The Girl in the Aisles

The fluorescent lights of the Meridian Superstore hummed a sickly lullaby over the linoleum floors. I was sixteen, lost in the labyrinth of electronics, my fingers tracing the plastic spines of game cases while my grandmother, a woman of relentless routine, hunted for a specific shade of blue photo album two aisles over. My sister, Maya, was somewhere near the cosmetics, probably testing every lipstick on her wrist.

I left the games behind, the glow of the screens still dancing in my peripherals. As I moved toward Maya, a flicker of movement caught my eye. A girl, perhaps twelve, with hair so black it absorbed the light and eyes the shocking blue of a gas flame, stood a few feet away, watching me. She was utterly still, a small statue in the middle of the aisle. I stopped, and in that instant, she turned and ran, her footsteps a frantic patter on the tile.

Something cold and instinctive gripped me. I didn’t think; I ran after her. I rounded the corner, past the seasonal displays, past the towering shelves of cereal, and skidded to a halt in the pet food section. She was gone. No exit, no hiding spot, just racks of kibble and the faint, tinny sound of a muzak version of an old pop song. I searched for what felt like an eternity, peering down every adjacent aisle, my heart hammering against my ribs.

When I stumbled back toward the cosmetics, Maya was holding a tube of lipstick, staring at me with a bewildered expression. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked. I tried to explain the girl, the chase. Maya shook her head. ‘I saw you standing there, staring at nothing. Then you just took off running. There was no girl, Anna.’ A cold knot tightened in my stomach. I found Grandma in the photo albums, her fingers lingering on a deep crimson cover. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart? You look pale,’ she said. I told her I was fine, but I wasn’t.

A week passed, and the image of those blue eyes burrowed deeper into my mind like a splinter. When Grandma announced we needed to restock the pantry, and we returned to that same Superstore, I was on high alert. My skin prickled with every flicker of movement. My grandmother, lost in her list of coupons, asked me to fetch a gallon of milk from the dairy section. As I turned down the refrigerated aisle, the air grew colder, and there she was.

She sat crumpled on the floor in front of the cream cheese, her small shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Her face was buried in her hands, and a low, muffled mumbling drifted from her. I approached cautiously, my shoes squeaking on the polished floor. Up close, she seemed even younger, fragile, with a translucent quality to her skin. I knelt down, a few feet away. ‘Hey, are you okay? Why are you crying?’

Her head snapped up, and those blue eyes, swimming in tears, locked onto mine. They were not the eyes of a child, but something ancient and sorrowful. Her lips moved, and the word that escaped was barely a breath. ‘Anna.’

Every nerve in my body screamed. My name. She knew my name. The fridge hummed, a deep, mechanical groan. I wanted to run, but my legs refused. She reached out a hand, her fingers pale and thin, and said again, ‘Anna.’ But this time, the sound was different, drawn out, almost a hiss, and a voice that wasn’t entirely hers seemed to come from behind her, from inside the refrigeration unit. ‘Anna… they are coming.’ The lights above us flickered.

I stumbled backward, knocking over a display of yogurt. She stood slowly, her black hair swaying as if underwater. In a voice now deeper, layered, and wrong, she said, ‘You can see me. That means the Veil is thinning. They’ll use you, Anna. They’ll come for you.’ She pointed a trembling finger at the glass door of the milk case, and my reflection stared back at me, but my eyes were black, and a grotesque, smiling shadow stood behind my own image. The girl smiled, a rictus of teeth, and said, ‘They’re already here.’

The lights buzzed back to full brightness, and I was alone in the aisle. The girl was gone. I grabbed the milk, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. I paid, I helped load the car, but I said nothing. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom, and I saw a flicker of movement in the corner of my vision. A small, dark-haired girl, standing in the doorway of my closet, her blue eyes glowing in the dark, one finger pressed to her lips, and her other hand pointing at my window. Outside the glass, a shape shifted in the night, tall and formless, and I heard a child’s voice whisper, ‘Anna.’

I never returned to that store. I told my grandma I wasn’t feeling well. And now, I keep the lights burning all night, and I never look into a mirror for too long, because the girl appears in my reflection, her mouth moving silently around one word: ‘Run.’