The next morning, I showed up to work exhausted.

  Last night had been spent tossing and turning over the conversation the day before.

  Why had Vaarg hired me? What was he after?

  The doorbell wheezed when I walked through. I smiled and patted the door jam.

  “Good to see you, too.”

  “What a loon, thinking the store likes him.,” one of the cloaks whispered.

  Don’t think I’ve forgotten my planned Aisle Two cleaning, I thought.

  I stomped my way to Aisle Three.

  It was almost…nostalgic? To be back. It was dark, the flickering candlelight hardly lighting the floor, the mahogany shelves filled with all manner of horrors, cobwebs hiding everywhere.

  But it was my Aisle Three.

  Which is why I noticed an item that seemed out of place.

  I could only describe it as a medieval bear trap fused with a foot massage device.

  It looked like it chopped off your leg and then tried to massage the foot - from what I could tell.

  “Vaarg!” I called out.

  He looked up, sighing like someone who just realized they left the stove on in another timeline.

  “I preferred Clipboard Tyrant,” he grumbled. “What now?”

  He preferred. What. I. You know what, I don’t care.

  “I found this on Aisle Three.”

  I held it up. It rattled ominously and made a wheezing noise, like it wanted to be a saxophone in another life.

  So a medieval bear trap fused with a foot massage that played saxophone.

  Why the hell not.

  He blinked. “You touched it?”

  “I wore gloves!” I lied.

  “Where are the gloves?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Stupid ate them,” I responded, not missing a beat.

  Vaarg pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Beeg 1, CT 0.

  “That’s Workman’s Comp.”

  *Beeg 1, CT 1.*

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Dang I lose fast.

  “…what?”

  “It compensates,” he said, motioning like that explained anything. “You activate it, it grievously injures you, and then it files the paperwork for you. Automatic claim approval. Very efficient.”

  “You’re joking,” I said looking at it. So it wasn’t a foot massage device, it was a printer.

  It actually made more sense that way.

  Ugly leaned in from behind a shelf. “Beeg, don’t activate it. Stupid did once. She flew across three aisles and lost two teeth.”

  “I gots dem back!” Stupid shrieked proudly from the mop bucket.

  Vaarg turned and walked away like none of this concerned him anymore.

  “Also,” he called over his shoulder, “don’t use it in the store. The last guy who did bled on the discount rugs and we had to inventory his spleen. Claim denied.”

  I set the device gently back on the shelf like it might explode if I breathed too hard.

  Then I turned to actually get to work—restocking potions on the “Cures or Curses?” endcap, trying not to touch anything that glowed or blinked.

  Clink.

  Snap.

  GRIIINNNK.

  I turned.

  And there sat Stupid.

  Riding Workman’s Comp like it was a hobby horse. The jaws snapped shut where her midsection had just been, teeth grinding with a sound like a bone saw gargling gravel.

  She shrieked in delight. “Beeg Look! It wants to EET me!”

  “Stupid, that’s not a toy!” I lunged forward - only for the goblin and the trap-printer-whatever to bound away.

  “It plays back!” she beamed. “I gonna name it Snappy!”

  The device gurgled ominously in agreement.

  Ugly poked his head around a shelf. “You should really keep her away from the dangerous stock.”

  “Isn’t everything dangerous stock?” I asked.

  He considered that for a moment, looking at me.

  “Beeg, anything that is going to try to make Boss pay out money is extra dangerous.”

  I gulped.

  Right.

  Stupid had now fashioned a tiny saddle from a dishrag and was attempting to mount Workman’s Comp properly. The device snapped again—loud enough to make a nearby shelf whimper—and skittered sideways like a demonic crab.

  “It eez shy!” she clapped gleefully.

  “It’s trying to sever your spine,” I deadpanned.

  She gasped. “Spiny snacks? For me?” Then she whispered to the trap: “Don’t worry, Snappy. Beeg’s just jealous ‘cause you don’t try to eat him.”

  I just sighed, turning to Ugly.

  “How is this allowed?”

  He shrugged. “Technically it’s alive, so it counts as an employee now. And it signed the form.”

  “What form?”

  Ugly tapped the side of his head. “The form.”

  Stupid shrieked again. Something snapped. The air smelled like singed toenail clippings and ink.

  “Stupid! Boss said it’s time for a daze-off!” I hollered.

  Stupid gasped and sprinted out of the aisle, screeching “Stupid wants to eatz a daze-off too!”

  I heard a snort.

  I glanced out of the corner of my eye towards a nearby shelf.

  It was peeking out, watching. I pretended like I didn’t see him.

  I knew I recognized that snort, I smiled to myself.

  I shoved Workman’s Comp onto the highest shelf I could reach and braced a heavy tome against it. New employee or not, I wasn’t taking any chances.

  It rattled.

  It purred.

  I backed away slowly.

  I’m moving to Aisle Four.