Hello everyone! My daughter told me about Reddit and about all the people on here and she told me about r/nosleep and the stories that people share. She suggested I download the app because she knows how much I love reading, I did and have been going through them all. It’s made me think about my life a lot, about all the odd little things that happen in my town. So I thought I would tell you all a bit about it, considering I don’t have much to do lately.
My name is Marsha (Lucy told me not to give out any solid details) and I’m thirty five. I live in a small town in England and that’s probably all I should say, considering how good the kids are nowadays with technology (no, I’m not a technophobe, I can do most things fine). I work in a supermarket and have done for the past fifteen years. Now, I know some of you would think that boring, living in the same place I was born and working in the same job for so long. But honestly, it’s what I always wanted. I wanted a nice husband, a nice house, a few kids and just a mundane job to keep me from going batty. Luckily for me, I got all of that. Lucy is my eldest, she’s fifteen, then there’s Tommy who’s eleven and Jake who is nine. My husband is Sean, and we’ve been together since I was sixteen - married for ten years. We’ve had our ups and downs like anyone else, but we’ve always found ways to work through them and are still going strong.
But you’re not interested in my life, just the stories, so I’ll get down to it.
If anyone has ever worked in retail, you’ll know that you get familiar with the regulars. There’s a few of them that come into where I work, like clockwork, and most of them are sweet as pie. There’s Bargain Betty (I don’t know all of their real names and if I did, I wouldn’t use them. So you’ll have nicknames instead) who comes in every Monday and Friday, looking for the leftover bargains from the weekend. She’s a little slip of a woman but my God, she’s quick. She can push a trolley from one end of the store to the other at record speed, especially if there’s a bargain to be had. She’s nice enough, but can get quite snippy if there aren’t many bargains.
There’s also Reduction Rob, a tall man with short white hair that always has this military air about him. I would say he was in his mid-sixties, considering he still seems pretty capable. He comes in every single day at 7pm on the dot, waiting for the reductions (all the fresh food that expires that day which gets reduced by a certain percentage). Now, Rob seems nice enough, but he’s always a wild card. He’s never been rude to me, but that’s because I won’t take any shit from him. But he’s been known to lose his temper at the little’uns from time to time. And by little’uns, I mean the younger kids that work for us over the summer. He actually made one of our girls cry once because he was literally hovering over her and she was getting nervous while she was trying to reduce stuff and he shouted at her for taking so long. She came into the staff room while I was having a cuppa, crying, and I marched right out after she told me. I found Rob and told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever talks to a member of staff like that again then he would be barred from the shop permanently. He looked sheepish, and apologised. I haven’t heard of him doing anything since.
I could go on and on about all the oddballs that shop here; Milly and Molly, Seductive Sam, Nutty Norma, Chatty Charlie… but that would take a while. The person I really want to talk about is Bouquet Ben.
He started coming to the shop about five years ago, and I remember it so vividly because he was wearing a fluorescent jacket. Not a work vest, but a full on blazer that was neon orange. Honestly, I couldn’t take my eyes off him because he was practically glowing under the shop lights. He had a mop of dark brown curls and he was near enough skipping around the shop. He picked up our most expensive bouquet of roses (twelve quid, if you’re interested) and a box of chocolates. I was on the check-outs when he paid, and he was absolutely buzzing. I can still remember his smile - so wide, so stretched that I remember thinking how his cheek must hurt. I barely said hello before he announced that he was finally going on a date tonight with a girl he’d loved for months.
I congratulated him, of course, put his items through and wished him the best of luck. I remember that he’d stopped briefly at the end of the till, and that smile had dropped like a sack of shit. His eyes were dark brown, and in the shadow of his hair they looked black. They fixed on me so attentively, so intensely, that I remember holding my breath. Just as I was going to ask what was wrong, the weird look on his face vanished and was replaced with that aching smile.
“Thank you!” He beamed, before he was gone, skipping out the door. Yes, actually skipping.
I didn’t think much of it again until three weeks later, when he came across my till again. I hardly recognised him, because now he was wearing all black and had his hood up. I made the mistake of looking into his face only to be met by that intense stare again. This time, it wasn’t replaced, and he answered the question that I never asked.
“She didn’t like me,” he said solemnly, and even though I was on edge, I still managed to express my condolences.
“There’s plenty of girls out there,” I tried. “I’m sure you’ll find the one.”
His face softened a little bit after that, and his eyes flickered over my face for a few moments.
“You would look good as a blonde.”
I was so stunned by the statement that I couldn’t respond. Not like he gave me much of a chance - he was already walking out the door.
Now, just one instance of creepy is forgettable. I’ve had much worse for a lot longer, so it should have just been brushed off. But Bouquet Ben became a regular. Every few months he would come in, wearing some ridiculous suit of some kind, smiling that stretched smile, and buy a bouquet of roses and some chocolates. Then, a few weeks later, he would come back all dressed in black, buy a tub of ice cream and leave again.
I dreaded it, honestly. Mostly because he seemed to always come in when I was on the check-outs, and I only do one shift a week on them. I’m a supervisor, so I’m usually supervising the shop, but I save Wednesdays for check-outs - mostly because I enjoy working without the responsibility.
The past year, he’s come in every three months. Exactly three months. And then he’s back exactly three weeks later. You probably think it’s sad that I actually worked it out and jotted down the dates, but believe me when I say this guy is creepy. And he always tries to initiate conversations and pry about my life. I made it very clear that I had a husband, because I mention it every other sentence. I was hoping to put him off, but to be honest, he’s never come across as flirty. He’s never tried to pick me up or ask me out. If anything, he’s polite and courteous, and I’ve told myself a thousand times that he’s just… different.
I ended up setting a reminder on my phone, every three months, and then three weeks after that. And for the past year, my phone hasn’t been wrong.
“Hey Marsha,” says Gillian, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turn my head as I slide the box of eggs onto the empty shelf.
“Hey Gill,” I say distractedly, straightening myself up as Gill gives me a wide grin. She’s a petite little thing, in her early twenties. The sweetest of people, she’s had a rough life. Abusive parents, abusive boyfriend, teen pregnancy. She’s finally getting her feet on the ground though, studying for her hairdressing qualifications and in a relationship with a good man who loves her little boy like his own.
“Are you still okay to come round later?” She asks, and I blink for a moment. Then I snap my fingers as I remember.
“Yeah, yes of course, love. Did you need me to bring the dye?”
Gill waves her hands, dismissing the idea.
“No, you’re doing me a favour. A lot of people won’t let a trainee do their hair.”
I shrug, because honestly, hair is just hair in my opinion. I’ve been the same shade of box brown for years, and I only dye it to get rid of the greys.
“It’s fine, love. I’ll be round about five?”
Her smile widens and I can’t help but return it.
Once my shift finishes, I make sure I take out twenty quid from the cashpoint. She doesn’t want money, but I’m not letting her do all the work for nothing.
I get to her house at five, and she welcomes me with a glass of cold pinot and a pizza. I can’t say that we’re particularly close, but the few hours I spend with her are honestly a lot of fun. She does my hair, we chat, her little boy is an absolute sweetheart and her boyfriend even went to the shop to grab us another bottle of wine.
I’m not sure if it’s the wine, or Gill’s lack of experience, but… my hair comes out blonde. And not like, a light brown. This is bleach blonde. And it’s hilarious. She feels awful, but it’s getting late and I tell her that she can fix my hair next week or something. My husband laughs his arse off when I get home, telling me I look like Britney Spears before slapping my bum singing Hit Me Baby One More Time.
I get a few laughs the next morning as well as I sit down for my Wednesday check-out shift. I give as good as I get, and get a surprising amount of compliments from the regulars. So much so that by the time I have my break and head into the lockers, I’m considering staying blonde.
My phone is dead because I forgot to put it on charge before I passed out last night, so I have a quick bite and get back to my shift.
It’s nearly four when he walks in, and I know it’s him, because he’s wearing that same exact neon jacket from the first time I met him. My heart drops. I missed the notification - I would have taken my break later.
I watch as he picks up the flowers, before disappearing down and aisle for chocolates. And there’s absolutely no one waiting by the time he’s back, setting them down on my till. I scan them through, making damn sure to keep my eyes down, but he makes a small noise and I look up instinctively. He’s watching me.
Not like the first night. Not like any other time. It’s like those dark eyes are burning holes in my forehead, and his smile is twisted and crooked. I can’t breathe again, but this is a different kind of frozen. This was pure, burning fear setting alight to my every nerve. Any small movement would shatter my resolve and I would go screaming through the shop to get away. I’m not sure if any of you have ever felt fear like that. It’s debilitating.
“I like your hair,” he says after a moment, still watching me with eyes burning black. I don’t move to respond. I don’t even press the till when he presents his card. I don’t do anything but stand there until he lets out a small chuckle and walks away.
When he’s gone through the doors, I bolt. At first I think I’m running to leave, but instead I’m skidding to a halt in the Health and Beauty aisle. I grab a box of brown hair dye and march into the small disabled toilet.
At this point, I don’t care. I would have taken a pair of scissors to my hair if it didn’t make me look like I’ve lost my mind. All my instincts are screaming at me, and I shuck my work top to the corner before setting about smearing the dye on my head. My hands are trembling so violently that I get dye everywhere, but I don’t care. The way he looked at me… the way he mentioned my hair. Our first meeting plays over and over in my head.
You would look good as a blonde.
I’m in there for about an hour, because it’s not easy washing your hair in a little sink. I clean up as best as I can, and I get a lot of enquiries when I return. They see I’m spooked, but I can’t explain. They’d all think me crazy.
I start to think I’m crazy, too, because he doesn’t come back for the rest of my shift. I can’t quite calm down, either, so when I’m walking to my car, I’m still on high alert. I press the button on my keys, reaching for the door.
“Hello, Marsha.”
I gasp loudly, jumping away from the noise as I turn.
There he stands, in his creepy neon glory. He’s smiling that twisted smile and holding the flowers out to me. Has he been waiting for me?
But then he really looks, and his face drops. It’s not just intensity now, its anger. A blinding rage that colours his pale cheeks.
“What did you do?” He hisses, and my heart jumps into my throat. My body is pumping with adrenaline and all I can do is wrench my door open.
“Stay away from me!” I screech, getting into the car and slamming the door shut as he lunges for it. I lock the door and he’s shouting, his eyes wild and spittle welling in the corner of his mouth.
“You ruined it! You ruined it!” He screams as I scramble to put the keys in the ignition. “You were the one and you ruined it!”
The car starts with a loud roar and I tear out of the carpark, terror fuelling my speed. I don’t slow down until I’m home, and when I get there, I break down into Sean’s arms.
Needless to say, Bouquet Ben is banned from the shop. My manager wanted me to press charges, but I just want to forget. It’s been three months since he’s been in the store, and my phone reminded me of his impending arrival yesterday. He didn’t come, thank God.
But I’ll never forget the fury in those eyes. It was like looking into the pits of hell.