I Quit
Tyler hated the smell of industrial cleaning solution. It permeated his clothes and made his hands feel dry all the time, no matter how much moisturizing lotion he used. But as the overnight janitor at the Cracker Barrel just off 87, he didn't have the luxury of being too picky. The job paid the bills, and that was enough. For now.
He stretched his back and leaned on the mop handle, his reflection glinting faintly in the restaurant's big, dark windows. The dining area was empty, chairs stacked on tables, the rustic decor casting odd shadows in the dim, overnight lighting. Old farming tools, framed photographs, and quirky signs crowded every inch of the wooden walls, giving the place its signature "down-home" vibe. He'd always thought the decor was a bit overdone, but it wasn't his problem—he was just here to clean.
"Almost done," he muttered to himself, checking the time on his phone. 3:47 a.m. He had maybe an hour left. His fingers hovered over the screen, debating whether to text Alex. His best friend often woke up super early and, when he did, he always had some dumb meme or random joke to send, something to break the monotony.
Tyler: You awake?
There was no immediate answer and that was normal. Tyler slapped the wet mop onto the floor and got back to work, pushing the damp fibers over the floor in smooth arcs. He had his earbuds in, music filtering in and making it all feel very cozy, if he thought about it.
There was a sort of comfort in the routine. And in being by himself for the entire shift. The darkness outside and the quiet sometimes made him daydream. In those moments, it really wasn't a too-terrible feeling to pretend, for just a little bit, that he was the last person on earth.
As he worked, his phone buzzed. As he pulled it from his pocket, he saw, from the corner of his eyes, what looked like a ridiculous and tiny figure with a bright pink pompadour on one of the knick-knack shelves.
His mind blipped to Alex's gameplay character, Beef Sandwich, a little goober guy called a Lalafell. But as quickly as it had blipped, it went to the mundane as he realized what he'd actually seen was a mermaid with a pink cowboy hat. Someone had brought it from the gift shop and left it behind. He would return it at some point before the end of the night.
He looked at his phone.
Alex: Yeah, just woke up. Code on the brain. What's up?
Tyler: Just bored. Work's quiet tonight.
Alex didn't respond immediately. Tyler figured he must have been waking up all the way and taking his sweet time doing it.
He tucked his phone away and went back to mopping. As he worked his way toward the fireplace, something caught his eye—a picture frame hanging crooked on the wall. He sighed and grabbed a chair to fix it.
He climbed up and reached for the photo. The frame looked antique and held an old sepia photo of a young boy seated, oddly alone, at a dinner table, his face slightly blurred from age. The boy was grinning, giving two thumbs up. Probably in response to the Cracker Barrel-esque feast on the table in front of him that had apparently been made all for him.
People were weird in the old days, he thought.
But as Tyler straightened it, he froze. He could have sworn the little boy in the photo looked like him at that age. Same mop of hair, same lopsided grin he'd had in every school picture growing up. Missing tooth in the front where he remembered having a missing tooth himself, shoving his tongue through it incessantly until the tip of his tongue hurt.
His fingers lingered on the frame, goosebumps rising on his arms. "Too weird," he muttered, stepping back. The resemblance was uncanny, but it was obviously a super old picture so it couldn't really be him. Shaking his head, he returned to his mop bucket.
Alex: Find a ghost yet? Or did the rocking chairs behave themselves?
Tyler: Ha. Ha. Very funny.
Alex: Seriously though, if anything creepy happens, you better tell me. I need the live ghost-hunting experience.
Tyler: Deal. But no ghosts here, just me and a mop.
And a weird ass picture of me as a kid that can't actually exist.
But as Tyler glanced around the room, he couldn't shake the odd feeling of being watched or something like that.
"Stop being paranoid, Tyler," he whispered to himself and pushed his earbuds deeper in to listen to some music.
He took a break from the mopping to bring the cowboy hat wearing mermaid back into the gift shop section of the restaurant. It wasn't difficult to find the section where other similar gifts, trinkets, and clothing had been gathered. He had some thoughts about the type of people who bought this nonsense but he didn't spend much time thinking about it then.
On a shelf near the host stand, on his way back into the dining room, his eyes caught on a notebook. His handwriting was scrawled across the cover. "Private Property of Tyler" it said. It was one of those spiral bound things that he'd had in school. But he was pretty sure he had never brought anything like that to work with him.
Frowning, Tyler flipped the pages and read what looked like diary entries. They were narrations of his days all through, he supposed, 8th grade judging by some of the language and thoughts. But he had never had a journal like this. And he had never, would never, in a million years, have put to paper some of the things he was reading on the pages. Some of it, only he knew and had even forgotten about over the years.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. It was Alex.
Alex: You good? Been a while.
Tyler: Something's… weird.
Alex: Weird how?
Tyler: I don't know…
He wasn't sure how to describe it to himself, let alone Alex. Did you tell your best friend that your adult ass was freaking out over things that couldn't exist? Would he even believe you if he wasn't there to see it? Alex would probably believe him but this was way too weird.
Alex: You good?
Tyler: Yeah, going to finish up and go home early if I can.
Alex: Okay, still want to stream that movie later?
Tyler: I Care A Lot? Sure.
Alex seemed to get distracted again and Tyler pushed his phone away. He folded the notebook into a circle and stuck it in his other pocket. Not a chance was he leaving that behind, whatever it was.
He finished up the mopping and began a little light dusting of all of the pictures and knick-knacks. There were a lot of them and it would probably take him until the end of his shift to finish it all.
As he dusted the shelves near the kitchen, his unease grew. The knick-knacks were… different. A framed recipe for biscuits and gravy now bore the heading "Tyler's Favorite," scrawled in his own handwriting. A rusted horseshoe on the wall was engraved with his initials. A dusty license plate read "GR8 KID"—his dad's nickname for him when he was little.
He stepped back, his breathing quickening. These things couldn't be here. There was no way. He turned on his phone flashlight and swept the beam over the walls. Every piece of decor now seemed tailored to him: a framed newspaper clipping about his favorite bike complete with a black and white printed picture of him beside it, a photo of the cat he'd lost when he was twelve, even an old birthday card he'd gotten from his great-grandmother, a twenty dollar bill still tucked in between the yellowing cardstock. There was even a whole wall of black and white framed photos of him. Some were innocent—school pictures, family snapshots, vacation photos. But others were impossibly recent: him mopping the floor, adjusting the crooked frame, texting Alex.
TV-MA rating confirmed thanks to the language that began coming out of his mouth. Tyler back up and started to leave but, as he turned, he noticed that the gift shop was no longer full of kitschy and farm-themed decor.
Where once there had been shelves of generic souvenirs—candles, plush toys, jars of jam—it was now full of figurines of him wearing a pink cowboy hat or his janitor outfit, postcards with his face and things he said regularly as slogans beneath them, maps to his house embroidered in cross stitching. There were shelves of mugs with his name etched in elaborate script, racks of t-shirts bearing catchphrases he'd said to Alex in texts, and rows of journals filled with his handwriting. Even the price tags bore his name, as if the shop had become a shrine to his existence.
Tyler's stomach churned, and he backed away toward the kitchen which led to his only exit at this hour. He was definitely losing it. He pinched himself, thinking—hoping—maybe he'd nodded off. No such luck.
After further profanity, the creativity of which would have earned him at least the respect of his middle school English teacher, if not a fast pass to the principal, Tyler got his phone out again. This time he snapped a bunch of photos. Then he was done. He was getting out of there. He ran for the kitchen.
Like it was a lifeline, Tyler clutched his phone until his fingers turned white, trying to text Alex while trying to maneuver through the kitchen. Which really shouldn't have been that big of a deal but, for some reason, felt labyrinthine just then.
Tyler: Weird shit happening. Look.
He attached a photo of the gift shop shrine and sent it to Alex.
Alex: LOL what? You're screwing with me.
Tyler: I'm serious. I don't know what's going on.
Alex: Call me.
Tyler hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button. He was confused as to why he couldn't see the back door. Why in the world were all of the silver counters arranged in what looked like an endless maze between him and the far wall. Well, he couldn't even see the far wall if he was honest. There was just blackness.
"Screw this job," he murmured but before he could call Alex, the phone's screen went dark. "No, no, no," he muttered, jabbing at the power button.
The screen flickered back to life, but the battery icon was flashing red. The phone shouldn't have been dead—it was at 67% just a few minutes ago.
A soft click echoed through the room. Tyler's head snapped up. A gust of cold air swept through the kitchen, rustling his hair and making him shiver. A light flickered in the back of the room, far down beyond the rows of impossible counters between him and the back door. Which was now open.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the dining room and wished he hadn't. Behind him, now in the kitchen, there were framed photos every single one of the characters he had ever played in video games. And every costume they'd ever worn too. If he squinted, he was pretty sure he could see them growing now, like fungus spreading across the wall.
His phone made a loud complaint and officially died in his hand. Well. That was the decision made for him.
"NOPE!" he shouted and took off running again. His hips and shins bumped as he clattered through the winding rows of counters. Along them, utensils with his face and name emblazoned on them began populating the drawers which opened and began spilling in his wake.
Out of breath, he reached the back door and approached it cautiously. The air pouring in from the pitch blackness outside was frigid. Behind him things clattered and clicked and crashed.
"NOPE. NOPE. NOPE!" he howled, not looking back this time.
He threw himself out into the darkness beyond, not even caring what could be out there. It had to be better than whatever was happening back there! He slammed the kitchen door shut and ran a few more feet away from the building before stopping, bending over with his hands on his knees.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust, his heart to calm. The parking lot outside was empty, the streetlights casting long, lonely shadows. His car was parked where he left it. And the moon was sliding down out of the sky to make way for the sun eventually.
Tyler laughed, noting that there was a bit of a hysterical edge to it. He slowly turned to look back at the building.
The sign with its usual golden and brown logo of a man sitting in a chair, leaning his elbow on a barrel, was there. But it was clearly Tyler's face on the man in the chair now. And instead of reading "Cracker Barrel: Old Country Store" the sign now said "Tyler Depot: Old Memories and More".
Now, outside of the restaurant, Tyler's phone beeped to let him know a text was coming in. Its battery was at 63%. The text was from his boss.
Boss: What the heck are you doing? I saw you running around like a nut on the camera.
Tyler: Yeah. I quit.