Chapter 3: The Hammer and the Void

Chapter 3: The Hammer and the Void

The deadbolt’s solid thunk was the punctuation mark on a sentence of pure terror. For a long moment, Reagan and Nikki just leaned against the cool steel of the stockroom door, their bodies trembling, their ragged breaths loud in the unsettling quiet of the Petropolis sales floor. The only other sound was the cheerful, maddeningly upbeat jingle piping from the overhead speakers, a theme song for a world that no longer existed.

"We… we trapped it," Nikki stammered, her voice a thin, reedy thing. She stared at Reagan, her eyes begging for reassurance she didn't have.

"For now," Reagan said, her own voice tight. The phantom sensation on her lower back, that fleeting memory of wet heat, was now a persistent, maddening itch. She resisted the urge to reach back and scratch, terrified of what she might find, or what it might mean. Her twisted ankle throbbed in time with her pulse. "That slime… it was eating through the plastic of the carrier and my floor mat. This door won't hold it forever."

A sickening, wet scraping sound from the other side of the door confirmed her words. It was followed by a high-pitched hiss that vibrated through the metal, a sound of furious, concentrated effort.

"What the hell is going on?"

The voice, sharp and laced with irritation, made both women jump. They spun around to see Jamie standing at the end of the aisle, hands on their hips. Jamie’s short-cropped hair was slightly disheveled, and their Petropolis polo was rumpled, but their gaze was clear and fiercely direct. They held a fishnet, dripping slightly onto the polished linoleum.

"I’ve been paging you two for twenty minutes. The nitrate levels in tank seven are off the charts, and—" Jamie’s words cut off as they took in the sight of them: Reagan, pale and disheveled, favoring one leg; Nikki, looking like she was about to vibrate apart from sheer terror. "Okay. What happened?"

Words tumbled out of Nikki in a panicked, incoherent flood. "Butters—the mouse—he came back—it’s not him—it spits acid—"

"Whoa, slow down," Jamie said, holding up a hand and taking a step closer. They looked from Nikki’s panicked face to Reagan’s grim expression. "Reagan. You talk."

Reagan took a shaky breath, trying to force the impossible events into a logical sequence. "The mouse I took to the vet… it wasn't dead. It reanimated. It's changed. It's incredibly aggressive and its saliva is some kind of corrosive." As she spoke, the scraping on the other side of the door grew louder, more frantic.

Jamie’s expression shifted from annoyance to disbelief, but they didn’t laugh. They walked past them and pressed their ear to the steel door. They listened for a moment, their brow furrowed. Then they recoiled as a loud thump reverberated from within, followed by that venomous hiss.

"Okay," Jamie said, their voice suddenly low and serious. "I believe you." They looked around the empty store, their gaze sweeping over the brightly lit aisles of pet food, the colorful displays of squeaky toys, the silent, glass-walled habitats for gerbils and snakes. "Nikki, go to the front. Lock the main doors. Put the 'Closed for Emergency' sign up. Now."

The direct order seemed to cut through Nikki’s panic. She nodded numbly and scurried toward the front of the store.

Jamie turned back to Reagan. "We can't wait for it to eat its way out. We have to deal with it."

"Deal with it?" Reagan echoed, a fresh wave of nausea washing over her. "How? We can't go in there. It's too fast."

"We don't go in," Jamie said, their eyes already scanning the sales floor, calculating. "We make it come to us. On our turf."

Jamie’s plan was terrifyingly simple. They would prop the stockroom door open just a crack, enough for the creature to squeeze through. They’d create a trail of bait—a few high-value, stinky fish pellets—leading it out into the open space of the main aisle. The store was a hunting ground, and Jamie was the predator.

While Nikki stood watch at the front doors, wringing her hands, Jamie and Reagan set the trap. Reagan, hobbling on her bad ankle, felt a surreal dislocation from reality. Minutes ago, she was worrying about sales quotas. Now she was setting a trap for a zombie mouse in the dog toy aisle, surrounded by grinning rubber chickens and brightly colored balls. The silent aquariums lining the walls felt like an audience of emotionless, gape-mouthed spectators.

"Ready?" Jamie whispered, crouching behind a towering pallet of dog food bags. They had armed themselves with a large, heavy-bottomed metal trash can from the grooming station.

Reagan nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs. She gave the steel door a sharp kick.

The scraping inside stopped. There was a moment of tense silence. Then, with a flick of her boot, Jamie nudged the door open a few inches. They both held their breath.

A black snout, slick with glowing green ooze, poked through the gap. The creature’s milky white eyes seemed to scan the area before it slithered out onto the main floor. It moved with a fluid, horrifying speed, its body low to the ground. It ignored the bait completely. It wasn't hungry for fish pellets. It was hunting.

"It's not working!" Reagan hissed.

"Plan B," Jamie muttered. They kicked over a metal display rack of chew toys.

The crash echoed through the store. The creature froze, its head snapping in their direction. It let out a piercing hiss and charged.

"Now!" Jamie yelled.

Reagan, reacting on pure adrenaline, shoved a heavy bag of cat litter into its path. The monster, too fast to stop, slammed into the bag, momentarily stunned. In that split second, Jamie moved. They lunged from behind the pallet, slamming the heavy metal trash can down over the creature with a deafening CLANG.

Silence.

Jamie stood panting, their hands pressed firmly on top of the inverted bin. "Got it."

Nikki crept closer, her face ashen. "Is it… is it trapped?"

A furious scratching and hissing began from under the bin, which started to vibrate. A thin wisp of smoke began to curl from where the metal met the linoleum.

"It won't hold," Reagan stated, the grim reality sinking in. "That slime will eat through the bottom eventually."

The three of them stood there, staring at the trembling metal can. They were its keepers, jailors to an abomination. But they couldn't stay there all night. The options were horrifyingly limited.

It was Jamie who said what they were all thinking. Their voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "We have to kill it."

Nikki let out a choked sob. "We can't."

"We have to," Jamie countered, their eyes hard as flint. "What's the alternative? Let it loose in the city? What do you think it will do?"

Reagan looked at Nikki’s horrified face, then at Jamie’s cold resolve. She felt the itch on her back again, a sharp, insistent prickle. Jamie was right. This thing couldn't be allowed to exist. The thought was monstrous, but the creature under the bin was more so.

"The office," Reagan said, her voice barely a whisper. "There's a heavy mallet in the supply closet. For… breaking down damaged shelving."

Jamie nodded once. "Get it."

The walk to the manager's office was the longest of Reagan's life. Each step on her throbbing ankle felt like a step toward a point of no return. She returned with the mallet, its wooden handle smooth and cool, its rubber head unnaturally heavy in her hand. She couldn't do it. She handed it to Jamie.

Jamie took it without a word. They gestured for Reagan and Nikki to hold the bin steady. Trembling, they each placed a foot on the rim of the can, pinning it to the floor.

Jamie raised the mallet. The bright store lights glinted off the black rubber. For a moment, they were a tableau of modern horror: three retail workers in colorful polo shirts, performing a grim execution under the unblinking eye of a smiling cartoon dog on a bag of kibble.

THUD.

The sound was dull, sickeningly soft. The scratching stopped.

Jamie struck again. THUD. And again. THWACK. A final, wet, cracking sound that seemed to suck the air from the room.

Silence. Absolute.

Jamie lowered the mallet, their chest heaving. Nikki was openly crying, her face buried in her hands. Reagan felt hollow, a strange, buzzing void where her fear had been. They had done it. They had killed the monster.

They waited for what felt like an hour, though it was probably only a few minutes. Nothing. No movement, no sound. Finally, Jamie cautiously lifted the bin.

The sight was grotesque. A smear of black fur and gore, mixed with the still-faintly-glowing green slime, was all that was left of Butters. The linoleum beneath was blackened and melted.

"I'm going to be sick," Nikki gagged, turning and running for the staff bathroom.

Reagan leaned against a shelf, the strength gone from her legs. Jamie just stared at the remains, their expression unreadable. "We'll have to clean this up," they said, their voice pragmatic, yet strained. "Get a hazmat spill kit from the back."

Some time later, after the initial shock had worn off and been replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, they reconvened. The mess was still there; no one had the stomach to touch it yet.

"We need to get rid of it," Nikki said, her voice muffled. She had returned from the bathroom, her face scrubbed clean but still pale. "We can't just leave it there. It feels wrong."

Reagan nodded. It did feel wrong. It was evidence. It was a tomb. It needed to go. "I'll get a dustpan and one of the hazardous waste bags."

"No," Nikki insisted, a strange resolve entering her voice. "I'll do it. I… I need to." Perhaps it was her way of seeking closure, of taking some small action after being paralyzed by fear for so long.

Reluctantly, Reagan and Jamie agreed. While Jamie went to call corporate with a fabricated story about a chemical spill to explain the store's closure, Nikki retrieved a dustpan and a heavy-duty disposal bag. Reagan watched from a distance as Nikki took a deep, shuddering breath and approached the grim spot on the floor.

Nikki knelt down, holding the dustpan in a shaking hand. She hesitated, then slowly extended it towards the flattened remains.

And then she stopped. She froze, kneeling on the floor, perfectly still.

"Nikki?" Reagan called out, her voice sharp with a sudden, new dread. "What is it?"

Nikki didn't answer. She slowly lowered the dustpan, her head tilting in confusion. She looked up at Reagan, her eyes wide not with terror this time, but with profound, utter disbelief.

"Reagan," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's gone."

Reagan hobbled over, her heart seizing in her chest. She looked down at the spot where the monster's body had been.

The linoleum was still blackened and melted. A few streaks of the viscous, green slime still glistened under the fluorescent lights, their glow already fading.

But that was all. The bin was empty. The body, the fur, the gore—it was all gone. There was nothing left but a stain and a question that hung in the air, more terrifying than any monster.

Where did it go?