The Vault Remembers

For the third time in as many hours, Blake caught one of his employees leaving a tin of raw chicken on the prep table. He caught the kid's arm and shoved the tin at the kid's chest, ordering him to cover it and stow it in the fridge. His employees lately were the laziest, most self-centered brats he'd ever had the displeasure of hiring. Unfortunately, Blake couldn't find anyone better to hire. His business had hit a rough patch and he couldn't offer a competitive wage for good service.

To his shock, the kid set the raw chicken back on the table. He shook his head, which made his curly orange hair bounce. Another infraction; the kid should be wearing a hairnet. “Make Angelo do it,” the kid said.

Blake tried to relax his jaw. He already had a headache from grinding his teeth, and his wife didn't like him coming home from work in a temper. She didn't like him angry around their girls. “I didn't ask Angelo to do it, I asked you. Raw chicken goes in the fridge. It doesn't stay out at room temperature, and it especially doesn't stay out at room temperature on the salad prep line!”

Before the kid could reply, another employee snatched up the chicken tin and wordlessly proceeded to shelve it in the walk-in fridge at the back of the store. Blake left the red-haired kid standing sullenly at the front. He caught up to the other employee, who had earbuds in. Demarcus, the new dishwasher. Blake hoped to promote Marcus to the line soon; the man had a good work ethic and didn't get involved in the kitchen drama.

Blake mouthed I need to talk to you and pointed at Demarcus' ears. Demarcus pulled the earbuds free.

“Don't worry about Ron,” he told Blake. “The guy's spooked of that fridge. All of them are.”

“Is there a safety concern I should worry about?” Blake asked.

Demarcus shrugged. “Dunno. It works fine when I go in. The non-slip strip on the ramp could use replacing, but that's it.”

It made no sense. This morning had gone fine and no one had complained about the walk-in fridge during the breakfast shift. Blake considered Demarcus. The man never volunteered any information without being asked, first. So Blake asked if any of the employees had said anything about the fridge.

Again Demarcus shrugged. “They say all sorts of stuff, but I don't listen. I did hear one of them saying they'd heard a voice in the fridge, though.”

“A voice? What, like someone's hiding in there?”

“Didn't hear the rest. Just said someone in there spoke to him. I didn't hear nothing because I've always got my music on.” He held up an earbud as proof. Music wasn't technically allowed or even safe, not with people darting every which way carrying knives and boiling liquids and cleaning chemicals, but most people left the dishwashers alone. A place could run with a missing cook or two, but it shut down if the dishwasher wasn't happy.

Blake decided to investigate for himself. He slipped on a jacket and went into the refrigerator. The room smelled like old soap from the cleaning station, chilled wilted salad, and soggy cardboard. He hated the smell. Everything sat on wire shelving off of the floors, like the health codes demanded, but many employees left alone food that rolled under the shelves. Blake knew he needed to deep-clean the place, but he could never find time.

He listened, breathing shallowly, for a good thirty seconds. He could hear the muffled conversations and order calls from the restaurant and kitchen, but nothing from the fridge itself. I'm wasting my time, Blake thought. He turned to go and slipped on a roma tomato but managed to catch himself against the shelving. He'd make them all do mandatory training on food handling and workplace safety! He kicked the squashed tomato aside and grabbed the fridge door handle.

“Are you really going to leave that?” an old man's voice wheezed behind him.

Blake yelped and spun around. “How'd you get in here?” he demanded, but the fridge was still empty except himself. “Hello?” he called. “Hello! Who's in here?” From what he could see, nobody could hide in this small space. “Hello!”

The voice sighed. “You all throw your junk back here and I have to watch it, live it, hold it. All of your secrets. The thin girl stashes her Skyy behind the cream cheeses. The boy who squeaks watches YouTube when he should be sorting out the green beans. The dishwasher sits alone in the freezer just to get away from people when his memories threaten to overwhelm him. And you, Mr. Blake Haddon, the things I could whisper about you—”

Blake ran his fingers along the bottom of the shelving. He felt a short cord and followed it to a round device hidden behind a support strut. A wireless speaker. Blake's face darkened.

Suddenly the fridge door popped open behind him. Three workers clustered around the entrance, the gangly red-head and two women. All of them looked excited.

“We heard shouting,” said one of the women.

“Did you hear it, too?” asked the red-head. Demarcus had called him Ron.

Anger rose up in Blake's throat and his cheeks reddened. “I heard a prank,” he said. “Get your microphones out of the fridge. After this shift you're fired.” They had a made a fool of him. He shook the wireless speaker at them. “Did you do this all over the building? Did you wire the bathrooms? I swear, I'll call the cops on you if you planted anything in the customer areas!”

By now all three employees had drawn back from him. The smallest girl waved her hands. “No no no,” she kept repeating. Her eyes followed the speaker as Blake gestured with it. “We didn't plant anything. I don't even know what that is. We started a rumor, that's all!”

Blake stared at her. He let the fridge door close behind him. “What rumor?”

The girl looked at her coworkers. Ron shook his head no, but the girl looked too scared to stop herself. “We decided to pretend that the fridge was haunted,” she said. “Just for fun, to see if any of the new hires would believe us. We don't like going in there, and they're gullible, so we decided to pretend. But we never planted any bugs!”

Ron and the other girl reached up and tugged on the girl's shoulders. “Come on,” they said to her. They left, and miracle of miracles, they actually washed their hands at the wash station before pulling on preparation gloves and returning to work. They must actually want to keep their jobs.

Someone coughed beside him. Blake jumped, but Demarcus raised a hand in apology. He pointed at the little speaker in Blake's hand. “Um, that one's mine,” he admitted. “A cheap bluetooth speaker for my phone, when I go in to organize and clear out space for the week's shipment. It can't pick up any other sounds.”

Which didn't make any sense. “But I heard something. I did, Demarcus. What did I hear?”

Demarcus, again, shrugged. “Dunno. But it's best to ignore the old man. That's why I wear these.” He put one of his earbuds back in and went back to the sink.

Blake watched him go. It occurred to him that he'd never told Demarcus that he'd heard an old man's voice in the refrigerator.