn’t have the receipt.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t offer a refund without it. I might be able to get you store credit?” This is never the response that a customer wants, and it’s never the response I want to give.
Her face went red. “That is ridiculous. What kind of establishment are you running?”
Technically none; I don’t run the place. But didn’t say that. I know better than that.
After a back-and-forth remaining in a similar tone, she asked me to get the manager - A request I had felt boiling up ever since she asked for the refund. Once you have a job like this, you really get a feel for the different types of customers. The manager, of course, told her the exact same thing that I did, because managers are often the ones setting these policies to begin with. They aren’t going to magically bypass something that I could not.
She accepted store credits in the end and seemed to go on her way.
“I wonder why she’s returning it?” My manager wondered allowed.
“She didn’t mention to you? She says it’s ‘broken’ because it ‘doesn’t grant wishes.’”
My manager chuckled as he walked away, presumably thinking I was joking. I didn’t care enough to correct this thought. I stared at the well as the gentle hum became centred in my brain again, being disrupted by the woman’s return, as she slammed a new well onto the counter.
“I’d like this one.”
I contemplated telling her it still wouldn’t work, but I knew it wasn’t worth the hassle. I let her use the store credit for the purchase, wondering why she even argued about the refund if she was going to use it immediately in-store anyway.
This continued every day for weeks. Sometimes she would come in with the previous wishing well, asking for a replacement. Sometimes she would come in empty-handed and buy a new one. We eventually stopped allowing her to replace them, suspicious that she might be secretly harvesting material from each one for some kind of money-making scheme. We never found any evidence of this, however - Each return did visibly appear to still be in good quality.
With each passing day, she’d come back, looking more unkempt than the last. Her hair became thin, her skin developed patches of grey. Her clothes became the same time and time again, showing no signs of being washed. The smell became unpleasant. Sometimes, she would have emotional outbursts, yet other times, she seemed emotionlessly calm.
It got to the point that she wouldn’t even speak - She’d just throw some money on the counter and pick up a well on the way out, sometimes humming as she did. Even this seemed to deteriorate, as her humming became more of a rattly creak. She mostly stopped looking at me, although her gaze would seem to pass right through me even when she did. Her visits became an eerie ritual, all taking place under the gentle noise of the air conditioning.
As the weeks went on, her discoloured skin began to stand out to me more and more. She had a limp that developed seemingly overnight. I wish I had called an ambulance, or the police, even the fucking secret services at that point. She was unnatural - Being in the same room as her felt equal to being in a room alone, because nobody could possibly perceive her as human. She was not the same average lady who argued with me just weeks prior.
I began to fear her. The atmosphere at work changed, knowing each and every day that I would have to see her complete this sad, repetitive routine. I felt the contrast when she eventually stopped showing up. My days went back to mindlessly listening to the gentle hum.
That was until today, when a man entered the store. As he made his way straight for the counter, I could see his face being unusually sweaty for such a cold day. I wondered if he was in a rush, or stressed - It immediately became apparent that the answer was ‘both,’ as he began describing the strange woman and asking if I had seen her.
“I’m her brother, she’s been missing for days,” he stared, waiting for a response.
“I’m so sorry to hear this. She’s been here quite a few times recently.”
“What did she buy?” He spoke sternly, but not angrily. There was a level of concern in his voice. I only noticed then that he was tightly holding a book.
“It was always the same thing, she would –” He interrupted me.
“Was it wishing wells?”
I froze mid-sentence, my mouth still open slightly. He had tears in his eyes. I gently closed my mouth and nodded slowly.
He silently allowed himself to cry, eventually speaking when he was able, “Her house is full of them, from so many different places. I don’t understand what is happening.”
He placed the book on the counter, as he attempted to compose himself. The book looked damaged, yet not at all dusty. Its origins looked ancient, though its use seemed frequent.
On the front, in large golden printed letters, read ‘The Well Diaries’ - The gold’s shine had all but vanished, leaving a rough, stained look.
“What’s this?” I asked, knowing it not to be the right time. My curiosity couldn’t help itself.
“We don’t know,” he seemed hesitant to pick it back up, almost wanting to leave it behind, “it has every wish she ever made. Most of them are ‘Make it stop’ or ‘Leave my soul’ - Some of them aren’t even by her.”
A silence filled the air, making the hum apparent to us both. It seemed louder than usual, almost creaky. I tried to break the silence. “I can show you the security footage of the last time she came in.”
He happily followed me to the back room, where I was able to show him. He was shocked at the sight of her, and shed a few more tears, but thanked me greatly before leaving. He told me that he would inform the police, and that they would probably drop by to check the footage - I told him I’d be more than happy to show them.
Once he left, I began to scrub through the footage again. It’s a smart camera system, so it automatically chops out all footage with no movement. I noticed activity from last night, long after the store had closed. Curiously, I clicked it, expecting for something falling over in the wind, or an animal passing by innocently.
I didn’t see an animal. But I saw something living.
It was the woman, outside the store. She was crawling. The footage looked grainy due to the darkness, but there was no mistake about who this was. She was simply crawling around, occasionally peering through the windows of the store. Her proportions seemed off, especially her arms. They seemed so long and thin - The only thing about her that seemed remotely like her original self was her head.
She crawled around the back of the building. As I switched to that camera view, there was no footage available. This means that no movement occurred around the back. Disturbed, I went outside, and peered around the side alley. It was empty, except for the outside ducts of the air conditioning - They had been ripped off the wall, and now lay on the ground.
Feeling my heart drop, I calmly walked back to the door, and locked the building from the outside. My manager wasn’t in, so the building was empty. I began to patiently wait for the police, hoping they’d be arriving soon to ask for the footage.
I stared through the window, trying to convince myself that there was a logical explanation. I noticed the book remaining on the counter; I hadn’t noticed the man leave it. My eyes quickly darted to above the counter. Through the ducts that hum above my head every day, I spotted her. Only for a brief second. I’m not a religious person, but I prayed she didn’t spot me.