“Hey Jerry, how has your evening been?”, I ask as I walk into the Flying W gas station I work at.

“Dead, man. Absolutely dead. I haven’t seen anyone in like two hours, man.”, Jerry said. I am pretty sure he is stoned again, but whatever.

I wander behind the counter, “If it has been that dead, then why don’t you take off. I got this.” Our shifts are supposed to over lap for an hour to cover the 11 to midnight rush but I was betting it wasn’t going to happen tonight.

“Duuuuuude! You rock!”, Jerry leapt over the counter and was gone. I am sure he would have been fired years ago, but he is always on time and the till always balances…. This place doesn’t set a very high bar for employee of the month if you know what I am saying.

Midnight came and went without a single customer. One am and two am came an went too. It was a very dead night.

Around two thirty the fog started to roll in. It was thick and low. It made the street lights into fuzzy orbs of floating light since the poles were hidden. The highway, just a couple hundred yards away, might as well have been on the moon. Only the occasional glow let me know that there were still cars going by.

I have been working the night shift for almost five years now. At first I thought the worst of it was the after the bar crowd or the crack heads but it is the witching hour when the crazy shit really happens. Between three and four am. If something is going to go down, that is when it is going to happen.

This fog felt ominous and put me on edge.

Three ten am. A vintage model-T Ford pulled into the station. I gawked. I had never seen one in such mint condition. It was a beauty. The driver was in period clothes too. Black felt top hat, driving goggles and a black suit, even spat shoes …. He went all out.

The driver got out and was walking towards the building when a second model-T came by, not slowing down I saw two Tommy guns sticking out the windows, they open fired, shredding the driver, as he fell to the ground he and cars disappeared.

I guess it was going to one of those nights.

Three twenty five am. A 1970 something half ton truck pulled in. The box was full of teen age kids, all dressed for the beach. Probably heading out to the old swimming hole off route 3….. which was paved over about a decade ago.

The kids piled out of the box of the truck and came into the store. They were all over the store picking phantom merchandise off of shelves that weren’t there any more while walking through the shelves that were there. They chatted among themselves, laughing and having fun. They paid in cash at a till that wasn’t there any more and then piled back in the box of the truck. The truck pulled out and was creamed by a semi going in the opposite direction. Bodies flew from the truck box and then disappeared as they hit the ground.

Three forty two am. “Give me all your money!”, he yelled, a sawed off shot gun in his hands.

“Easy man…. Easy.”, I said as I started to open the cash register. I saw a the barrel of a shot gun appear in my belly and let off a round. The would be robber went flying. I turned to see a young man with a Flying W t-shirt holding a gun. He must have been the cashier…. No clues as to when this robbery was. I got out of the ghost cashier’s way. He looked over the counter and got a shot gun blast to the face. He spun and hit the floor, disappearing along with the robber.

Three fifty five am. A couple came in. They were arguing. She went to get some chips and he asked for a package of cigarettes. I got the pack of cigs down from the display just in time to see her stab him in the neck. Blood squirted out and hit the door. His eyes bulged and he went down, she just kept on stabbing until they both disappeared. I put the cigs back into the display case.

Seven oh five am. The morning shift had arrived.

“Hey Stanley, how was your night?”, they asked as they came in.

“Oh it was pretty quite. Little excitement around three am or so but nothing too crazy.”, I replied.