Convenience stores

I never believed in ghosts—not even a little.

But I do now, and this is the story that made me a believer.

About two years ago I was working part‑time at a convenience store.

The place shut its doors at 11 p.m.—pure countryside style. (Not because business was slow, but because the neighbors complained nonstop.)

That night it was just me and my junior coworker Sato; the clock read 10:45 p.m.

“Guess we should start locking up.”

“Yeah—let’s hurry, I wanna read Jump*.”

Official closing was 11 p.m., but the rule said we clocked out at 11:30. So we always wrapped up fast and spent the extra half‑hour with manga.

That night we blitzed through the cash count, vending‑machine cash‑out, dishwashing—done exactly at 11:00.

I locked the entrance, killed the lights, and we slipped into the back room to read.

That’s when—

* Jump – Weekly Shōnen Jump, Japan’s best‑selling manga magazine.

Ping‑pong, ping‑pong …

The door chime sounded—the one that rings whenever someone steps through the entrance.

“Hmm? Customer this late? Sato, go check.”

“Roger!”

While he headed out front, I switched the CCTV monitor to the doorway feed only.*

A woman stood there—long hair, pale one‑piece dress. Her face was too shadowed to see.

Sato appeared on‑screen, glanced around outside, then walked back.

“You saw that woman, right? In cases like this you unlock the door and explain.”

* Our monitor normally cycles through the in‑store cameras every three seconds; I set it to the entrance cam for a steady view.

Customers still wandered up after closing; who expects a country‑town konbini to shut at 11?
So this happened all the time—we’d unlock the door, apologize, and send them away.
(The register was already settled, so selling anything became a nightmare.)

That’s why I scolded Sato for just peeking and walking back.

“Eh? I looked—no one out there.”

“Come on, I saw a woman on the monitor.”

“Really? I checked properly, you know.”

(How could he miss a customer standing right in front of the door, the little punk?)

But Sato’s a slick talker who never admits slip‑ups; arguing felt like more trouble than it was worth.

“…Whatever. Forget it.”

I set the CCTV to cycle again, and we went back to our manga.

—Ten minutes passed.

I checked my watch—11:15 p.m.

(Fifteen minutes left; can I finish this?)

The monitor was showing the liquor aisle. Then it flicked to the weekly‑magazine rack—

—and there she was again, outside the front glass, the same woman.

She seemed to be staring straight at the camera—no, straight at me through the camera. A prickle ran down my spine.

The display jumped to the bento aisle.

“Hey… that woman’s out there again.”

“Ehh, I told you, there’s nobody.”

“Fine—I’ll go look myself.”

I still figured she was just a prankster or maybe a little off.

I started to rise when—

“Senpai—wait! L‑Look at the monitor!”

“The monitor?”

The feed had switched to the snack aisle—and the woman who’d been outside now stood inside, back to the camera.

“Wh… What…?”

Sato was panicking—and who could blame him? The doors were locked, no sound of them being forced, and barely twenty seconds had passed since we’d last seen her outside. Even with a key that was near‑impossible.

“C‑calm down…”

I froze the display on the snack aisle.
She didn’t move a millimeter.

At that moment—

Rrrring … Rrrring …

The store phone rang. Sato and I jerked our heads toward it.

After only two rings, it went silent.

I snapped back to the monitor—the woman was gone.

“Uh… Senpai, w‑w‑where’s the woman…?”

I hurriedly punched the cycle button:

Beep — Magazine aisle: clear
Beep — Snack aisle: clear
Beep — Liquor aisle: clear
Beep — Counter: not clear

She was inside the counter, still facing away from the camera.

“S‑Senpai… i‑isn’t she getting closer…?”

(At this point I was sure—whatever that thing was, it wasn’t human.)

Truth is, I was panicking worse than Sato. I hung around 2ch’s occult board precisely because I didn’t believe—but meeting something like this had never crossed my mind.

The woman kept standing there, back turned.

“…What do we do?”

“D‑Do? Senpai—y‑you figure it out!”

“…We sprint out the other door?”

To reach the stockroom we had two doors: one behind the counter and another on the opposite wall.

But if we used the opposite door, we’d still have to cross the sales floor, unlock the front door, and step outside—meaning we’d almost certainly bump into her. Way too risky—

Just then—

“GyaaaaaaaAAA!!”

Sato screamed.

On the monitor her body was still turned away, but her head had twisted a full 180° to stare straight into the camera.
Her mouth looked like it was smiling.

I couldn’t even make a sound; honestly thought I might wet myself.

She kept that impossible pose, eyes locked on us.

“Nope… nope nope nope nope NOPE!!”

Sato, half‑deranged, slapped the monitor’s power off.

“We—we gotta smack her and bolt! Beat her down and run!”
Sato had gone full panic‑mode.

“Calm down! We’re sprinting out the back, now.”

Truth is, I figured we’d run into her at the front door and die right there.
Ghosts were fiction—yet one was standing a few meters away.

I grabbed the keys—then the monitor flicked on by itself.

Filling the screen: a close‑up of her face.

Not smiling—utterly blank, which was somehow worse. Skin wax‑white, like a corpse, but her eyes were unnaturally clear, almost beautiful, pulling me in.

(The eyes just moved—they’re looking at me… now at Sato…
And how is her face alone right up against a camera mounted near the ceiling?)

All that flashed through my head in an instant—like a life‑review—somehow I felt icy calm under the terror.

Right—what about Sato?

“N‑Nope nope nope nope… we’re gonna die!!”

Sato, half‑delirious, sprinted for the back door.

“Wait—!”

He lunged, grabbed the knob—

“Gyaaaaaaaaaaa!!”

With a shriek he crumpled to the floor.

“H‑hey! Sato!”

I knelt beside him—no response, unconscious.

Then I glanced at the door.

“U‑uwaaaaa!!”

Now I saw what Sato had seen.

Through the little window the woman stared in, keh‑keh‑keh‑keh, wearing a mocking grin.

(The window’s a one‑way mirror—should look like a mirror from inside, I realized later.*)

Terror mixed with anger: Why is this happening to us?

“The hell… What do you want?! Get the hell out!”

* Convenience‑store back‑room doors often use one‑way mirror glass: staff see a mirror; customers outside can see through.

I mustered every ounce of courage and screamed at her.

The cackling stopped.

Her grin vanished; for an instant she glared—pure malice—and then slipped away from the window.

“Haah… haah… Is she gone…?”

Relief lasted one heartbeat.

From the sales floor came a violent crash—shelves toppling.

Bang! BANG! … THUD!

(Great, we pissed her off.)

I sank beside Sato, shaking so hard my teeth clattered; I was close to snapping.

THUD! CRACK! C‑R‑E‑A‑K … BANG!

…

………

The racket crashed on for—what, a minute?—then cut off.

(Maybe she’s satisfied…)

I started to stand—

Rrrring … Rrrring …

The phone again.

Rrrring … Rrrring …

It wouldn’t stop. I hesitated. Last time the call had lured our eyes from the monitor; now, right after the noise went dead? Too perfect.

But I was past caring. I grabbed the handset.

“…………”

“Hello?!”

“…………”

Now I knew for sure.

“Get out… get out of here—right now!”

“…a… a… aaah…”

(It… it talked?!)

“a… a… hi… hi… ”

(Oh no oh no oh no…)

My mind slammed to a halt.

The voice—voices—weren’t only in the receiver.

They were right behind me…

I turned, ever so slowly.

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

There—right in front of me—was the woman’s face, letting out that awful giggle while glaring with an expression no living thing should wear.

…I blacked out.

I was gone.

“Hey… hey! Wake up!”

“Senpai! Please wake up!”

Someone was calling me. I sat up slowly.

Standing over me were Sato and the store manager.

It was 4:50 a.m.—the manager must have arrived early to open at six.

I couldn’t believe how long I’d been out.

“What happened?! Why is the store trashed like this?!”

The manager’s voice was equal parts shock and fury.

“Sato, you haven’t told him yet?”

“No… I still can’t process it. Senpai, you explain.”

Even Sato looked completely drained.

“Actually…”

I told the manager everything, start to finish.

“That’s nonsense… Hold on—let’s pull the security footage!”

“D‑Don’t!” Sato shouted. No way he wanted to see that face again.

So I just said, “Please start at 11 p.m.,” and Sato and I waited outside to clear our heads.

—Twenty minutes later—

“Sato! Your Name! Get back in here!”

We went inside.

“That woman you described never appears on the video,” the manager said. “But the shelves— they toppled all by themselves. Looks like you two aren’t lying…”

“The woman… wasn’t on camera?”

“Aye… and I’m not so thick‑headed that I dismiss everything paranormal. The shelves really did fall on their own—I can’t just call you liars.”

So the manager believed us after all.

“You two go home. I’ll call the other part‑timers; see if anyone can help clean up. And keep this quiet—nobody else needs to know. I’ll get rid of the tape; I’ll cook up some story for the crew.”

“Understood… Sato, let’s head out.”

“Yeah… let’s.”

“Right—get home safe! And try to forget this ever happened!”

We stepped outside. It was after five, but winter’s sky was still pitch‑black.

“Sato, I’ll drive you. Hop in.”

Sato normally walked the ten minutes home, but no way was I letting him go alone—
yeah, I’ll admit it, I was terrified too.

(No point brooding forever. Best thing is to forget this ever happened.)

I told myself that, climbed into the car.

“Right, let’s get out of— S‑Sa‑—”

Sato was gaping, eyes wide, staring back at the store.

“Ah… ah…”

“Sato?! D‑Don’t tell me—”

I turned slowly to look inside.

The manager was sweeping… and she was standing right behind him—

I fired the engine and tore out of the lot like a flash of light.

Sato stayed silent the entire ride.

I dropped him off, drove home, and collapsed onto my bed.

“My‑my, {Your Name}! How long are you going to sleep? It’s past noon—don’t you have class today?”

Mom’s voice dragged me back; it was just before 1 p.m. I’d been out for hours.

Right… I had two things to do:

Call the manager to make sure he was still alive.

Quit that job—for good.

I dialed.

“Hello, it’s {Your Name}.”

“Oh, hey. Feeling any better after some sleep?”

“Yeah… more or less. Listen—did anything else happen after we left?”

“Anything? …Nah. All quiet.”

I caught something off in the manager’s tone… but decided not to dig.

“So, uh, about the job—I’d like to quit.”

“Figures. Sato called a little while ago; he’s quitting too.”

Guess Sato and I were on the same wavelength.

Because I was the shift leader, he asked me to drop by the store so we could “talk it over.”
I refused. I’m never setting foot in that place again.

And that was the last time I had anything to do with the store.

A month after we quit, the store shut down.

The other part‑timers say it was because of “poor sales.”

Curious, I phoned the manager. He tells the staff it was financial trouble, but I could tell that wasn’t the real reason—he wouldn’t say more. I’m sure the woman was why.

The building still stands; the land belongs to the manager, so nothing’s been torn down.

Even now, when I drive past that road, I make absolutely sure I never look toward the shop—

—no matter how strongly I feel eyes on me.