The walk home from school was always the same: cracked sidewalks, graffiti-covered walls, the weight of her backpack—and an even heavier silence waiting for her at home. Seina walked with her head down, shoulders hunched, trying to make herself small, invisible to the world.
That's when she almost walked right past the sign.
It was taped to a crooked lamppost at her usual corner — a yellowed A4, sun-faded and rain-stained, its edges frayed. But the words caught her eyes, glowing almost unnaturally:
HELP WANTED — CASHIER ASSISTANT
Night Shift (6 PM – 11 PM)
Daily Pay
Inquire Inside
Midnight Sun Market
Seina stopped. Her heart gave a small, anxious leap. Night shift. Perfect hours. She could leave school, go straight to work, and by the time she returned, her family would be asleep—or at least pretending she didn't exist. Daily pay. Money. The chance to maybe, one day, disappear for good.
She looked up at the market's façade: a small place, fluorescent lights flickering, a half-broken sign reading "Open 24h" — the "4" almost gone. It looked unwelcoming. But it was a way out.
Before her courage could fade, she pushed open the glass door. A bell rang — loud and old-fashioned.
Inside, the air smelled of stale cigarettes, burnt coffee, and floors bleached one too many times. A middle-aged bald man sat behind the counter, flipping through a betting magazine with the enthusiasm of a corpse.
"Uh… hi?" Seina whispered.
He looked up slowly, as if lifting his eyelids were an effort. "You lost, kid?"
"T-the poster. Outside... The job."
He nodded, closing the magazine. "Yeah. You want it?"
"I… yes. But… I don't have experience."
"No one does. The last guy ran off after two nights saying he heard voices in the storage room." He leaned on the counter. "You hear voices?"
"…No."
"Good. You're hired. Start tomorrow — six sharp. Don't be late." He turned and grabbed a checkered apron stained with god-knows-what, handing it to her. "Name's Kim. Call me Mr. Kim."
"Im… Seina."
She took the apron, dazed. Was that… the interview?
"And… the pay?"
"If you show up, you get paid. If you disappear, you don't. Simple." He picked up the magazine again. "Now, unless you're buying something, I'm busy."
That was the end of the conversation.
Seina stepped out of the market, clutching the apron tightly in her hands. Her heart was pounding—not with anxiety this time, but with something that felt dangerously close to… hope.
She had a job. A plan. A schedule that would keep her away from home.
Little did she know that night shift would take her closer to her nightmare than ever before.
The market smelled like cheap disinfectant, new plastic, and a faint hint of rot. Seina stood behind the register, her fingers clumsy on the keys, trying to memorize the produce codes — Lettuce: 4011. Apple: 3283. Sweet bread: 2571.
"Wrong again," Mr. Kim's tired voice came from behind, making her flinch. "It's 2671 for the sweet bread. Pay attention, girl. The customer doesn't have all day."
The customer, an old man with heavy eyebrows, grumbled something inaudible and shoved the bill into her hand without looking up. Seina took a deep breath, counted the change with trembling fingers, and handed it back.
Beep. Bam. Thank you. Come again.
It had been three hours. Her mind was looping—just like the register. Beep. Bam. Smile. Beep. Bam. Don't cry.
But behind her glassy eyes, her thoughts swirled.
'Is she home? Locked in? Does she feel it too—that today's the day?' she wondered.
She glanced at the clock: 8:17 PM. The seventh day crept forward, relentless, outside in the dark.
'I should be with her. Not here. I promised.' The promise echoed louder than the register itself. Until the end. Always.
"Lost your train of thought, Seina?" Mr. Kim appeared again, arms crossed. "You look like a ghost. If you can't handle the shift, just say so."
"No… I'm fine," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Just getting used to it."
He grunted, unconvinced, and walked back to his office.
During her break, sitting on the concrete bench behind the market, she held a sandwich she couldn't bring herself to eat. Her phone was her only fragile link to normalcy — to Thalya.
Seina (8:34 PM): Everything okay over there?
Thalya: All good. TV and instant noodles. You at work?
Seina: Yeah. I'm done at 11. Let's meet after?
Seina: The old textile factory? 11:15. It's close to here.
Thalya (8:36 PM): Okay. Be careful getting there.
Seina locked her screen and pressed her cold forehead against the phone. 'Be careful getting there.' It sounded as much like a warning as a goodbye.
The last two hours passed like a fever dream. Seina moved on autopilot. Beep. Bam. Smile. Beep. Bam. Don't think about the creature. Beep. Bam. Don't think about her head rolling on the floor.
At 10:59 PM she was already outside, pulling on her jacket. The night air burned in her lungs. She didn't wait for Mr. Kim to lock up. She was already running.
The alley behind the old textile factory was ten minutes away. She had six minutes.