The Supermarket That Closes at 1:17 AM

The first time I saw the supermarket, I thought I had simply forgotten it was there.

It sat between a closed hardware store and an abandoned bus stop on Cedar Road, glowing under harsh fluorescent lights that hummed like trapped insects. The sign above the entrance flickered weakly — OPEN 24 HOURS — though no one I asked could remember it ever opening. No grand opening banners. No delivery trucks. No employees coming or going.

Just a building that seemed to have always existed.

The strange part was that people argued about it.

Some swore it had been there for years. Others insisted the lot had been empty only days before. A few people refused to even look at it when they walked past, like acknowledging it might make something bad happen.

And the ones who claimed they had gone inside always said the same thing:

You can shop there.

You can buy things.

But if you want to leave, you have to follow the rules printed on the receipt.

I didn’t believe any of that.

Until the night I went in.

It was 12:54 AM and I had run out of instant noodles and energy drinks. Every other store was closed, but as I drove past Cedar Road, the supermarket lights were glowing through the darkness.

The parking lot was completely empty.

Except for one shopping cart slowly rolling across the pavement.

I told myself it was just the wind.

I parked and walked to the entrance.

The automatic doors opened before I reached them.

Inside, the store was much larger than it looked from outside.

The aisles stretched far into the distance under rows of buzzing fluorescent lights. Everything looked normal—snacks, drinks, canned food—but there was something wrong with the silence.

There was no music.

No customers.

No sound except the faint hum of electricity.

At the very front of the store was a single open register.

Behind it stood a tired-looking cashier who looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

I grabbed my noodles and a drink and walked to the counter.

She scanned the items without saying a word.

The receipt printer began to spit out paper.

And it kept printing.

And printing.

And printing.

She tore it off and slid it across the counter to me.

“Read it,” she said.

I looked down.

Instead of a receipt, there was a list.

At the top were the words:

RULES FOR LEAVING THE STORE

1. Do not run. The store dislikes panic.
2. When you pass Aisle 6, do not look down it. Something there will try to get your attention.
3. If the lights flicker, stop walking. Count to 10 before moving again. If you keep walking, someone will begin following you.
4. If you hear the intercom announce a “lost customer,” hide immediately. You are the lost customer.
5. Do not speak to any employee wearing a red name tag. There are no employees with red name tags.
6. If the freezer doors begin to fog from the inside, leave the area immediately. Something inside is breathing.
7. If the exit doors open on their own before you reach them, leave quickly. You have been allowed to go. If they do not open, do not turn around. Just run.
8. Once you are outside, do not look back at the store. The supermarket does not like to be watched.

I looked up.

“Is this a joke?”

The cashier didn’t smile.

“You came in after midnight,” she said quietly.

Then she added something that made my stomach twist.

“Most people who ignore the rules never reach the parking lot.”

I started walking toward the exit.

My footsteps echoed down the empty store.

Aisle 1.

Aisle 2.

Aisle 3.

Everything felt normal.

Until the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

The entire store went dim for half a second.

I remembered Rule 3.

I stopped walking.

The store became perfectly silent.

I began counting.

1…
2…
3…

At 5, I heard something.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Behind me.

I kept counting.

6…
7…
8…

The footsteps stopped.

I started walking again.

My heart was pounding now.

Then I approached Aisle 6.

I remembered the rule.

Do not look down it.

As I walked past, I heard something whisper softly from inside the aisle.

“Hey…”

Then again.

“Excuse me…”

It sounded like a lost shopper.

I kept walking.

Then the whisper turned into a desperate voice.

“Please help me.”

I didn’t look.

And the voice slowly faded into silence.

Then the intercom crackled overhead.

Static filled the air.

A cheerful voice spoke through the speakers.

“Attention shoppers. We have a lost customer in the store.”

My blood went cold.

Rule 4.

Hide.

I quickly stepped behind a shelf and crouched low.

The lights dimmed slightly.

And then I heard something walking through the store.

Not footsteps.

Something heavier.

Something dragging across the floor.

It stopped near the aisle I had just passed.

Then it spoke.

But its voice sounded wrong.

Like it was copying someone.

“Has anyone… seen… a customer?”

I held my breath.

The sound slowly moved away.

After a minute, the store was silent again.

I finally reached the frozen food section.

The glass freezer doors were fogged up.

From the inside.

Just like the rule said.

Something moved behind the glass.

A large shape shifting slowly in the frost.

And then I heard it.

Breathing.

Deep.

Wet.

I walked faster.

The exit doors were only a few steps away now.

Please open.

Please open.

Please—

The doors slid open on their own.

I rushed outside into the cold night air.

I was free.

I walked quickly across the empty parking lot toward my car.

I remembered Rule 8.

Do not look back at the store.

So I didn’t.

I got inside the car and threw the grocery bag onto the passenger seat.

Something crinkled inside the bag.

Paper.

Confused, I reached inside.

And pulled out another receipt.

This one had only one line printed on it.

You forgot Rule 9.

Slowly… very slowly… I looked up at the rearview mirror.

And in the reflection of the supermarket doors…

something tall and thin had just stepped outside.