Petrol Wonderland

Four | A Girly Chat

Cleo dragged Blake through the staff room door and she didn't resist, too dazed from the unnerving speed at which her blood was traveling through her body.

Through the tiny, clunky door was an unhomely feeling box-shaped corridor. With it's dull, grimy floor, harsh white ceiling light and gleaming walls, it had the same atmosphere of a hospital hallway. Clinical and foreboding. Three doors, one of which was open, led out from the corridor.

The first closed door (on the left) led to the dreaded bins. A lonely area round the back of the store with a classic 'bin juice' aroma where everything unwanted was dumped into three, giant black bins. They weren't often cleared meaning bin bags were usually piled around the bases  in vast numbers, a practice which only added to the stench. If you were unlucky enough to have to take out the trash on your shift you may run into one of the following: rats, mice, huge rats, huge mice, seagulls or possibly even confused drunk people.

The second closed door (on the right) led to the actual staff quarters. This cupboard-sized area with the beaten up beige carpet and a strange musky scent was used for one purpose only: to dump your meager belongings before your shift. Sometimes people smoked in there too due to the lack of CCTV, therefore it was preferable to get out of the room as soon as you got in, lest you breathe in the overbearing cloud of tobacco.

The third room with the open door was the one which Cleo mercilessly dragged Blake through. It opened up into a rather small room enshrouded in darkness: the technical room where every door and alarm could be controlled with just the flick of a switch. The only light came from the grainy monitor screens displaying laggy footage of both inside and outside the petrol station.

Blake's eyes scanned the CCTV feedback as she slipped numbly into the stuffy, blue chair. If she didn't, she feared she might collapse. Cleo didn't take the seat next to her. Instead, she remained standing. She wrung out her hands and shifted her weight as though the adrenaline was preventing her from staying still.

"I don't see anything," said Blake. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Her eyes could barely focus themselves onto the flickering black and white footage of the bins on screen. They were too dry. Opposingly, she found herself staring back into the faded reflection of her own, wide eyes. God, what did she look like? She began to fix her hair. If she really was going to get stabbed tonight, she wanted to at least look semi-good for the police officer who'd find her.

"There." Cleo jabbed a finger suddenly against the monitor. "Something's moving."

Blake leaned in and squinted. "It's a rat."

"Fuck. He's gone."

"Why 'fuck'? That's good. They're both gone now. I don't know about you but that's exactly what I wanted."

"Did he leave anything behind?"

Dutifully, Blake searched until she felt like her eyeballs were going to be fried by the screen's light. Back and forth. Rats. Trash bags. Cans. Bottles. More rats.

She leaned back. "I can't see anything..." Once again, she could barely decide, was that a good thing or not? She wasn't sure. In fact, she'd never felt less sure of anything in her life.

"The other guy. The rabbit. What did he leave, it was a fucking clock, right?"

"Yeah, a pocket watch like... like..." Blake trailed off. Her eyes met the gloomy cobwebs of the ceiling and she pursed her lips. The cogs in her brain were working overtime now - spinning wildly out of control and letting loose a tumbling vat of thoughts that threatened to come spilling out of her ears.