The Complete Story
An Original Short Story By Ask Velvet
Dedication
To my coworkers, who became more than the people I worked beside.
Thank you for the laughter, the late nights, the conversations, and the memories we created together. What began as shared shifts grew into friendships that felt like family.
This story was inspired by one unforgettable night with you all and the unforgettable dream that followed.
Thank you for being part of a memory I’ll always carry with me.
PROLOGUE
Every story has a beginning.
Some begin with a question.
Some begin with a memory.
And some begin with a dream.
Blunted Hill began with both.
Several years ago, after a memorable night out with my coworkers, I had one of the most vivid dreams I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t the kind of dream that disappears with the morning. It stayed with me for years, the sights, the silence, and the overwhelming feeling that something impossible was chasing me.
Eventually, I stopped asking why I remembered it so clearly and started asking a different question:
What if I turned that dream into a story?
Although Blunted Hills was inspired by an actual dream and a real night spent with my coworkers, the story you’re about to read is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue, and events were created through imagination, transforming one unforgettable experience into a suspenseful tale.
So settle in….
You’re about to read the complete story of Blunted Hills.
Closing Time
By the time the last customer left Blunted Hills, Alabama felt as though she had been standing for three days instead of one. The front door closed with a soft chime, and for the first time since noon, the shop became quiet. The music was still playing low through the speakers. One of her coworkers was laughing near the register. Someone else was dragging a broom across the floor in slow, tired strokes.
But compared with the rush of the day, it felt peaceful. Alabama leaned against the counter and exhaled. “Please tell me that was the last person,” she said. Her co-worker glanced toward the front windows. “Unless somebody crawls in under the gate, we’re done.” Alabama laughed. “Don’t even joke like that.”
Friday nights at Blunted Hills were always busy, but this one had been relentless. Customers had come in one after another, asking questions, checking prices, changing their minds, and then changing them again. By closing time, everyone was running on exhaustion and inside jokes. Alabama counted the register while another coworker straightened the shelves. The shop smelled faintly sweet and earthy, mixed with the citrus cleaner they used every night.
Outside, downtown Washington, DC, still glowed beneath streetlights and office windows. Inside, they moved through their closing routine almost automatically. Lock the display cases. Wipes the counters. Count the drawer. Check the back room. Turn off the bright front lights. “Anybody hungry?” someone asked. That got everyone’s attention. Alabama looked up from the register. “I could eat.”
“ Of course you could,” one of her coworkers said. “You’ve been talking about food for the last two hours.”
“I was busy.”
“You were dramatic.”
“I can be both.”
The group laughed. No one seemed ready to rush home, so after the shop was secured, they decided to spend some time together before heading their separate ways. It had been a long week. They needed the break. For a while, they sat together talking about difficult customer, weekend plans, music, and everything that had nothing to do with work. The tension of the day slowly faded.
Alabama relaxed into the conversation. These were the moments she enjoyed most. Not the ringing register. Not the endless questions. Not the pressure of keeping everything moving.
Just laughter with people who understood exactly how exhausting the day had been. Time passed faster than she realized. When Alabama finally checked her phone, she sat up. “Oh, no.”
“What?” someone asked. “It’s later than I thought.” She stood and reached for her bag. “You leaving already?” I have to. If I miss another train, I’m sleeping here.”
One of her coworkers pointed toward the back room. “There’s a folding chair.” “That chair has seen things. I’m not sleeping in it.” More laughter followed her as she slipped on her jacket. At the front door, Alabama turned back toward the group. “Text us when you get home.” “I will.”
She stepped outside. The door clicked shut behind her. For a moment, Alabama stood beneath the glowing Blunted Hills sign, breathing in the cool night air. Downtown Washington, D.C., stretched out before her. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalks. Office buildings reflected the city lights. Everythinglooked exactly theway it always did. She adjusted the strap of her bag and started walking toward the Metro station. At first, nothing seemed unusual. Then she realized something. The city was….quieter. Not peaceful. Empty.
The traffic that had filled the streets only minutes earlier had vanished. The conversations from nearby restaurants were gone. No sirens echoed in the distance. No music drifted through open doorways. Only the sound of her footsteps remained. She slowed her pace. “That’s weird.” She glanced behind her. The street was empty. “You’re just tired,” she whispered. It had been a long day. That’s all. She kept walking. Her footsteps echoed through the silence. One step. Then another. Then…….
Splash.
Alabama froze. The sound was unmistakable. Like something heavy stepping into shallow water. She slowly looked around. There wasn’t a puddle in sight.
No fountain.
No rain.
No water anywhere.
Her heartbeat quickened. After a few seconds, she shook her head. “I’m imagining things.” She turned and continued toward the Metro. Three steps later.
Splash.
This time…..It was closer. Much closer. Every muscle in her body tightened. A cold chill crept up her spine. She wasn’t alone. She just hadn’t seen what was following her.
