"Hey, Winifred." said Robert. "I'm leaving. Because my shift is up, and I want to go home."
"My shift is up too." said Winifred.
"Yeah, but you're the boss. So, it's your duty to close up."
"Wouldn't that be the underling's duty, so the boss can focus on more important things?"
"I hear your logic, but I'm already halfway to the door, so..."
His voice trailed off as he slid out the glass door, and into the night, the bell dinging on his way out.
Winifred shook her head. Robert was a smart-ass, and blunt, but he was also intelligent, and always put in the necessary effort, if on his own terms.
Winifred started the business of closing up her little book-shop. She switched the sign around to 'closed', locked the front door, and turned off half the lights so people would know not to come knocking.
She took a moment to lean against the door-frame, looking at her tired reflection. She was wearing her usual three-piece tweed suit, quite right for a book-seller, and her curly pixie cut had grown softer throughout the day, bringing out her dark eyes. She looked past her reflection, and into the street. Empty, other than a few parked cars. That was a rare occurrence for the usually busy street. Almost creepy.
A chill ran up her back, traveling along her spine, and making her shoulders shudder. She shook again, on purpose, to rid herself of the feeling.
That was a bit of an over-reaction, she thought.
She looked around the shop. The thrill of fear was still in her heart.
Well, lets hurry this up, if you're going to get the jibblies.
She checked the bathrooms to make sure no one was lurking. Then she started to empty the trash bins that lay around the store. When she got to the one under the counter, she had to bend low to reach her arm underneath the drawers.
She felt a breath in her ear- close, warm, and intimate.
She immediately spun around, clutching her heart as if to protect it.
There was no one there.
"...Hello?" she said, hesitantly.
The silence was pointedly empty.
The overhead fan was still on. Maybe it was some weird combination of that, and her overactive imagination. She did spend a lot of time in her own head.
Half walking, half running, she took the garbage bags she'd collected out to the dumpster out back, and hurried back inside. She took the crash drawer out of the counter, carrying it to the safe they kept at the bottom of the cupboard in the back. She knelt in front of the safe, put the money inside, closed the door, and spun the dial.
She heard whispers in her left ear, indiscernible, but so close she could feel the tickle from the wetness of their tongue.
She jumped up, and ran out the back door to the shop.
Then she ran back, set the alarm, locked the door, and ran out to her car.
This had happened before. When she'd moved into her first apartment, Winifred had started hearing whispers like that. Soon after, the ghost had come out of hiding, scaring the crap out of her and her roommate. They hadn't know what else to do, so they'd moved, at great cost.
I can't do that now, she thought, as she drove away. If I give up the shop, I'll never get another one.
But nowadays, there was another option.
Come on. They're celebrities. she thought. There's no way they're going to be in your price range.
But she decided it was best to check before crying, and giving up on her life.
When she got to her tiny apartment, and looked them up on her laptop with trembling hands, she learned the Ghostbusters cost about as much as the average exterminator. She felt an intense relief, followed by another intense bout of nerves.
This would mean she'd have to meet her. Jillian Holtzmann, the woman she'd been fawning over in her mind since she'd first seen her on the news. She'd get the ghost gone, but at the small price of an agonizing death of embarrassment. She always said the wrong thing around cute girls, and with a crush this big, it was practically guaranteed she'd make a complete ass of herself.
Alright, you're overreacting. she thought. Relax. First off, it won't just be you and her. You can be polite to her, but speak mostly to the others. Second, she'll have a job to do, so just let the natural routine of work fall between you. The less you talk to her, the less chance you have of making a complete arse of yourself.