The Last Walkthrough

The burger joint sat at the edge of town, a squat building with a faded sign that buzzed faintly in the night. I’d worked there for two years, climbing from fry cook to shift supervisor. When I first started, the old-timers told me the place was haunted—some kid who’d died in the walk-in freezer decades ago, or maybe a jilted lover who hung herself in the office. I laughed it off, figured it was hazing for the new guy. But now, with the keys in my hand and the parking lot empty, I wasn’t so sure.

That summer night, I was closing with Dana, a college kid who worked the register. We’d fallen behind because a busload of tourists had come through at nine, all wanting onion rings and root beer floats. Dana’s boyfriend was waiting outside in a beat-up Civic, headlights on, engine running. She looked exhausted, and I told her to go home—I could handle the last sweep alone. She hesitated, but I waved her off, and she grabbed her bag, disappearing into the humid dark. The door clicked shut, and I was alone with the hum of the freezer and the flicker of a faulty fluorescent bulb in the back hallway.

I started mopping the kitchen floor by the grill. The mop slapped against the tiles, and the water swirled with grease. That’s when I heard it: a heavy thud from upstairs, in the stockroom where we kept the cups and bags. I paused, mop mid-air. ‘Dana?’ I called up the stairwell. No answer. I called again, louder, but the only response was the buzz of the light. I shook my head, muttered about her boyfriend, and went back to mopping. But a few seconds later, there was another sound—not a drop, but something sliding across the floor above, like a box being dragged. I cursed under my breath. If a rat had gotten in, it was a big one.

I finished mopping, wringed the mop head, and tossed it in the bucket. My last task was the walkthrough: check the bathrooms, turn off the lights, lock the back door. I grabbed my flashlight and went into the dining area, flipping off the overheads one by one. The booths cast long shadows, and the glass door reflected my own figure. I checked the men’s room—empty. The women’s room—empty. I flicked off the lights there, too, and headed toward the kitchen, planning to cut through to the office. But as I reached the stairwell, I heard the steps. Loud. Fast. Coming down from the stockroom. Not like a person walking, but like someone running, heels slamming on each tread, one after another, no pause.

My heart stuttered. I stood frozen at the bottom, the flashlight beam shaking in my hand. The footsteps reached the landing, but no one appeared. The air turned cold, and the smell of burnt grease mixed with something else—something like rotten sweetness. I wanted to run, but my legs were lead. I forced myself to speak, ‘Who’s there?’ My voice cracked. Silence. Then the steps began again, but this time ascending, as if whatever had descended was now going back up. I backed away, almost tripping over a mop bucket, and made for the front door. But as I grabbed the handle, I saw a shape in the reflection of the glass: a tall, thin figure standing at the end of the hallway, its head tilted. I spun around, but the hall was empty. The door was locked from the outside, and I’d need the key. I fumbled with my keys, my hands slick with sweat. When I finally looked back, the figure was closer, just at the edge of the dining area, unmoving, its face a blur.

I threw the door open and stumbled out into the parking lot, not stopping until I reached my car. I drove home in silence, my mind replaying the sound of those steps, the shape in the glass, the cold that had wrapped around me like a shroud. The next morning, I called my manager and told him I couldn’t work nights anymore. He laughed, said, ‘Yeah, the place has that effect on some people.’ He told me that the previous supervisor had quit after a week, and the one before that had a heart attack on the job. ‘It’s just the old pipes,’ he said, but I knew better. I still hear those footsteps sometimes, in the quiet moments before sleep. And I know I’ll never step foot in that building again, because the last walkthrough isn’t over. It’s just waiting for me to come back.