AN: I knew someone that tripped on the dog and shattered their ankle. Bone was sticking out and everything. Not pretty. So yes, that can happen. Watch your step. For those of you who somehow don't know this, Cujo is a rabid St. Bernard that appears in the Stephen King book of that name.

Johanna Crane-You'd have to be an idiot to live here. Yes. Yes, it was. I don't like children. Obviously. Neither do you. I know! Worst nightmare was that I was pregnant. Don't even joke.

Christineoftheopera-They just relied one at least one of us (I always supposed it would be Griggs) to be enough of a hick to sneak a gun to school. Or to have enough sense to run away. Ah, Arlen...

John Greene likes the graveyard shift at Walgreens. Most of the time nobody comes in, so he can just sit there and play on his Gameboy or watch TV or text.

He can't text tonight, because the phone lines are down at home and he left his phone for his mother in case of emergency. The lines are down here, too, but he's not recovering from surgery. (She tripped over the dog in the night and shattered her ankle.)

Oh, well. He'll live.

The door opens and two people who look a little the worse for wear come in.

"Hello, welcome to Walgreens."

"Hi."

"Looking for anything?"

"We'll manage." the man says shortly. "Go back to your game."

Fine. Asshole.

They disappear into the back, towards the first aid kits. He shrugs and turns to the TV to look at the news. The closed captioning says something about a Scarecrow attack on a football field. Huh. Crazy bastard. Probably just bitter about not being on the team in high…

Wait.

He knows those people on the screen.

They just walked in here.

And the phones are down.

Shit.

He eyes the door. He might be able to run for it, but there isn't a police station for several blocks and he's not in the best of shape anyway. Maybe it would be best to just stay here, act natural, and hope he doesn't tip off the guy in the back.

They reappear in the seasonal section, laughing about something. Probably those people they killed. Help. Somebody. Isn't the Batman supposed to show up now? Maybe the Walgreens is too brightly lit. Maybe he should turn off the lights.

Yeah, right. And be alone with the Scarecrow in the dark? NOPE.

Richardson holds up something lacey and Crane backs up, hands held above his head. She laughs at him, says something that Greene doesn't catch, and tosses it back into the bin.

Maybe that's not the Scarecrow at all. Maybe it just looks like him.

Before he's really convinced of that, they appear in front of the counter with a box of ibuprofen, a first-aid kit, a sewing kit, and a bag of chocolate.

"F-find everything okay?"

If this isn't the Scarecrow, he looks an awful lot like him.

"Yes. I think so." She cocks her head. "Jonathan, are you sure you don't like that black lace…whatever the hell it was?"

Jonathan. Isn't Crane's first name Jonathan?

Crap.

"Quite sure. I don't trust you."

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

As much as he hates to interrupt them, he'd much rather them pay and be gone.

"Seventeen thirty-two."

Act natural.

"You're a little jumpy, ah…John. Something scare you?"

NO NO NOTHING AT ALL EVERYTHING'S FINE.

"N-no, sir."

"Are you sure? You don't look at all well."

"I-I'm fine, Mr. Scare…"

Shit.

They exchange looks, nod, and turn back to him.

"As sorry as I am to do this, I can't risk you going for help." Crane sounds legitimately sorry. "Don't worry, this batch wears off about sixty percent of the time."

WAIT WHAT NO-!

And then Cujo rises up behind the counter, jaws open wide.

THE END