Note: Happy Truce! This story is for Pricklenettle. I went with the Prompt 2: Danny being a creepy, mysterious fellow somewhere normal like a gas station. Prompt 5 inspired me to have Tucker be the pov character, though... well, as you'll see.
Enjoy!
Just twenty minutes. Twenty minutes before closing time.
Tucker sighs, repeating the words in his head as he sweeps the front of the supermarket. The broom's bristles scrap against the floor, the sound grating against his ears. Ten feet away, his manager surveys the square of self-checkout kiosks. One lone customer, a middle-aged man, swipes his chips and soda. The machine chimes harshly as it processes the man's credit card.
The boy lifts one hand to massage his forehead. Just twenty more minutes.
The shopper exits passed Tucker and the teen's gaze follows, trailing to the wide glass window, to the pitch-black outside. The doors slide open, the sound of rain crashing through the front with a spray of cold droplets.
Tucker winces at the sensation. Please, please let it stop soon. Fervently, he begs in his head. Please let it stop before he has to run to the bus stop.
"Go sweep the produce section." His manger's nasally voice cuts through the silent pleading.
With a nod, the teen complies. He pushes the broom's long head around the banana stand. The bristles scrape harshly as the lights illuminating the vegetable stands buzz sharply. And Tucker again rubs his forehead, gritting his teeth at the building headache.
Those stupid lights, this stupid broom. If his boss wouldn't give him crap about it and would just let him wear headphones at work….
Tucker hums under his breath, repeating the chorus to his favorite Dumpty Humpty song in his head. Normally, that is a decent distraction from the overstimulating sounds. But this night….
The pounding of rain on the roof crescendos. Tucker shivers, suddenly cold. A draft blows through, from the outside doors at the front of the store, he assumes. The chill tickles his nose and he sneezes. Tiny, wet drops spray on his face.
Great. The boy huffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He's getting the cold Danny has too, isn't he?
At least he can go home soon and collapse on his warm bed.
Tucker goes back to sweeping, humming the same Dumpty Humpty song. He sweeps up little bites of onion peel, fallen leaves from the poinsettia display, dried mud tracked in on someone's boots. He moves in front of the carrots and cucumbers, wrinkling his nose as water mists over the produce and sprays him.
The teen comes to the end of the produce section, to the first fridge of meat. He surveys the pork chops approvingly. Oh, those ones are on manager's special. Maybe he should-
Suddenly, the sound of a cough cuts through his thoughts. Tucker looks up, drawn to the noise.
Two aisles over, someone about his height in a red hoodie stands with back facing him. Huh? How hadn't noticed that person before? The clink of cans shifting in a pile sounds as they pick up a can of soup.
Tucker goes back to sweeping, eyes fixed on the head of the broom as he carefully maneuvers it between the horizontal display fridge filled with pork ribs and a shelf with an offering of barbecue sauces.
The heavy thump of a can falling and Tucker's head jerks up again. The person in the hoodie is gone, a can of chicken noodle soup rolling across the floor.
Brow winkling, the teen approaches. He picks up the luckily undented can, returning it to the display. His head tilts, peering down the pointedly empty aisle. Where did the person in the hoodie go?
Before Tucker can contemplate the mystery, the intercom crackles. "Clean up! Aisle 10!"
Tucker sighs, rolling his eyes exacerbatedly. Really? This is the second time this shift. Please don't be throw up again, he mentally begs. Still, he carries the broom back to the supply closet near the restrooms, collecting the bucket and mop.
The teen jerkily pulls the yellow monstrosity through the store. One of its wheels refuses to spin. "Come. On." He mutters under his breath, annoyance growing.
He passes the lunch meat and the cheese, the butter and eggs. Approaching the aisle in question, Tucker takes a breath, preparing himself for what will hopefully be a small mess. He rounds the corner and-
Milk… all over the floor. The teen's jaw drops. Half the length of the aisle, a good twenty feet section of the floor is covered in the white liquid.
"H… how?" He can't help but stutter. How could someone even manage to spill this much milk?
Eyes blown wide, Tucker approaches the nearest jug. Tentatively, he prods it with his shoe. The plastic crunches at the touch, jagged cracks scrapping against each other. It looks almost shattered…as if dropped from a great height.
His eyes trail over the scene once more. A dozen more crumpled jugs litter the floor, their contents all explosively dispersed.
But…. How? How could one person do this? A flicker of unease leaps in his stomach. If he didn't know better, he would think it was the Box Ghost's doing. Expect these are plastic jugs, not rectangular cartons. No boxes have been touched, not cardboard the cartons of eggs come in, the microwave dinners, or the sticks of butter. And most tellingly, there are no shouts of beware.
Tucker's nose wrinkles. It would be just his luck for Boxy to show up for the end of his shift.
The teen shakes his head, dislodging the thought. That hypothetical doesn't matter right now. He frowns hopelessly down at the now quite insufficient mop. He's going to need those blue absorbent puppy pads. A lot of them.
Tucker turns around, leaving the mop and bucket and starting back towards the storage room. He passes the butter and eggs again. The sign for the bathroom looms in front of him. He quickly comes to the open doorway, across from the clearance rank, and-
A puff of cold on his neck. The boy stiffens. A low whisper echoes to his right, behind him. Movement out the corner of his eye, a flicker of maroon red and neon green.
Tucker freezes, head jerking to the side to look. But… nothing.
There is nothing beside him, just the freezer of meatballs and chicken nuggets.
The lights above flicker and pop, flashing brightly at the same another whisper crackles, on his other side and full of static. Tucker's head jerks to the sound, catching another flicker, this one of something black. His body follows the movement of his gaze, turning back the way he came.
No farther spills, no customers, no annoying boss. No one to mutter or dart passed him. The walkway is the same.
Except… a spot of neon green.
Annoyance swirling in his gut, Tucker marches up to the spot. He kneels and his brow furrows at the object. A tissue, stained with globs of glowing green.
"Freaking ghosts." The teen curses under his breath. Of course! Of course it's a ghost.
He picks up the tissue between two fingers, nose wrinkled in disgust. What is this? The ectoplasm looks sticky and wet, glowing between the folds of the crumpled kleenex. Like some kind of ghostly booger. From what? A ghost of the common cold?
"The store closes in five minutes!" His boss's false cheery voice cuts through the scene. "Please bring your purchases to the front."
Tucker groans at the words, standing. Ghost or no, he still has an aisle to clean. He hurries to the storeroom, grabbing a wad of absorbent pads. He manhandles the big black trash can with wheels, pushing it out of the closet and through the open doorway.
Then a flash of green light. A crash reverberates around the corner, back in the milk aisle.
Unthinking, Tucker takes off running. He rounds the corner, the spilled milk puddles appearing in front of him once again. A burst of cold and his legs fly out from under him.
The teen falls, landing heavily on his behind. Sudden adrenaline pounds his heart, the sound deafening in his ears. He shivers, not just from any dread but… the cold. His hand reaches for the white covering the floor, goosebumps prickling his skin. It's frozen.
Shakily, Tucker puts his hands under him. He rises to his feet; thank goodness he's not hurt any more than his sore tailbone. Still, his eye dart side to side, on alert.
"Look." The teen sighs, annoyance growing. "Whoever you are, just-"
From outside, thunder crashes. The building shakes with the sound. The lights flicker, blinking out across the store.
Great, they just lost power. It's a fleeting thought. Except-
His eyes widen at the freezers, still humming. Their fluorescent white light eerily illuminate the aisle.
"Alright." The boy mutters, taking a step back from the slippery floor. "Dude, just turn the light back on so I can clean this."
Ominous whispers answer, the words lost to static. To his side, a shadow passes over the freezer's light.
Tucker turns, fumbling in his pocket. "You know what, I don't care about the lights!" Come on. Come on. Where is that wrist ray? "Just go!"
Another boom of thunder rattles the air. The PA system shrieks, a deafening dial tone. The boy grimaces, covering his ears. Again, a shadow flickers out the corner of his eye.
The sound cuts out. The teen jerkily swivels to face the flicker, pulling out a lipstick blaster. "Don't make me-"
The freezer door behind him slams open, the force of the glass on his back sending him to the ground. The blaster goes off, the laser sailing through the air. Harmlessly, it pings off a bakery display. Meanwhile, Tucker's momentum sends him sliding across the slick floor on his front.
"Dude, I just want to finish my shift and go home!" The teen complains, slamming into said mid-aisle shelf.
He rolls to his side, groaning. Those bruises are going to hurt in the morning.
Neon green streaks across his vision. Again, Tucker shoots. Again, the laser flies free. And still, it fails to impact.
In response, more glass doors fling open. Three shelves collapse, dozens of frozen meals crashing onto the floor.
"Not my Hungry Man too!" The teen cries.
Back pressed against the wooden bakery shelf, Tucker pushes himself up to sit. With frustration-gritted teeth, he holds the blaster in front of him.
Static pops, filling his ears as the hum of the freezer crescendos. The ghostly fluorescent light flickers bright and dimmer. But… no hint of shadow, no ghostly green.
Eyes still intently focused ahead, Tucker reaches for his PDA. "That's it. I'm calling Danny." He scowls, finger over the button. "He can deal with you-"
The PDA sparks, to the technogeek's horror. He flings it away. At the same time, a screeching reverberates, like long skeletal fingers scratching styrofoam. A milk carton rises from the open fridge. The teen stares with narrowed eyes as the plastic warps. It explodes. Drops of white liquid hang in the air for a drawn out second, before flinging across the room.
Something in Tucker snaps. He's cold, tired, and bruised. His head hurts. His shift is almost over. Enough is enough!
"Seriously!?" He shouts, frustration giving way to rage. "I have to clean all this up?!"
In one surprisingly fluid motion, he stands. The shadows hiss, two glowing green orbs flashing into sight. They linger, just a second. But it's enough.
Tucker shoots the blaster. And it impacts.
A pained yelp sounds. The darkness solidifies, person-shaped between one blink and the next. The green orbs, eyes, widen.
A flash of light blinds Tucker. In the next second, the store's lights are back. The freezer doors all slam closed.
And a boy in a red hoodie crumples, falling to his knees five feet in front of him.
"Wha- Tuck?" The boy blinks, looking up.
Tucker's jaw drops. "Danny?"
"I was in bed. What? How did I get- Acho!" A sneeze interrupts, Danny whipping glowing green snot away with his sleeve. "How did I get here?"
Tucker stares, mind churning with surprise. Then… understanding. "You!" He points accusingly. "You did this!"
"What?" Dazedly, the half ghost looks over the destruction.
"And you were, what? Sleeping haunting?!" His hands lift, exacerbated. "This is gonna take an hour to clean up!" He marches forwards, grabbing the mop and bucket, and shoving the handle at his friend. "You're doing it!"
"But…but…" Danny stutters, blinking disbelievingly at the mess
Still, Tucker stomps away. He doesn't get paid enough for this.
Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.
I debated whether to end it with Tucker storming off or if I should show more of the aftermath but decided the quick ending worked best with the prompt I was going for. Rest assured though, like two minutes after storming off, Tucker comes back and feels really bad about losing his temper. There are mutual apologies as both clean up. Danny flies Tucker home (yay for not having to wait for the bus in the rain!). And the next day, they're laughing about the entire thing.