Come Here Often

I pressed the bright green button, prompting the final total to appear both on my screen and on the one the customer could see. "Fifteen twenty two," I declared, as if they couldn't just read it themselves. Turns out, most of them seemed just as unaware of that magic ability.

If you couldn't guess, I worked retail. I liked to think I was decent at it. I had a smile on my face, a requirement they said, but I've seen the other people at that place, they didn't always manage it. I was always happy to see the customer, well, I pretended. I didn't know most of them, even the ones I'd seen before, but I acted like my best friend had just shown up, and that made them happy.

That customer though… They were never happy to see me. They weren't specifically unhappy to see me. With a line of drool lingering down their face and their sunken eyes, they were pretty clearly dead. Pity they could still walk, er, shuffle, and they loved doing it right into my store, and into my line. Always my line. If I was on duty, they'd find me. I could be stocking, setting up a display, washing the windows, it really didn't matter. It was like they were only there for me.

I couldn't tell you why. Was it my lady-like charms? Sorry, pal, only really interested in options that have a pulse… "Fifteen twenty two," I repeated. Sometimes it took a few times to get through to my shambling customer.

Now, just to be clear, he wasn't the worst customer we've ever had, far from it really. With a low grunt, he raised a hand as if to grab me, but it fell into a pocket, digging out his wallet and just kinda flopping it down on the counter.

I knew the drill, and so did he. He didn't have the dexterity to actually open the wallet, or dig out the card. "Red today?" He nodded stiffly and I dug out his red card, his usual. I swiped it on through and the terminal beeped with joy at being fed the chance to deduct cash. I slipped the card back where it came from and folded the wallet closed. The zombie customer awkwardly scooped it back up and, with some struggle, got it put away.

Now, if I did have a question, it would be… What did a zombie need with a pack of gum? Let alone a twenty pack of packs of gum? I never saw him chewing anything. Zombies liked brains, right? Other cashiers freaked out when he came around, but he never attacked anybody, and he paid, so it wasn't my job to judge. "Want the receipt?"

He rumbled into a groan as if trying to get out a word, but those words never really came despite his efforts. However, he hadn't left, he was still standing there. That was a deviation. "Need anything else?" Smile, always smile! "Something you couldn't find?" Guiding customers to what they were hunting for was something I did often.

My tail flicked in an agitated little swish behind me, the only hint that I wasn't a perfect smiling drone. Ah, right, the customer. Dog, definitely a dog, which made it better, seeing as I was a cat. Now, I'm not a racist or nothing. I've had a dog boyfriend before, they can be so doting and faithful! But they aren't cats and that stereotype exists for a reason. Also, this dog was kind of super dead, being a zombie and all. "Something else?" A zombie that couldn't talk, but clearly wanted… something?

The customer behind shouted about being late. That prompted our local zombie to begin shuffling forward, freeing up the line. I saw to that loud customer with a smile, always a smile.

He didn't return that day. He usually only visited once, thank god for small mercies. My checkout time had arrived though, so I had banished all thought of him from my mind, replaced instead with a desire to head home, curl up, and forget the world for a while. You know, cat stuff.

"Your boyfriend come around again?" That was one of my coworkers. He thinks he's hilarious.

"That is not even slightly amusing." I raised a brow at him, a sardonic expression on my face. I was off the clock, happy smiles were no longer required. "Heading home. He didn't eat any brains I'm aware of."

"That'd be a hell of a cleanup on aisle four," he chuckled. Jerk thought all of life was a big joke. "Why do you put up with that? There are people to call about… you know… that kind of thing. You like him?"

"He pays, he's more polite than some of the other customers, and he leaves. Why would I care?" I shrugged softly. The medical condition of my customers was not my job to worry about. "I don't see any 'must breathe at least this often' signs posted."

"Your funeral." And off he went to actually do his job.

Which meant freedom! I had my purse and I scooted right out the door, dreams of warm blanket piles and the most luxurious of catnaps called to me. When I crashed down into the driver's seat of my car, I didn't expect to hear a low groan from behind me. It was a familiar groan, mind. But there was literally not a single good reason to hear that groan. "You're over the line, by like a mile."

I looked over my shoulder to see the undead dog sitting back on the seat he had claimed. "I'm off duty, shoo." I reached back and opened the door next to him. "Come back tomorrow." Now, some part of me? It was more sane, and was casually reminding me that I should be freaking out. A girlish shriek? Running for the cops? All great ideas.

"Nng." He reached and put his hand right on mine, there between the seat and the wall of the car. He was room temperature, which, lemme tell you, kind of creepy to have touching you. "Nng?"

"What do you want?" I yanked the hand away back against my front, glaring at the intruder in my car. "And how did you even get in here anyway?!" My car hadn't shown signs of being broken into. Was my undead customer also a skilled lockpick?!

He slid from his seat, literally flopping to the floor before he could gather himself back up to stand outside the car. He grunted… something. Talking really wasn't his strong point. He raised a hand to point at himself, hand shaking. Then he pointed at me.

It felt pretty obvious that he wanted… something? That was a shitty excuse for breaking into someone's car like that… I pulled the door shut he had fell out of, then rolled down the window. "What do you want?"

He stood there still an awkward moment. His ears pricked a little and he began searching his pockets, making a mess as he emptied them there onto the parking lot in a great pile of debris. He dropped to all fours, shifting through the junk with a… hopeful? Moan.

At that point, curiosity was winning. I wanted to see what it was he was looking for. I leaned out of the window just a little, watching him work. Ah ha, he found… whatever it was. He thrust his prize up at me, clenched in his hands so tightly I couldn't see it. Which didn't help me share in his joy. "What is it?"

He opened his fingers slowly as if they were old rusty traps that had to be worked against. There was a heart locket, open, half-broken. On one side, me. I was smiling and winking at the camera, fingers over one of my eyes in a V for Victory sort of way as I cockily smiled.

On the other side, a dog. Oh damn it. Death had done a number on him, but I could recognize him, with his living image presented to me. That dog had, once, a lifetime ago, been a boyfriend. He had been one of the dogs I'd been with, but…

"Didn't you ghost me?" Well, zombied me, apparently, but he had dropped off the world, stopped responding to texts, never seen again. I had moved on. "What the hell happened?!"

He groaned a long tortured noise as if he hadn't had a brain in a year. Rising up as he stuffed his pockets full of the scraps of his old life, he wobbled a moment, then pointed at me, then back at himself. "Nng?"

Crap…

I wasn't going to leave him. Former boyfriend or not… finding out what had happened to him seemed like the better thing to do than to pretend I hadn't put the pieces together. "Get in here, John." I reached back, throwing the door wide open. "The moaning thing isn't helping though." Was there such a thing as a zombie translation dictionary?

My car wobbled under his weight, but soon he was parked and I pulled the door shut. "Buckle up." I didn't want a ticket, even if I was pretty sure he'd survive an accident just fine, the way he was. Benefits of zombie life? I pulled free of the parking lot with my unliving guest, my dream of a sleepy evening, ruined!

I had a mystery to dig into instead. John was a good dog. He deserved that.

-------

And end(for now? Lemme know if you want more of this tale!)