“Mystery Movies: service with a smile till the Witching Hour, my name is Kevin, how can I help you?” Phone in hand, Kevin loaded a videocassette of Elvira Presents: The Flatwoods Monster in Seattle into the TV above the counter. “No, that’s just a rumor. The succubi in Freaky Sheets IV don’t come out of the screen and do you. Trust me, I’ve tried. …well, you’re just going to have to do your cult-orgy the old-fashioned way. It might get you in the mood for a little– hey! Get outta there!”

Vandalizing the concessions area was a pair of chupacabra that snuck in through the front, spilling popcorn, M&Ms, and licorice everywhere. Both hissed before bolting to the nearest exit, spooking various customers skulking through the Documentary section in the process, before the cellar door closed itself behind them.

While someone would have to clean up the mess, their pest problem was covered. Something horrible moved into the basement, and anyone who went down there was never seen again.

“If you ever change your mind, we have three copies–”

He looked at the phone. The customer hung up on him. He breathed deeply through the nose and put the phone back. Using a key tool, he started rewinding the returns by hand. They had an electric one, but one of his coworkers went insane and stuffed his own entrails into it. They’re still waiting on a replacement.

A woman came to the counter, and Kevin met her at the register.

“Did you find everything to your liking?”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” her Barbie-pink nails pulled out a Mystery Movies membership card, her name ‘Michelle Smith’ printed on the front, from her purse. “I demand a full refund!”

“And uh, what is the issue, ma’am?”

Kevin coughed as her Platinum-blonde dye and hairspray intruded on his oxygen. She fished through her purse again and slammed three VHS tapes onto the counter.

“I rented these at your establishment and they have caused my family nothing but distress!” She picked up the first one, housed in a white, clamshell case. “I rented what I thought was an appropriate, family-friendly animated film. I come back from my audio yoga-mediation session, and I find my baby girl kidnapped through my TV to some fantasy land of some kind, and now I can’t get her out!”

“Ma’am, the instructions written on the tape clearly state that all you need to do is–”

She picked up the second tape.

“My oldest daughter popped this in thinking it was some Eurotrash arthouse film. Now she just sits there like a vegetable! She’s been on the couch for three days, and she won’t even acknowledge me!”

Kevin picked at his ear with his pinky, relating to her daughter’s situation. He recognized the tape. Her daughter’s brain was definitely dead.

She picked up the last one.

“I got this one for my little doggy Foo-Foo. I was going to start training him, and this box said it was a five-star instructional video. But then I put it on and, well, look what it did to him!”

She lifted the top of her purse. Wedged inside was a pomeranian dressed in a little pink sweater. Its eyes were stark white, foam dripped from its maw, and it spoke insults and racial slurs atypical for a dog. Michelle closed her purse, silencing the possessed pet just as it was about to specify where his mother had been sucking cocks.

“Just what kind of operation are you running here? I have half a mind to have you fired for this!”

“Ma’am, the terms and conditions of your membership clearly state that Mystery Movies isn’t liable for any damages, be it physical, psychological, or spiritual, when using its products.”

“Don’t you talk back to me! Do you know who I am? My husband is the CEO of this company! I could have your job!”

“Your husband’s the CEO?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, he is.”

“You mean him?”

His thumb gestured to a decrepit warlock loitering in New Releases. The manager and founder of Mystery Movies, Byron Scholomance, laughed himself sick as he banged his head bloody against a poster for Necronomicon: The Motion Picture.

Caught in her lie, Michelle’s face turned red under her makeup like a toddler ready to scream her head off. Expecting her head to explode, the line of people forming behind her took a few steps back.

“Oh, you’ve done it now Kev,” said Elvira, having been listening from the comfort of her fainting couch inside the TV.

Kevin gave her the stink-eye from over his shoulder.

“Look, ma’am, if you have any complaints, take it up with our customer service department. Just file your grievance with them and I’m sure you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

He gestured to the cellar door. 

Michelle collected herself, pointed her nose upward, and marched off. She shoved a tower of new releases to the floor on her way before ignoring the “Do Not Enter” sign on the door. She stomped down the steps, her heels deafening.

“Hello? I’m here to issue a–wait, what the? What the Hell?! Stay back! Jesus Christ!”

Crunch. Berp.

The door slammed shut, and Kevin felt lighter. She had left her membership card behind. Knowing she wouldn’t need it anymore, he cut the card into pieces with scissors and threw it away.

Next in line, a clandestine gathering of men in spooky robes placed a membership card and a stack of videos on the counter. Most were audio-visual volumes of eldritch scripture not meant to be witnessed by human eyes. At the bottom was a clamshell case of Disney’s The Little Mermaid.

Kevin scanned the card and then each video.

“Did you find everything to your liking?”