CREEPYPASTA

Something Weird In The Gas Station

I didn’t think much of it at the time, but when I got to work earlier that night, the other worker said something interesting. I was taking over the safe from the only other full time clerk, “Jerry,” who--according to what I heard from a reliable source--has been pretty salty ever since his cult went and had a mass suicide without inviting him. Before he left he told me that the lag was getting worse and maybe it was time we do something about it.

You see, there’s something wrong with the mirror in the gas station bathroom. There’s a delay in the reflection by about a half a second. Sometimes, if the weather’s acting up, it gets much more noticeable. We had plans to replace the mirror but couldn’t do it because we’re lazy and mirrors are expensive and besides, how important is it to see your exact reflection anyway? It’s a gas station bathroom, not a salon.

That wasn’t the weird thing he told me. The weird thing was that a man had come by earlier wearing hunter’s camo and left his number, telling Jerry that it was “imperative” that he contact him in case we see anything unusual.

I had dismissed that as being too vague to have any meaning at all. What is “unusual” at that gas station? A solar eclipse? A bipedal deer? A completely normal day? Besides, I don’t work for him, and if he’s looking for the deer creature he can find it on his own.

I watched the deer walk slowly towards the bagged chip display and put his nose to it, sniffing voraciously before stepping back and scanning the entire store again.

His arms (or front legs? I’m not really sure...) dangled at his sides with cloven hoofs as he walked over to the refrigerated drink case. He tapped the glass a couple times with his antlers before figuring out how to reach out and pull the door open.

It was like watching a toddler figuring out a puzzle. Funny at first. But then, just frustrating. I almost got up to help him before finally, mercifully, he got his hand-toe (clove toe? Foot finger?) around the handle and the door creaked open.

I had to hold back my laughter as the deer fumbled at a bottle of water and somehow managed, barely, to pull it out of the case before sticking the top of it into his jaws and chewing at the cap until it ripped opened.

The deer leaned his head back with the bottle sticking out of his mouth and stared right at me as he guzzled the whole thing down in one continuous stream.

Next, the buck sauntered over to the coffee machine and gave it a whiff. The smell apparently didn’t gee haw with his disposition, as he reared back and shook his head fiercely. Probably for the best.

Finally, the buck finished his rounds and walked up to me and stopped on the other end of the counter. From this close I could smell the creature and, surprisingly, he smelled like grape soda. He tapped his hooves (fingers? hands?) on the counter a couple of times, then looked back to where he had dropped the bottle of water, then back to me.

“Okay,” I said.

He tapped the counter again, so I went ahead and punched in the code for a bottle of water at the register.

“That’s going to be 89 cents.”

The deer took a step back and looked down at himself, then started patting his body where his pockets would be, if he were wearing any pants, then he looked up at me and blinked a few times.

“You’re putting me in an awkward spot here.” I said.

Right then, the creature started belting out a strange animalistic noise that I can only describe as a combination between donkey and dolphin.

“I don’t know what that means.” I said over his noises. But then he just got louder and louder, and threw his head back, emitting that weird call into the ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I said back. “I don’t speak deer!”

The creature threw its head back down and barfed up a green wet clump onto the counter in front of me, and then it was silent.

I looked at the clump. The deer looked at the clump. The deer looked at me, then back at the clump.

“Oh.”

I reached out and grabbed it by the corner. Sure enough, the deer had just coughed up a mucus-covered one dollar bill.

“Okay.”

I wiped the sliminess off on a dishrag I keep near the register for spills and then put the bill into the till with the rest of the money before fishing out two nickels and a penny, which I offered to the deer and which the deer promptly ate out of my hand.

He turned towards the door and flicked his tail a few times at me before I noticed the strange tableau outside the store. At least half a dozen other deer were out there, each standing tall on two kangarooish feet, and staring right at me. There was another stag, a pack of does, and at least one fawn, only four feet tall.

The buck struggled for a few seconds to pull the door open.

“Do you want me to-”

Before I could finish, he had it wide enough to slip outside, and then they all left, walking proudly towards the forest line.

It wasn’t until about five minutes later that it occurred to me I should have taken a picture or something. But without any proof, I guess it’s just going to turn into one more weird story that nobody will ever believe.

I dug through my backpack until I found a book I hadn’t read yet and opened it to the first page. It was at least an hour before I had another customer come into the store.