After Hours

Have you ever wondered what REALLY goes on when the stores close? And maybe security is meant to keep things IN rather than out.

Every parent tells their child some sort of lie to cover up the truth at some point in time. A parent might tell their child that a fishstick is a chicken tender to get that child to eat it - if they don’t like fishsticks. A parent may tell their kids that babies are delivered by storks in that same manner.

In the case of many children, including Sydney Jenkins - the main character of our story today - their parents tell them that all stores close so that the employees can go home and enjoy some peace and quiet from the hectic life of trying to pay for college and work a job. This is not the case for stores everywhere that have one thing in common - clothing. 

Humans consider clothing to be an essential part of life. A person would not want to go around wearing no clothing for the fear of being judged. More or less so, someone will want to find the best clothing possible to cover his or her body. After all, in some worlds appearance means everything. 

But that’s besides the point. To model clothing in stores, there are often mannequins strategically placed. They show off clothing, styles, and trends - basically humans in their own way. 

But if one were to perhaps stay after a department store closed they might find more than mannequins waiting for them. 

Now, robbery is quite a scandal in some places around the world. To prevent this from occurring, stores may place precautionary measures are their displays, walls, or parking lots. Again, parents might tell their children this is to keep people out. Unfortunately, these measures are to keep people in. 

What do all these things have in common? By now, you’ve noticed I’ve mentioned several things in the span of a few short paragraphs. Lies. Hours of work. Clothing. Mannequins. Security. And, if you paid close attention, you would’ve noticed I mentioned a name - Sydney Jenkins. 

At this point, I advise you to stop reading. This story could endanger you. The secrets I tell are no joke, they were - after all - meant to be kept secret. There is much information in the world that does more harm than good. It’s a matter of withholding the information that causes problems that people know about. They believe that they have been lied to. In fact, all of us have. 

Let me say this again, turn away now. Only unknowable danger lies ahead if you continue to read this. But I made a promise, a promise I must keep. 

Now, where was I? Ah, yes, Sydney Jenkins. 

Sydney was a remarkable young girl. When this story takes place, Sydney was about fourteen years old. She had long, jet black hair and warm, chocolate colored eyes. She wasn’t exactly popular, nor was she one of those weird kids no one sat with at lunch. Sydney participated in art programs her school had to offer, and she was a frequent visitor to the library. 

So, the day our story begins was not a good one for Ms. Jenkins. It was a Friday, a dull rainy Friday before spring break. Sydney was in a bad mood after receiving low marks on her math test. 

Sydney lived within walking distance of an off brand department store called Bullseye. It sat along the highway on Route 55 and not many people visited. Sydney’s parents both worked from home, and they were often so involved in their work that they rarely ever stopped to notice if Sydney was home at all. 

Sydney lived in a small house along the highway. Her parents didn’t need much room - two bedrooms, a kitchen, an office, and a bathroom. Sydney’s room was quite small by the standards set by her peers, but she didn’t mind. Since her parents barely looked for her at all, she had recently taken up a project in painting her room with murals of the books she had read. 

It was very taxing work, and on this Friday in spring, Sydney realized that she had run out of paint for her most recent mural. 

Sydney, of course, needed more paint. She had almost done her mural and she was hoping to enter a picture of it in an art contest the next weekend. So Sydney walked right into the kitchen, grabbed some money from the top of the cupboards, and made her way along the sodden grass to Bullseye. 

The sky was dark. Sydney’s stomach growled for food, and she decided on her way back from the store she would stop at the Chinese restaurant just down the street. 

There was no way of telling what time it was. The store appeared to be open, the lights were on and she could see movement inside. The wind whipped rain at her as if trying to tell the girl to turn around. If only dear Sydney had listened. 

There were no cars in the parking lot - but then again, the popularity of the store was much like the popularity of Sydney herself. 

Her old sneakers splashed through the puddles and she shivered in her flimsy jacket. The wind howled its warnings at Sydney, but she continued towards the store. The store hours sign had been torn down - most likely by a gang - just a few weeks prior. 

The automatic doors squealed open and admitted Sydney. The warmth felt amazing and Sydney let her hair drip to the floor. 

Despite the lack of customers and cashiers in the store, Sydney felt right at home. She was an introvert at heart, and she was glad that she would have little human interaction during her trip. Her sneakers squeak on the tile floors, a trail of puddles following in her midst. 

The paint and home improvement section was located towards the back of the department store. Sydney paid no attention to anything else. She was here for paint and that was all. 

So when Sydney passed through the clothing section of the department store, she did not notice the empty stands and blocks that normally housed displays. She did not notice that someone - or something rather - was following her. 

Sydney scanned the colors of paint. She needed the color obsidian, which she quickly located and grabbed the smallest bottle. 

Sydney reached back to grab for her money to pay at the registers, but her hand felt nothing in her back pocket. She didn’t panic, but a feeling of dread washed over Sydney. If the money had fallen out of her pocket, it could be anywhere between her current location and her house. 

I would like to inform you that Sydney was a very forgetful person. She often forgot about deadlines, homework, or even what book she was reading. 

But as much as I would like to tell you truthfully that Sydney simply lost her money in the parking lot before she went back to retrieve it, I cannot. At this point, I would prefer if you take this short, false ending to the story instead of the real one. 

If you truly do wish to stop reading and preserve your sanity, read the next paragraph. If you wish to endanger everyone and everything - which I caution you against - read the paragraph after that and continue to the end of this terrible story. But just be reminded, you have been warned by me. You know the consequences that await you. 

As for the false ending of the story, here it goes: Sydney found her money next to the cash registers. A friendly young woman let her pay for her paint. Sydney walked home after also purchasing an umbrella and some chinese food. The end. 

This is the actual ending of the story. Sydney did in fact not find her money anywhere around her. 

She retraced her steps through the entire store before she began to wonder if maybe she hadn’t lost the money at all. 

She checked her pocket again, but instead of a dollar bill, she found something else. 

It was a thin sheet of notebook paper. And as much as I would like to tell you that the paper was blank - it was not. 

Someone had written in blood red letters - aisle 16. Sydney turned to see if anyone had slipped this note in her pocket. They had obviously stolen her money. She clutched the paint bottle tighter in her hand, hoping that she wouldn’t be mugged. 

She looked at the aisle signs and navigated her way through the rows upon rows of junk. Aisle sixteen happened to be the aisle for shampoo, conditioner, and other self care products. 

But when Sydney turned into the aisle, she immediately screamed. 

I beg you, please turn away and choose something else to read. I said I made a promise, and I cannot break it. But nevertheless, that doesn’t mean you have to keep reading. 

Back to the story for you heartless fools, Sydney’s mouth was open and she tried to turn and run. 

In aisle sixteen, there were three other beings. One was wearing a nice tweed jacket and some cargo shorts. Another was wearing yoga pants and a sports bra. The final being was shorter than the other two, and it wore a fluffy dress and a headband with a daisy on the top.

While this may seem normal, like a simple family taking a shopping trip, I assure you that this was no family - ordinary or not. 

The beings had pure white skin, no blemishes or marks or orifices at all. Each one had a smooth, featureless face. The tiny mannequin took a step forward. Her feet made a metallic sound as they hit the floor. It sounded a bit like plastic. 

As I said Sydney tried  to run, but she could not. Because the second she turned around there was another one, this one a boy wearing a t-shirt. 

At this point, as anyone might do when they are extremely frightened, Sydney fainted. 

While our protagonist happens to be asleep, I’d like to take the time to educate you on the anatomy of a mannequin. Although they are similar in shape to humans, mannequins are made entirely of either fiberglass or plastic. As this specific department store was running low on profit, their mannequins happened to be made out of plastic rather than fiberglass. 

Mannequins have been around for a very long time. This is where the part about parents lying comes in. Below is the true version of events with the first mannequin. 

There was a french man named Monsieur Augustus who owned a small business in the rural areas of France. He owned a clothing shop with his wife. Monsieur Ausgustus and his wife had a daughter named Beatrice who was about six at the time. After closing his store one night, Monsieur Augustus was distracted and did not lock the door. Beatrice had left her doll in the shop earlier that day and snuck back in to get it. The exact events are unknown, but Monsieur Augustus woke up the next day to find his daughter missing. That same day he found a human shaped display in his store. Beatrice’s death was blamed on wolves. The mystery of the mannequin continued. 

I fear no one noticed that the mannequin that appeared in Monsieur Augustus’ store wore the same nightdress that his own daughter wore the night of her disappearance. 

With that background, you should be able to infer what will occur next. May that spare you the details, you can turn away now. You’ve already put yourself in significant danger, and it is likely that you will not live to see tomorrow at this point. I wish I could stop my fingers from writing this, but alas, a promise is a promise. 

It took approximately twenty minutes for Sydney to wake up. In that time, the mannequins dragged her across the tile floor and to the changing rooms in the back. 

Her eyes fluttered open, but the only thing she saw was the blank, white faces of the mannequins as they held her down. She tried to escape, but to no avail. The mannequins gripped Sydney tight, their plastic coating moving more flexible than she ever thought possible. 

She screamed again, and surprisingly enough, the mannequins let go of her. Sydney sat up in surprise to find that while she was asleep, the mannequins had dressed her in entirely new clothes. 

Sydney now wore designer jeans and a sky blue blouse, her feet were bare and she was beginning to feel cold. Black paint was the last thing on her mind now, and Sydney climbed off the return desk where she had been placed. 

She brandished her pointer finger at the mannequins. “Bad. No. We don’t just capture people. Bad mannequins, bad.” Sydney snarled at the mannequins who shrunk back towards the display cases. 

One of them emitted a low sound that sounded almost like a person humming. Sydney was confused as to how the mannequins had come to life, but the one thing on her mind was how to escape. That was until one of the mannequins flickered. 

It was the little girl in her fluffy, salmon colored dress. 

By flickered, I don’t mean the lights flickered. I mean that just for a second, Sydney witnessed what laid inside the horrible plastic mannequin. A tiny girl’s terrified face stared back at her, and Sydney suddenly felt terrible. 

Still, the idea of humans being mannequins and vice versa was too much for Sydney. She bolted, shoes squealing as she ran as fast as she could towards the doors. 

Earlier, I told you that there are many measures of security in department stores - more to keep things in rather than out. The same holds true with this particular department store. The doors didn’t budge. Sydney pounded on the glass with her first, but she made no dent. 

Except … now Sydney was beginning to notice something. Her skin was paler than normal, and it had an odd white tinge. It was almost like she was a mannequin herself. 

Sydney turned around, fully expecting the mannequins to jeer at her foolishness. 

Again, Sydney saw a flicker. This time it was the father. She began to wonder if they were just as much a prisoner as she was. That’s when Sydney saw it - the other mannequins. 

They began to filter through the rows of clothing and candy, each one flickering for only a moment. All the faces shared the same, terrified expression. And after inspecting each face closer, Sydney saw that they were all the people that had gone missing over the past few years. The hiker. The homeless man. The garbage disposal dude. All of them were here. 

She glanced down at her skin again, and found that it was now pearly white entirely, and becoming harder by the second. Sydney reached up and felt that her hair had disappeared entirely. When she touched her face her eyes, nose, and mouth were gone as well. 

And with that, Sydney let out one final scream before it ended abruptly. 

The mannequins around her began to hum. It was quiet at first. Then it grew louder. The newest mannequin joined in the song. 

The next morning, the first employee came and unlocked the store. He did not notice the new mannequin in the teen section of the store. And right down the road, a mother woke up with a scream to find her daughter gone. 

As I said when you began this piece, you shouldn’t have read this far. The more you know, the more danger you are in. The next time you are in any store, the mannequins will smell your fear. They will know that you know of their imprisonment. And after twenty years of living as a model in a department store, I assure you that these mannequins sure have a lot of resent built up. 

I also mentioned a promise when I began this sad tale. I would like you to know that this particular promise was made to a girl named Sydney Jenkins. After she began her imprisonment at Bullseye that night in spring, I received a message from one of the other mannequins. They said she was different, that she knew that she was a prisoner and that she might be able to escape. I talked with Sydney briefly over the phone in her new language of humming and purring. We reached a compromise. 

I would tell Sydney’s story if she would remain prisoner of the store. 

You may ask why I want her a prisoner. But the real question you should be asking is how do I know all this information. And if you would stop and ask me that question, I would reply very vaguely. 

After all, I can’t have my invention go to waste now can I. 

Next time I see you, dear reader, it will be after hours. And I fear those will be your last hours. 

Author's Note

This is my eighth story, and it was just a filler. My first time writing some sort of creepy stuff and that sort of narration method. Hope you enjoyed.

Reviews

[Lolbit and Scrap: Multi..]

Guess what? You won 1st place in my contest! Mainly because all the other submissions didn't have any creepy FNAF_related things in it. So, I sent u a message with the promised prize :)

[Lolbit and Scrap: Multi..]

That was actually kinda creepy. Great job at this!!!

[Roland Petrov]

Your main success here was to warn the reader frequently to stop reading for their own good, thus ensuring that they would keep reading to the end. It was like God telling Eve not to eat the apple. I did actually enjoy the story.

[A.L.]

I’m glad you enjoyed it. This is by far the most viewed story that I have on this side and I’m just glad people enjoy reading it.

[Jean Lagace]

Welcome to fantasy land. Nice little tale that doesn't make much sense but it can't matter since it's only a story and this author, as clever and skillful at manipulating words as he is, won't be able to put his threat to execution... or will he?

[Nathan Cavaliere]

In all honesty, this seemed a lot more like a piece of comedy than horror. Several techniques you used here really diluted the horror vibe, and instead seemed to promote humor. The unnecessarily repetitive warnings, frequent tangential thought, Sydney's odd reactions, the lack of descriptive detail, and the absurdity of the plotline in general all combined to make it hard to take seriously. If you were going for something that is actually scary, you didn't quite hit the mark. If you where going for something more humorous though, excellent job! If you did want to make a comedy though, you may want to advertise that more clearly, as that wasn't clear from you description.

[A.L.]

I wasn’t really going for horror or comedy. I had just finished writing something else really long, and I kind of just needed a break. It was pretty much a random idea I had floating around in my head.

[Nathan Cavaliere]

You mean you where not going for comedy? I am surprised then at how effectively you established that sense without even trying. Have you ever tried to deliberately write comedy? Apparently you are naturally talented with humor, which if my experience with improv has taught me anything, it is that very few have a talent for it. You may want to capitalize on that a little more: you have got a lot of potential in you. I would suggest "testing the waters" some more and posting some more humor pieces and seeing what people say about it. Could be a fruitful project to look into.

[A.L.]

Ok thanks for the advice.
I definitely wasn't trying for a humorous story, but I guess I wasn't really trying for any genre.