What They Need

Ding!

The door slid open as a customer entered. Ivy didn’t bother to look up; instead, she continued to read through her crinkled magazine, lazily flicking through the pages. It wasn’t until the man approached the desk that she finally gave him her attention.

Cigarettes.

She turned to grab the pack from behind her before he even opened his mouth.

“Damn, how’d you know?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

The man handed her a handful of change before walking outside. She watched as he flicked open a lighter, holding it up to his mouth.

Smoke.

Everyone who came into the convenience store needed something. And Ivy could always tell. It wasn’t exactly a vision, but more like a sensation. Either way, it wasn’t the most helpful, apart from a neat party trick. 

A packet of gum for the woman who came in early most mornings, with a high ponytail and gym clothes. Coffee for the university students who stumbled through the doors at every odd hour of the day. Duct tape for the ragged man who smelled strongly of beer. Sometimes the need was less obvious, like a birthday card or flowers.

Once, someone had walked in and spent ten minutes talking to her, then left without buying anything. The man was old, and she didn’t have the heart to ask him to leave.

Company.

Some things the store didn’t sell. But if she could help, she tried her best. Besides, it’s not like she was doing anything better.

“Hey, do you think I could hang some of these up in the window?”

Daughter.

In front of Ivy stood a dishevelled woman. Her hair was all over the place, and her eyebrows were scrunched together so hard her forehead wrinkled. In her arms was a stack of papers, and on closer inspection, Ivy realised they were posters.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Ivy replied, giving the lady an empathetic frown. “If you want, I could put some up on the notice board?”

The woman gave a strained smile, her eyes watering slightly. “Yes,” she choked out. “Thank you, that would really help.”

As Ivy hung the poster, she stared at the details. The photo was of a young girl, with long blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. It was added to a collection of posters that had slowly been accumulated over the past couple of months.

After the woman left, Ivy returned to her magazine. Maybe she’d be able to pull off that lipstick? No, it was far too red. Maybe something paler? Or cooler—hopefully that would complement her skin better.

A collection of items was dropped on the counter, jolting her out of her thoughts. A mixture of duct tape, bin bags, gloves, and bleach sat before her. Ivy stared at the man, raising an eyebrow.

Cleaning.

Him again. He came in far too often for her liking, always with the same need. And he always reeked of booze. Seriously, the guy had a problem.

“Anything else I can help you with?” she asked, forcing the best customer service voice she could handle.

“No,” he grunted.

“Okaaay, would you like a bag?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he slammed down a twenty before walking out with all his items.

“Come again,” she muttered, sliding the money into the register. The night dragged on, the odd customer coming in for all sorts of things. She helped them, they left, and the shift continued.

Ding!

Done with the magazine, Ivy looked up at the door. A little girl had walked in. She was maybe eight or nine years old and wore a white dress. Her blonde hair was surprisingly damp and tangled around her face. Strangely, Ivy thought she looked familiar. She stopped just inside the door. Ivy waited for the feeling to appear.

Maybe candy or ice cream? Perhaps hot chocolate?

But against her expectations, something else showed.

Help.

Ivy froze. The girl looked around the shop, then at her.

“Excuse me?” Her voice was faint, just above a whisper.

Ivy stood up, looking over the counter. “Hey, are you okay?"

The girl fiddled with her fingers, frowning slightly. Something in Ivy’s stomach tightened as she walked around the counter, crouching in front of the girl. 

“What’s your name?”

The girl still didn’t answer, but her eyes quickly darted to the door. Ivy followed her gaze, squinting to see into the dark. A chill ran up her spine, and she grabbed the girl’s hands.

“Hey, why don’t we both go sit behind the counter? I can get you something to drink?”

Though she got no answer, the girl didn’t fight as Ivy pulled her to the counter, pushing her down to hide beneath it.

“Wait right here, okay?” she said, reaching to grab her phone. But before she could, the door slid open once more.

The man from before walked in, giving a wide and uncanny smile. “Evening.”

Ivy felt her breath catch. Her eyes widened, and for the first time since she discovered her strange ability, she wished she couldn’t see. Because tonight, he needed something specific.

Girl.

Her gaze slipped down to the tiny figure beneath, whose trembling form and teary eyes told all she needed to know.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked, plastering a smile on.

The man looked around the shop, eyes wandering through the aisles.

“I left something behind,” he muttered.

Ivy swallowed. “Did you?”

He nodded, his gaze settling on the counter.

Girl.

Ivy’s fingers curled against the countertop. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more specific,” she said, hoping the shake in her voice went unnoticed.

He smiled, the same smile he’d given her plenty of times before. It was stale and gross, and in this moment she realised what had been hiding beneath it.

His eyes moved back to the shelves, then to the door, then back to Ivy.

“Maybe something I bought earlier,” he said. “Could you check?”

“Sure.” Ivy smiled, her throat feeling tight. She turned towards the register, pretending to think. Sitting on a small stool was her phone, just three feet away. She just had to reach it.

The man stepped closer. “Actually,” he said, “I think I remember.”

Ivy froze, swallowing hard. “You do?”

He leaned against the counter, and the smell of beer filled her senses. “I think she came in here.”

Every muscle in Ivy’s body went rigid. Underneath the counter, the girl whimpered, holding a hand over her mouth. The man’s smile widened, as though he knew exactly what was going on. Ivy’s heart pounded so loudly she was worried it would burst straight from her chest. She looked down to the girl whose eyes were squeezed shut.

Help.

Ivy looked back at the man. For the first time that night, something else appeared.

Fear.

She blinked. Fear? Was he scared? But of what? It vanished, then returned, fluctuating with uncertainty. It wasn’t fear of her. No, it was fear of something else. Of being caught. Ivy’s eyes moved to the papers plastered across the front window.

Oh. That’s where she knew her from.

“Sir,” she said, “if you’re looking for someone, you should call the police.”

His smile disappeared. “I’m sure that’s unnecessary.”

“I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Her voice trembled, but she stood firm.

His face curled into a snarl; he leaned even further against the counter. “Or what?”

Well, she did ask. Ivy grabbed the nearest object—a can of some off-brand fizzy drink—and threw it right at his face. He stumbled back, holding his nose.

“What the f—”

She didn’t wait to see how he’d fared. Instead she reached to the stool and grabbed her phone, before ducking below the counter and pulling the girl after her. Both of them ran for the storeroom door, slipping in and slamming it shut just in time, turning the lock before the man began aggressively banging.

“You little shit!” he shouted. “Open this door!”

The girl began sobbing, squeezing herself into the corner. With shaking fingers, Ivy dialled for help.

“Come out right now, I swear to God!”

Ivy held off tears, scared to frighten the girl even more. She spoke into the phone, moving into the corner to hug the girl. Outside, the man continued to rage, screaming obscenities and trying to break down the door. On the other end of the line, the operator spoke calmly.

“Is the suspect armed?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “He’s trying to get in.”

“Police are on their way. Stay where you are.”

It felt like they hid there forever, listening to the man’s rampage. Then, suddenly, there was silence. Ivy froze. She tried her best to listen, but all she could hear was the faint ding of the sliding door.

“He’s gone,” whispered the girl.

They stayed in that room.

Eventually, sirens filled the air, and she could see blue and red lights flash beneath the door.

“Police!”

Ivy hurried to unlock the door. An officer ran in and immediately knelt beside the girl.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

The girl shook her head, standing on shaky legs.

Ivy walked out, accompanied by an officer. Shouts filled the air, and she watched as the man was dragged into the back of a police car, screaming and kicking. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten far.

She stood there for a second before the girl rushed towards her, hugging her legs. Ivy looked down at the girl and bent to wrap her arms around her.

“You did so well,” she told her, stroking her head. Then she felt a familiar sensation.

Home.

Ivy smiled, letting out a small giggle. “Yeah, home sounds good.”