Graveyard Shift

"If Steven King was high on Benadryl instead of cocaine he would've wrote something like this." A lonely two-lane highway just outside the town of Deville By daylight it’s nothing more than a forgettable gas station: a squat cinder-block box with faded siding, flickering “OPEN” sign, and a few beat-up pumps that squeal when they start. The humming fluorescents stay on even under the noon sun, casting a jaundiced glow over dusty snack aisles and buzzing neon strips around the cooler doors. The sharp tang of bleach hangs in the air, trying—and failing—to mask the faint reek of stale sweat and something… meat-like, gone sour. Most travelers will stop here only long enough to fill their tanks, buy a corn dog, or snag a cigarette pack. For them, the place becomes nothing more than a blurry memory once they’re back on the road. But locals—and the unlucky few who work the counter—know better. ——— Sometimes the Random Events work and sometimes they don't. If you can help me fix that I'd greatly appreciate it.