The Last Shift

2022 Write Now Winner - Grades 9 - 12

"Can I get a ticket to the-"

"At ten? Sure thing."

Robin slid the ticket stub through the narrow slot, letting his eyes flick upwards for only a moment to catch a glimpse of the latest movie-goer. The only discernible difference between this one and the last three (or was it four?) was that she didn't have a violently red beard, only a shock of frizzled, unruly hair of the same hue upon her head. But before he could think much of it, she had laid a couple of dollars on the counter and left, and by that time, Robin had already turned his attention back to his phone, hidden just behind the register. Seeing strange people was a normal part of working the late-shift at the theater.

In fact, Robin himself remembered his days of youth spent with friends at the late shows, all of them donning horribly mismatched clothes and piercings in places that made their parents cry in exasperation when they would come home with a new one. A late-night viewing seemed almost unreal to them, having been so hopped up on energy drinks and candy that their brains felt as if they were going to melt, every little comment eliciting raucous laughter, much to the disdain of anyone else around.

It only seemed fitting that this is where he would end up, even if he didn't see the magic of the theater quite like he used to. Nowadays, he hardly even thought about what he was doing as he slouched on the stool behind the ticket window with his phone and a grape slushy from the concession stand for company.

Give a ticket, take the money. Give a ticket, take the money. Take a sip of slushy. Give a ticket, take the toothbrush.

Toothbrush. Toothbrush?

Robin had almost shoved it into the register before he realized what he held in his hand. Its wooden handle (who uses a wooden toothbrush anymore?) was splintered, its bristles frayed and sticking out at odd angles. He shifted his focus up to question the individual who thought it so clever to hand this over, but they were already gone from sight.

However, as his eyes scanned the lobby for the culprit, he spotted several other people that he hadn't remembered being quite this abnormal-looking, even for the late show crowd. For example, he truly didn't remember the skinny kid with spikes of glittery, psychedelic hair having such pronounced and pointed ears, nor how the short, round man had grey, cracked, rock-like skin. The more that Robin looked around, he realized that these weren't just your typical late-night oddballs, there was something even more off about them. They seemed almost inhuman.

Robin turned the toothbrush over in his hand as his eyes grew wider with every glance around the room. Were his eyes tricking him, or did the old lady at the soda fountain really have a tail hanging out from below her dress? And what about the group of short red-heads donning full suits of green, almost as if they were dressing as leprechauns for Halloween a few months early?

Before he could ponder too much, the next customer had come up to the register with a couple of crumpled up bills in her hand. Looking closely, Robin noticed her skin was a slight blue color, and her neck seemed to have slits in the sides, almost like the gills of a fish. In her other hand was a ginormous bottle of what he assumed was water.

"Costume party?" he inquired, trying to make heads or tails of her appearance.

She frowned, and with a voice like velvet, answered, "I wish. Funeral tomorrow, actually. Want to get there tonight, so I figured I'd step through here. Always enjoy this station, too."

"Oh." he swallowed, more puzzled than ever. "My condolences."

"It was her time, I suppose, being as old as she was. Quite the fighter, my grandmother. I could only hope I can make it to even half of four hundred and eighty."

"Ah..." Robin was at a loss for words. "Which, uh, which showing?"

"Ten thirty?" She set the bills on the counter.

Robin tore off a ticket to hand to the woman and put the cash in his register. She started to turn away, but he stopped her to let her know that she wasn't allowed to bring outside beverages into the theater. Her blue face screwed up into a strange grin.

"You're a funny man, aren't you? You know you don't have to keep it up here, right?" she said before waltzing away.

It had been one of his first full conversations with a customer in a while, and Robin couldn't begin to understand what just happened. What was she talking about?

For once, Robin's attention was on everyone who came through the door and out of the theater. As he began to close up for the night, wiping down the register, he stopped, realizing that the blue-skinned woman had never come out of the theater, and neither had the clan of red-haired people.

Tentatively, Robin looked over at the theater door, quivering slightly. He wasn't sure what it was about the door, but it gave him the heebie-jeebies. Now that he really thought about it, he couldn't remember having ever been in the actual theater, let alone having to clean it up at closing time.

His breath quickened as he paced over to the door, the toothbrush that sparked his curiosity nestled securely in his breast pocket. A tingling sensation enveloped Robin's hand as he held the door's handle, something he hadn't felt in a theater since teenagedom.

"You're just opening a door," he mumbled. Exhaling, he pulled it open.

Robin smiled. It was like a whole new world in there.