Episode 1
▶️ I fold the edges of my resume in my lap. Dog-earing ruins everything, doesn’t it? But I can’t help myself. I need somewhere to direct my nerves. Job interviews are the worst.
At least the man interviewing me doesn’t seem like a wicked monster, unlike the last three places I received callbacks for. Most of the places I applied to ghosted me. Fine with me, I guess. What twenty-year-old actually wants to work at Walmart?
But like I said, this guy seems okay. He reminds me of my dad, or at least a cool uncle. His cramped office in the back of the store reeks of pot, and there’s an open bag of potato chips on his desk. He keeps reaching in, pulling out a handful of chips each time, leaving a trail of teeny crumbs across the desktop and up the red work shirt that barely contains his bulging belly. Then he licks his fingertips before reaching in again.
He catches me staring at the bag and spins it around, offering me some.
“Hungry?”
“No.”
“Snacky?”
I resist the urge to point out that “snacky” is not a word, but I get what he’s trying to ask. And also I promised myself not to be such a stickler. Pobody’s nerfect, as my mom likes to say.
“No, thanks, Mr., um—”
He thumbs his shiny, golden name tag. “Doug.”
Doug seems nice enough, except for his lack of hygiene and his lack of social norms. I’d never been in an interview setting where my potential future boss felt the urge to give into the munchies.
But at this point, I don’t have a lot of options. This is the last place in the whole damn town that would look at my resume. I mean, Walmart looked but they didn’t call me back at the interview—and I didn’t even screw that one up.
I don’t have anything to offer aside from my people-pleaser nature and a couple months volunteering at the local library. No employer wants to hear that I’m an English major with no work experience. I’m essentially useless, unemployable—which was exactly what my mom said would happen when I got into this field.
No one wants to hear about the novel you’re writing until it’s done and published and you’ve made a ton of money, she said. And she’s right, of course. But still, a writer’s gonna write. There was no way I was going to follow in her and dad’s footsteps and notgo to university. That’s just absurd and irresponsible.
And yet a degree, or even the aspiration of wanting more, wards off minimum-wage employees like some cursed talisman.
Just looking at Doug I could tell there was no way he was going to hire me. Maybe I should’ve taken a chip just to be polite or show I can be a team player.
Too late now. Doug emptied the rest of the bag into his mouth, letting his beard catch the loose bits. He smacks his lips as his big paw wipes crumbs off my resume.
“Cool,” he says, appreciating my carefully crafted layout intended to show professionalism and thoughtful design but really it’s to hide my flimsy experience. “You did a nice job on this. English, huh?”
“Yes,” I say, sitting up straighter. I fuss with the hem of my white blouse that my mom had to iron for me because I can’t do laundry to save my life. In fact, it dawns on me as I sit here, I can’t do hardly anything to save my life. I can’t cook or clean. I can’t get a boyfriend or land a lousy job. And if I can’t get a job, then I can’t pay my student loans. And then I can’t finish my degree.
I’m spiraling now, sniffling and trying to plug my tears. But the pressure’s too much. It’s all too much.
I lean down for my backpack—who brings a backpack to a job interview? Like I’m still a teenager looking for an after-school job. “I’m sorry,” I fawn. “I wasted your time. I’m sorry. Let me just—”
Doug blinks, staring at me. I don’t even need to see his face to know what he’s thinking—that I’m weird, I’m crazy. That he dodged a bullet. Now he doesn’t have to shake my hand and pretend he was interested in hiring a loser like me.
I’m almost to the door when he chortles. “Hey now. You don’t have to cry. If you want the job that badly, it’s yours.”
I almost don’t want it now since I’ve embarrassed myself. I’m an ass. No one wants to work with a crybaby. That’s all I’ve ever been. Some sad sack schoolgirl who cries to get her way. But I need the money badly, so I snort and wipe away my tears. My eyes are swelling already from the stress. I’ll have to drive around for a few hours with a cold McDonalds Sprite against my eye sockets until the swelling and redness dissipates enough that my sorry face won’t prompt exasperated remarks from my folks.
“I’m sorry,” I continue fawning. “I’m just really nervous and… I don’t know…”
“Oh, good,” he says. “I thought maybe I said something stupid.”
“Oh.”
“The job’s still yours if you want it. Doesn’t pay much, unfortunately, but you get free rentals and sometimes the popcorn machine works.”
“Okay.”
“When do you wanna start?”
“Um, whenever, I guess?”
“Cool. You got anywhere to be right now?”
“No, just this interview.” A titter escapes me. Still embarrassing, but at least the tears have stopped.
“Lemme show you around then.” He eases out of his chair, shuffling around the desk until I can see his footwear—mismatched flip-flips. The foam soles are worn but his feet are clean. Someone gets regular pedicures.
He pauses next to a filing cabinet adorned with a sticker of a grinning bunny that reads, “Don’t care. Won’t tomorrow either.” He cranks open the ancient drawer with a metallic screech and fetches a shirt that matches his. He tosses it my way.
I trace the embroidered logo. Video Vortex.
“Welcome to the family,” he says. He digs a Bic lighter out of his pocket before I make it to the door, ready and eager to prove my worth. “Hold on a sec, man. I need a sunshine break. You smoke?”
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
After five agonizingly long minutes standing in the alley with my new boss as he smokes and stares up at the clouds floating by. He wanted sun and got an overcast sky instead. It’s as grey as the smoke pouring from his nostrils.
“Do clowns bother you?”
Is he asking me a real question or wondering to himself? I stammer out an answer that doesn’t matter. He nods, like he’s half-listening.
“Good. Sometimes we get clowns around here.”
He points to a Dumpster. “That one’s ours. As the newbie, you’ll probably be on a garbage duty at the end of your shift. Try not to dawdle when it’s dark out and watch for the clowns.”
“Wait, what?”
He’s on the move now, flicking his cigarette against the building’s brick wall. I follow, clutching my team shirt and my resume. What’s that about clowns?I want to ask, and I will when I get the chance, but we’re moving and he’s pointing at more things I need to know. I activate the note-taking part of my brain. The clowns will have to wait.
We pass through the storage room. It’s no bigger than Doug’s office but it’s wall-to-wall with DVDs and VHS tapes and trays of soda and boxes of chips and candy. It smells like pot in here too. I make a note to give my parents an excuse to keep them away. They’ll only worry if they smell what I smell.
The bathroom is accessible through the storage room. A sign on the door says “Staff Only” but a little kid with a round face comes rushing out of it. Toilet paper sticks to his sneaker as he crashes through us like a giggling cannonball. I watch for Doug’s reaction, but he either doesn’t care or doesn’t mind.
We leave the “back,” as he calls it, and welcomes me to the store proper. Aside from cutting through here for my interview, I hadn’t stepped foot inside a video store in years. I was a kid waiting hopelessly for a copy of the latest Legend of Zelda game to return to its place on the shelves. It never did and I ended up begging my parents to buy it for my birthday months later.
With streaming services smothering the digital landscape, video stores are a throwback to a bygone time. The customers must be the nostalgic Millennial and Gen X types or new technology-fearing conspiracy theorists. But as long as there are customers, wherever they come from, I’ll at least have a job.
The walls of the stores are a painted deep red (to match our shirts perhaps?), faded from the sun streaming through the south-facing wall of window where the entrance and returns drop-box are located. But lest you think the color is too bold, too blinding, framed movie posters are hung all around to break up the shocking red. The posters, too, are faded from the sun and their edges would be curling and crisp were it not for the frames. None of the posters represent any new releases—there’s Titanic, Back to the Future III, Silence of the Lambs, Casino, Face/Off, Batman Forever. It’s like the store stopped hanging posters before the 2000s hit.
Below the posters are shelves, and planted on the floor are more shelves, a library of movies. A mash-mash of DVDs and VHS. I can’t tell if there’s any rhyme or reason to how everything is organized. Signs for each genre stand stick up from the top of the shelves, a beacon for customers lost in a sea of dusty films.
As Doug walks me through the aisles, I scrape my dress shoes along the carpet’s wild pattern of neon shapes and swirls. It’s like Lisa Frank threw up and then some kid scattered popcorn crumbs over it.
For a few moments, the store has only two customers: The boy from the bathroom and his mom. They rent a pile of movies at the counter, a big black square near the window. They leave, and then there are two others left. My new coworkers.
There’s a tall, black-haired guy wearing black-framed glasses with transition lenses. His long, slick hair hangs over his eyes and he sorts through a stack of VHS tapes. He doesn’t look up as we approach. He doesn’t even shrug as the boy and his mom leave. If he weren’t inside the square counter, I wouldn’t have figured he works here. The slightest bit of red work shirt peeks out from his zipped-up black hoodie and he’s not wearing a name tag.
Then there’s the equally tall brunette with the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen. You know those horse-girl fantasy books with the horse beautiful stallions on the cover? How the horse has the most shiny, luscious, flowing mane? That’s what this girl’s hair looked like. It was effortlessly beautiful.
Unlike the guy, she wore her red shirt loud and proud. It was tucked into her belt, behind a skull and crossbones buckle. She had all sorts of sterling silver rings punctured through her ears and wrapped around her fingers. I’ve never met anyone as cool as her and I never will again.
“Hey, team,” Doug says. “This is the new girl.”
The guy sighs, picks up his stack, and walks away. I haven’t even started yet and I’ve already done something wrong. Great. Maybe he can tell I was crying and thinks I’m weak. My eyes start burning again.
“Hey, new girl,” says the cool girl. Her name tag says Jai. She doesn’t offer a fist bump or a handshake, just one of those cool head nods. “Don’t mind Z. He’s averse to meeting new people.”
“Oh,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ignore him,” Jai advises.
“Well, don’t ignore him,” Doug corrects. “We’re a team. We don’t ignore our teammates.”
With her back to Doug, Jai rolls her eyes to me. “So, new girl, are you sticking around for tonight’s special screening?”
I look to Doug for help. I don’t know anything, aside from where the garbage is deposited at the end of each night and that one of my coworkers is not a people-person. I don’t know how long my shift is or even if my work shirt will fit. “Uhhh…”
Jai raises an eyebrow at Doug. “You didn’t tell her yet?”
Doug shrugs. “Tell me what?”
“It’s no big deal,” he says.
“No big deal?” Jai scoffs.
Zero has returned empty-handed from the stacks. “It shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Jai says. “But it’s important.”
“No, it’s not,” Zero replies, gathering another stack of videos to return. This time around he looks at me, blowing hair out of his face and away from his beautiful, soft brown eyes. As quickly as I see them, the hair falls back in front, and he’s on the move again. “They do it every month.”
“Do what?” My palms itch. I ball up my hands, scratching from the inside.
Jai summons me closer and I have no choice but to heed her call. She opens a cupboard under a row of personal cubbies, each marked with a name: Jai, Doug’s stuff, Zero—do not touch!, Lydia 🫀, and DAMIEN. Before I could wonder if my name would soon be added, Jai tugged out a plastic tub filled with VHS tapes.
Some were labeled: Tony = Tonya, Millie’s Funeral, Rambo II Darlene’s Wedding, First Grade Dance Recital Austin Powers. Some were not.
“What am I looking at?”
She picks up a tape, giving it a shake. “Tonight’s pre-show teaser.”
“I still don’t know what I’m looking at.”
“Good,” she says. Then walks away all cool like cool people do. Only cool people can get away with leaving regular people hanging.
So I’m standing in the middle of the counter all by myself. I have no idea where Doug wandered off to, or what I’m going to do if someone comes in and wants to rent something. The point-of-sale system is a complete mystery to me. I’ve never handled cash in my life—does this place still take cash? Will I even remember how to count back change?
I wipe my sweating palms on the sides of my pants. I start looking around for a life preserver (no, not literally). Just someone who can help me—because I’m drowning. I’m sucking down air but I’m drowning. I could be dying. I am dying. The autopsy is going to show that I drowned on land. My parents will finally be free of my insanity, but I’ll be buried in an unmarked grave because no one knows my name.
“Hey, new girl.” Jai is back, cutting me off at the panic attack. She holds a label-maker. I haven’t seen one of those since my parents ran their home business. I used to make all sorts of labels and stick them around the house. “Doug never mentioned your name.”
I’m about to tell her, but she cuts me off again.
“Nobody here uses their real names,” Jai tells me.
“But you—”
“I know,” she says. “It’s too late for me. But you can still save yourself.”
“You want me to pick a new name?”
“You don’t have to, but if some psycho customer tries to rat you out to corporate, it helps to keep you real name off the books, if you know what I mean.”
I didn’t really. “So, I guess, like, Emily?”
“Emily?” she echoes. “That’s a real name.”
“I was thinking of Emily Dickinson.”
Jai gives me a hard look, squinting eyes and all. “What’re you, an English major?”
I stammer a bit before I spit out confirmation that yes, that’s exactly what I am.
“Nah,” she says. “That’s too basic for this unholy branch of Video Vortex. We’re a horror-loving bunch here.”
A human head pops up on the other side of the counter. A pale, drawn face topped with shaggy brown hair. Its glazed blue eyes stare at me and I gasp as it squawks, “Hallo!”
Jai swats it aside. The head laughs, springing up and away, revealing that it was never severed from the lanky body it came in on.
“That’s Damien,” Jai explains. “He thinks he’s funny. He’s not, but at least he gave me an idea.”
She snatches a gold plate pin from under the counter and punches a name into the label maker. My new moniker unfurls.
“Raven,” I read as she presses the adhesive backing onto the pin.
“Yeah, ’cause you’re an English major, right? Edgar Allan Poe and such.”
“Quoth the raven,” adds Damien, coming around the counter. He strips off his black jacket, wads it up into a ball, and stuffs it into the cubby with his name.
“You think Damien’s his real name?” Jai says. “Hell no. If you knew, you’d yawn to death. He’s Damien because he’s my little Antichrist.” Damien grins. “And Z—that’s short for Zero—is ’cause he gives zero fucks.”
A long arm emerges from the stacks drawing our attention, then a middle finger launches in our direction. Jai and Damien snicker.
I point to the last cubby. Lydia. “And is that a real name?”
“Our resident goth? No, that’s also her Video Vortex given name. She gives off major Tim Burton vibes, so I named her after the most goth teenager I could think of.” Lydia Deetz, I fill in the blank. “Our lady of darkness, Winona Ryder.”
“Mother,” says Damien.
“And when does she— I mean, Lydia—work?”
Jai and Damian exchange a look of raised eyebrows and unspoken words.
“No one knows. She’s like a ghost.”
“Or Bigfoot,” says Damian.
“Too hairy,” says Jai. “But if you spot her, you might be eligible for a reward.”
I nudge the box of strangely labeled VHS tapes. “And what’s this?”
Damien gasps, dropping to his knees. He hugs the box. “My babies! Don’t hurt my babies!”
“This the mystery box,” Jai explains, at last. “Our customers are a kooky bunch. Sometimes they return their rentals on time. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they bring us rentals that’re meant for Lackluster Video—”
Damien hisses, clutching the box even tighter.
“Sometimes they mistakenly return their own home videos. Sometimes we can track down the owners by looking up their names in our system. And sometimes we can’t. And those are the ones that become part of our special collection.”
A chill ripples up my spine. I hug my work shirt to my chest. “Are you saying you watch some stranger’s home movies? Isn’t that a little—?”
“Weird?” says Damien. “Absolutely.”
“And as the newest member of our Video Vortex family,” says Jai, “you get to pick tonight’s feature.”
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
I don’t want to pick. I don’t want to reach my hand inside that plastic tote, which should have been holding holiday decorations or craft supplies or anything other than the video tapes of the damned. But it’s my first day. I have to be a team player.
So, repressing every urge to wince and flinch and run for the hills, I reach into the tote and pluck out a single tape. It’s unlabeled, no case. Just a raw tape with no definable features. Perhaps it’ll be too time- or weather-worn to play, and not because I don’t want to participate in the store’s weird ritual on what was barely my first day. I mean, seriously, I haven’t even signed any paperwork yet.
No, it’s because the pile of black tapes look like bad news. Some were unwound, some appeared to have been watched halfway through before being abandoned. There was nothing on any of these that I or anyone else should want to see. And yet, my new teammates salivate over my selection.
Jai holds it over her head like a new discovery. “The chosen one,” she declares, letting it tumble into the eager clutches of Damien.
“My precious!” he says.
“You people are weird,” Zero says, taking the words out of my mouth.
Jai motions for the guys to shut up. “All right, team. Tonight at midnight, we watch—” She checks the side of the tape for any identification. But of course it has none. “Untitled,” she dubs it. “Prepare yourselves for chills, thrills, or possibly some swinger’s homemade porno movie, circa 1994. Be there or be square.”
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
On my break, I call home to tell my mom I’ll be home late. “I got the job.”
She’s excited for me and then asks how much it pays. I avoid the question by telling her that I’ve already started training and that my first night will be a late one. I leave out the part about the special screening. She won’t get it and then she’ll tell me not to work any later than I’m scheduled, or that it’s dangerous to work so late and that maybe I should get Dad to pick me up.
I quickly assuage her concerns by mentioning Jai, another young female. Safety in numbers. Yes, we’ll leave together and watch out for each other.
Zero interrupts, poking her head into the stock room. He glimpses me, but looks down as he slinks past for the bathroom. I nod back, only half-listening to my mom’s worries about working late when I should be studying or getting sleep. But without this job, how can I sleep when I need money to pay for school?
“It’s not forever,” I tell her.
“Well, that’s good,” she agrees. “Just don’t stop looking for other opportunities. Something better will certainly come along once this video store place gives you enough experience.”
We hang up as Zero comes out of the bathroom. “Sorry if I interrupted.”
“No, just talking to my mom.”
“Mmm.” He pauses at the door, hands fiddling in his pockets. “I should probably apologize,” he says. “The special screening thing is stupid, but it’s a tradition. Don’t feel like you have to join in.”
I can’t tell if he’s giving me an out because he sees what a ball of nerves I am or if he just doesn’t like me.
“It’s okay,” I say. “It sounds fun.” So fun my mouth goes dry and I forget how to swallow. “But, uh, what happens if there’s something on the tape that maybe you don’t want to see?”
He considers his answer, then shrugs. “There’s always the eject button.”
I look around. Dummy—like I’m actually going to find a physical button on the wall.
He smirks, but saves me from further embarrassing myself. “I meant this job. Like you said, it’s not forever, right?”
I stammer, picking up my phone as if that will explain everything. I just want to get through one shift before my loyalty is questioned.
He holds up a hand, staving off my fumbling excuses. “Save your breath. It’s no big deal. You started working at a goddamn video store in 2024. The last of its kind. You know it, I know it, and head office sure as hell knows it. You’ve only been here three hours. No one would blame you for hitting eject and getting out while you can.”
“It’s fine,” I insist. Not like I have anywhere else to go. Besides, Doug took a chance on me and I don’t want to let him down.
“You sure? Because I hate to break it to you but Video Vortex won’t be around much longer. Video rental stores are a dying breed. Practically extinct. And Video Vortex is on life support.”
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
It’s a little after midnight. The rest of the world is sleep. The store is locked up tight and a few last-minute returns are dumped into the after-hours slot.
Doug turns off the lights and Jai leads the procession to his office. Zero leans in the doorway with his arms crossed. His lenses have darkened, making me glad I can’t see his eyes. I couldn’t bear to look at him anyway, not after our earlier conversation.
I’m fussing with the hem of my shirt when Jai slides a hand over my shoulder and smiles. “Red looks great on you.”
I blush and mumble some excuse about how she’s wrong, but she sloughs off my rejection of her compliment and oversees Damien as he drags a small TV/VCR combo out from behind a stack of boxes.
“Can we smoke in here?” Zero asks.
“You know the rules,” says Doug.
“I thought that’s the point—if you know ’em, you can break ’em,” he says with a half-smile that suggests he’s only half-joking.
“You know what Pattinson will do to my ass, man.”
Jai groans. “Please don’t mention that unholy asshole in my presence. And please, for the love of Satan, don’t talk about his ass. Because yuck.”
They laugh, sharing a joke I’m not privy to. Already I’m an outsider. I shake it off with a flick of my hair, pretending I don’t care. Maybe I wasn’t lying when I told my mom this job wasn’t forever.
Just enough to pay for school.
I look down at my lap and suddenly there’s a hot bag of popcorn there. “What?”
“Take some, pass it around,” says Damien, dropping into the seat next to me.
It’s my first good look at him. He smiles shyly, leaning back just out of my view. The TV’s glow pales his skin, lights up the gleeful look in his eyes. I smile back and take a handful of popcorn, passing the bag to my left where Doug sits.
“What did you think of your first day?” Doug asks. He munches on popcorn, in no hurry to pass it along. The two seats next to him are empty—Jai crouches behind the TV, fussing with the cords, and from his vantage point at the door, Zero is telling her that she’s doing it wrong. They bicker back and forth like an old married couple. Damien grins, soaking up their squabble like it’s the pre-show entertainment.
Doug ignores them, waiting for my answer. I’m not sure what to say, other than something that will satisfy him enough to leave me be. Something that won’t prompt any follow-up questions.
“It was good,” I say.
“It’s okay if it’s not your bag,” he says, shrugging. “It’s just a job.”
My face burns like I’m ant under a scorching magnifying glass. Did Zero tell him? “But I do want to work here.”
He pats my hand that clutches the arm of my seat. His eyes crinkle and he gives me a warm, knowing, Santa Claus smile. “Nothing about this job or this store is permanent,” he says. “That’s life. Nobody here ever expected to stick around this long. But life happens, man. The store is here when we need it and when we don’t, it won’t be.”
I nod—because when your stoner boss passes on wisdom, all you can do is nod and listen and wonder what he was smoking.
“Hey, I just remembered something.” He stands up, knees cracking. He stretches, shirt rising up his belly. He pulls it back down and starts for the door.
“Where you going?” Jai asks as the TV’s picture clears. The VCR sucks in the tape. “The show’s about to begin.”
“Trash,” he says. He points at each of my teammates. “Did any of you remember to take it out?”
They sheepishly looking down at the ground. Jai grimaces. “Sorry, boss.”
“Tsk-tsk,” he says. “Don’t wait. I’ll be right back.”
As he steps out, my moment is clear. I can linger here in the dark or I can prove to my new boss that this job does matter to me—at least in a small way.
I follow him out. Damian asks, “Where’s the new girl going?”
“Who knows?” Zero replies.
The store is dark. The only light comes from the streetlights through the front window and the buttons on the sleeping computer screens at the counter. Doug empties the trash cans and carries two bags back in my direction. He blinks a few times, surprised to see me.
“I thought I could help?” I say. “And you could show me how to do this part?”
“Sure, good thinkin’,” he says, offering me one of the lighter bags. “Many hands make light work. This way…”
We steer away from the office, now a mini makeshift movie theatre, and go through the storage room. He unlocks the back exit. The handle bar across the door says emergency exit, but when he presses it, no alarm sounds. I must look alarmed when he does this, so he explains.
“System’s broken. Jai has been hounding corporate for months but you know how it is.”
I don’t, but still I nod. It’s just easier to agree sometimes.
We cross into the alley. The midnight air sends a tingle down the back of my neck. Dim, flickering streetlights cast stretching shadows across the crumbly pavement. The rest of the stores that make up the surrounding strip mall are closed for the night or have FOR LEASE signs in their darkened windows.
Doug inches open the Dumpster’s lid and we chuck our bags inside. They drop down with a hollow clatter. I check over my shoulder, on the lookout for clowns.
I’m about to ask him about the clowns—what’s the backstory there?—when he yawns.
“Thanks,” he says. “Hey, full moon.”
As I look up, he steps away, farther from the Dumpster, farther from the store. He keeps walking, almost as if he’s casually going home for the night. But he hasn’t said goodbye. Hasn’t said what he’s doing or where he’s going, though it’s after hours now and none of my business.
But a nervous impulse propels me forward. I must’ve missed what he said. Maybe he didn’t make a comment about the moon, but rather wants to show me one more thing. Or maybe not.
Uncertainty and anxiety cement me in place, so when a spark of blinding white light flares suddenly, all I can do is cover my eyes.
It’s gone in a blink and so is Doug. ⏹
