#pinecrestsquare

So there I am, minding my own business, eating the sandwich I packed for lunch, watching the security cameras, when I see a scuffle break out at a kiosk between Lush and the sneaker store.

I got up from my desk and slogged down to the kiosk. It’s all the way the other side of the mall, of course. Halfway between Starbucks and the east entrance. What can I say? I need this job.

I shuffle down to the kiosk. It sells bee stuff - candles and soap, that kind of thing. I hate this part of the mall. It reeks of Cinnabon. I find the employee glaring at a little old lady. The employee starts loudly explaining how this little old lady was trying to steal propolis (whatever that was), and the little old lady claimed she was a time traveler who needed “tinctures” (whatever those are) so she could save the world.

The whole time, the little old lady was standing there with her jaw set and her fists full of those little brown glass bottles with the squeeze bulb on top. Tinctures, I guess. Bee stuff. I don’t know. She wasn’t trying to get away, but she also wasn’t about to drop her loot.

When Karen finally ran out of steam, I turned to the little old lady. “Hey, lady, why don’t you come with me down to the office, and we can sort this out. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, right?”

I had at least a foot and a half on her, but she squared her shoulders and glared up at me like a prize fighter. Having grown up with a healthy respect for my nana, my instinct was to take a step back. Luckily, my 25 years of career military and professional training kicked in, and I held my ground.

“My name is Evelyn Burroughs. You may address me as Mrs. Burroughs.”

“Fair enough, Mrs. Burroughs. Please put the bottles down and follow me.”

She launched into this whole cockamamie story about how she was a time traveler from the future, and they had a critical need for propolis, and she would be snapping back into the future in 32 minutes, thank you very much young man.

I knew better than to contradict her. “Okay, Mrs. Burroughs,” I rested my hands on my utility belt. “But we’re causing a disturbance having this conversation out here in the middle of the mall. How about if you come with me, we sit in my office and have a chat, and your spaceship can pick you up there.”

My feet were killing me, and I’m sure hers were, too. The mall’s terrazzo floor is murder on these old joints. I could tell my appeal to her sense of dignity hit home, too. She glanced around and seemed to realize for the first time that she was causing quite a scene.

I told Karen I would return her bottles of bee stuff later. Karen wanted me to grab them out of the old lady’s hands, but we both knew I’m not allowed to touch people as part of my job, and the little old lady wasn’t about to let go of the goods.

I walked Mrs. Burroughs all the way back to the security office. She was acting like a real tourist the whole time, saying things like “Oh my!” or “Would you look at that?” Like she’d never been in a mall before. I figured she was just trying to sell the bit. Working it a little too hard, if you asked me, but at least she wasn’t making more trouble.

Once I closed the door behind us, she had a proposition for me. “I’ll leave right now if you come with me,” she said. “Here, hold my hand.”

I sighed. If this is what she needed to get this over with, then fine. I took her hand. She smiled. I felt a sliding sensation like the whole world tipped hard to the left and went dark. When I opened my eyes, I was in the future.

You’re not going to believe me, but that doesn’t change it. I was definitely in the future. It smelled better, for one thing. I was in the same office, but I was sitting in a new chair I didn’t recognize. The lighting looked amazing, like we were outside on a sunny afternoon. The ancient coffee maker on the counter had been replaced by a big sleek stainless steel appliance with a bunch of buttons. Some squat little thing on my desk whirred like a fan. Maybe it was some kind of high-tech air purifier. Maybe that’s why the room smelled so much better.

Mrs. Burroughs grinned as she watched me goggling around just like she had on our walk back. Then she stood up, tucked all the little bottles into her pockets, and held out a ticket. When I took it, she tapped me on the wrist. When she did that, I felt that sliding feeling again, and then I was back in my office, holding a used lottery ticket dated two years from now. The ticket was a loser, but someone had written the winning numbers on the back in tidy, fancy old lady handwriting.

Like I said, I’m sure you don’t believe me, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen the future. It smells nice. There’s a little old lady who really needs bee stuff, but I don’t know why. And when I win the lottery in 19 months, maybe you’ll change your mind.

I never did figure out who summoned the demon to the food court, much less why or how. I guess it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I was in the middle of my lunch break when I spotted trouble on the security cameras. Looked like a drunk and disorderly, just what I need.

I put down my stale turkey sandwich and head to the food court. It’s a mess there. I mean, even more than usual. Tables and chairs knocked all over, people screaming and pointing, food spilled everywhere, and right in the middle of it, a terrifying demonic shape, so black it seemed to suck all the light in towards it.

It’s a demon that has possessed a middle-aged white lady with a short blonde haircut wearing a puffer vest over a white shirt, Lululemon pants, and spotless white sneakers. This is so much worse than I thought. It’s a Karen demon. Or a demon that possessed a Karen. At this point, I can’t really tell.

There’s a lot I could theoretically do in this situation, but they don’t give me a lot to work with. My 25 years of hard-earned military experience isn’t much good when I’m not allowed to touch anyone or use anything more than a cell phone. And that only to call the cops. You’re not allowed to beat people with your cell phone in this job. I asked.

Regardless, we have a situation here, and it’s my job to resolve it. First and foremost, the demon is gesturing wildly with the glass in its hand. Judging by the smell and the chunks of fruit floating in the red liquid, I’m guessing it’s sangria. Where it got sangria in the mall, I don’t know, but open containers are clearly prohibited by mall policy.

This isn’t to say people don’t wander around the mall getting drunk as hell. They do, and I leave them to it, as long as they keep it to themselves and don’t make trouble. You think all those stroller-pushing moms are sipping water out of their trendy Owala flasks? Hah!

The first thing I should do is call the cops, because they’re supposed to handle the drunk and disorderly cases. But the amount of hassle it is to have the cops come out here just isn’t worth it. Not if I can get the demon to leave quietly. Which doesn’t seem likely, but my half-eaten turkey sandwich isn’t getting any fresher, so I’m willing to give it a shot.

I step up to the demon and say “stop,” real normal, like I was about to tell it that its shoe is untied. The demon went silent, turned to look at me, and cocked its head in confusion. Great, I got its attention. Now to press my advantage. “You can’t have an open container of alcohol in here,” I told it. “I can have you arrested right now. Put the drink down and leave these premises.”

For a few seconds, it looked like the demon was going to follow my orders. Then it shook its head, screeched, and threw the glass directly at my head.

I dropped and took shelter behind a table. Glass crashed against the table, slopping sweet, fruity liquid everywhere. The demon went back to screaming and kicking furniture around. I pulled out my cell phone and, real quick, googled “how to get rid of a demon.” I skimmed the instructions, crossed my fingers that the AI response was correct and not hallucinating a bunch of garbage that was going to get me trapped in Hell for eternity, then stood up. “I renounce your connection to the devil and repent for doors opened to demonic influence,” I said, as loudly and firmly as I could. The demon pointed at me and snort-laughed. It had a point. It sounded dumb to me, too. I put the phone back in my pocket and decided to wing it.

“In the name of the manager, I rebuke thee!” I held my hands out dramatically. The demon shrieked. I had hit a nerve. I squared up and took another step towards it. “In the name of the manager, and the assistant manager, and the shift lead! I command you to leave these premises immediately!” The possessed woman fell to her knees. The black cloud of the demon started swirling around her, agitated, like angry bees. Time to take out the big guns. “In the name of the Regional Manager, I rebuke and break any curses, hexes, or demonic activity sent here to Pinecrest Square!”

That did the trick. The black cloud swirled out of the woman and came directly at me. It got right up in my face. A buzzing voice made of flies and broken glass said, “We will leave, but this is only temporary. We have your name, Vince. We know you.” This felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on my head. Then it swirled up and through the central glass skylight and off into the world.

Applause. I had forgotten about all the people. I looked around, feeling a little dazed, and waved my hand. “Nothing to see here,” I said, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Some people were trying to help Karen to her feet, but she kept waving them off. I asked if she wanted me to call an ambulance, and she refused. Threatened to tell my manager about my “insolence.” Whatever, lady. By this point, I only had 10 minutes left in my lunch break, so I left her alone like she wanted and went back to the office to finish my sandwich.