"Smiles Cost Extra" copyright 2008 by Dave Van Domelen based on properties owned by Privateer Press used without permission, but hopefully with forebearance =========================================================================== Down the road from the Millstone River School in Plainsboro sat the Run N' Go convenience store. Before it had joined the regional chain, it had been the Grover's Mill Gas Stop, although it didn't sell gas anymore and hadn't since the eighties. Heck, it'd been called the Gas Stop for five years after the tanks had been yanked up out of the ground and the holes filled in. The joke was that the name still worked, given the convenience store quality food they sold. And "Run N' Go" worked even better for that joke. Behind the counter sat Old Man Hopkins, who had been there as long as the store had been, at least as far as anyone could remember. A grumpy old man, he'd been grumpy forever, and probably old forever too. The sort of guy who probably popped out of his mother's womb shouting at those damned kids to get off his lawn. Still, grumpy or not, Hopkins ran a decent shop. Prices were a lot lower than you'd expect for a convenience store, cheap enough to stand up to competition that came and went over the years from supermarkets and big box stores. They offered service with a smile, but Hopkins would often say he kept prices low because he didn't smile. "Smiles cost extra," he'd reply when anyone suggested he lighten up. If anyone asked how much extra, he'd just shake his head and reply in his rural Massachussetts accent, "You can't afford it." The door burst open, its attached bell thudding dully thanks to the wad of paper towel that Old Man Hopkins had stuffed into it some time during the Clinton Administration. Two fifth-graders from the Millstone River School burst in like the devil himself was on their heels. Or at least a truant officer. "Can't you kids read the sign?" Hopkins snarled. "No unaccompanied minors during school hours!" He had a part time helper who came in after school solely for the purpose of wrangling children, and he clearly resented having to deal with a couple of kids playing hooky. "Y'gotta run, Mister Hopkins!" one of the kids gasped. "Martians are invading!" Hopkins didn't even bother to roll his eyes. When you lived in Grover's Mill, invading Martians were a particularly old running joke. It seemed like every ten-year-old kid who read a history book thought he was the first to get the idea to run around telling people Martians were invading, ever since that damned radio drama. "Get out before I have to waste my time calling the truant officer," Hopkins sighed, waving the two towards the door. He was almost impressed, though. Their faces bore the mark of true fear, they'd make good actors someday if they wanted to pursue that worthless career. The two paused for a moment, then one sneered with false bravado and led his companion back out the door at a run. Maybe a minute later, a young man who Hopkins recognized as a teacher at the Montessori school down the street from Millstone burst in. "Mister Hopkins, you need to get to the shelters! Martians are invading!" He didn't wait for a response, though, dashing off as soon as he'd delivered his warning. "Strange," Hopkins mused, scratching his nearly bare scalp. "Y'd think I'd've heard of an organized prank like that. I wonder what's going on?" He pulled out his keys and walked slowly to the front door. Now he could see people running past in a panic, and his frown deepened. He reached over and tapped the security pad next to the door to activate the alarms, not that he expected them to do much good if people were rioting for some damnfool reason. Then he stepped outside, locked the door and looked to the skies. Hopkins snorted. "Idiots. That's no Martian invasion," he commented, as he observed the swarm of squamous, leathery-winged THINGS that rose and dipped and sometimes came up with a screaming human in their tentacles. "Anyone with half a brain could tell ya those ain't Martians. They're servants of my dread lord Cthugrosh!" And then he smiled. Someone had finally paid extra. And now *everyone* would pay extra. ============================================================================= Author's Notes: My original idea for this story actually involved Martians invading, with the crotchety convenience store owner getting abducted at the end. But I like to put bigger twists on my vignettes, and the idea that the guy was a secret Cthultist appealed to me. :) Grover's Mill, New Jersey, is the location where the Mercury Theater's production of War of the Worlds had the Martians land. It's not an incorporated town, instead split up among several surrounding townships.