My First Day On The Job At A Substation In Texas Was Nothing Short Of Terrifying

I made my walk with a brisk pace. I jotted down each number as fast as I could and went to the next. It was cold on the Walk, but not freezing. There was no fog, no lights shutting off, and thank Christ, no tall white figures. I finished my route with nothing freaky or out of the ordinary. As I rode the shaky little metal box back up to the somewhat larger concrete box, I felt a little nervous. Like I was waiting for the other boot to drop. But thankfully, my ride was long yet uneventful. I made it back to the top and slumped down in the old office chair with a slight sigh of relief.

Nearly another hour passed, and there was nothing creepy to report. I started feeling pretty hungry, and the bag of Cheetos in my truck didn’t seem like much of a meal. I wheeled over a few feet on my chair to the phone beside the control panel. Under one corner of the old, plastic brick of a phone was a 20 dollar bill folded up. I grabbed the $20 and picked up the phone, pressing the sticky buttons to call the pizza place from the short directory list.

“Never Sleepy Pizza,” I mumbled to myself as I read the name and dialed the number.

The phone rang five times. I was about to chalk them up as “Closed” when someone finally picked up. I could hear David Lee Roth squealing about something in the background. A voice came on, and I could tell from his cracking voice he was pretty young.

“Never Sleepy Pizza, where it’s never too late to get some ‘za, how can I help you?” the kid rambled out quickly, like he had a million times before and was too bored to give a shit anymore.

“Yeah, I’d like to make an order for delivery. Not sure if you’ll come out this far, though,” I said, feeling a little skeptical.

“Oh, wait. Are you calling from that electrical station way the hell out there?” the kid asked, some personality in his voice now.

I chuckled as I answered, “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Oh yeah, dude, no problem. The name’s Ricky, whatcha’ want?” he asked with an upbeat tone and his “surfer dude” voice.

I placed an order for a large with bacon and olives and Ricky said he’d be there in about 40 minutes. Thirty-six minutes later, I saw a tiny cloud of dust begin to take shape off in the distance on one of the tiny tube screens. I headed out to the front and waited for him at the door. He pulled up in a tiny old Honda hatchback. I was a little surprised it had made it all the way up the dirt and rocky road to the concrete box. But judging by the dirt and dents on his ride, I assumed he’d been down plenty of bumpy, desert roads.

Ricky stepped out of the car, and he was about what I was expecting after the brief conversation over the phone. He was probably no older than 20 with long, dirty blonde hair in a ponytail and a scruffy goatee. He grabbed his pizza delivery bag and straightened his uniform cap. He began to saunter my way as he caught sight of me, smiled wide and waved. I laughed a little under my breath and waved him over.

Ricky stepped inside and I showed him to the break room. He placed the pizza down, and I handed him the 20 and told him to keep the change.

“Thanks, bro,” he said with an earnest smile. The pizza was only 10 bucks, so I figured a 100% tip wasn’t bad, even for the long drive I’m sure he made. Ricky stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets and his dull stare scanning around the room.

“So dude, just you here all night, huh?” Ricky asked, wandering over to Shirley on the calendar and leaning in for a good look.

“Yeah. You ever deliver out here before?” I asked in return, figuring that’s the only reason he knew of the place.

“For sure, man. It’s been a couple weeks, but the last dude who worked here ordered a few times. Seemed like a cool guy, but he totally hated this job. How do you like it so far?” Ricky asked as he took a seat on the edge of the table.

“It’s a little weird — you don’t have anywhere to be, Rick?” I changed gears for just a moment, feeling a little bemused.

“Nah, man. I never get orders this late. Besides, they’ll page me if I do,” Ricky said as he tapped the beeper on his belt. I laughed when I saw it. I thought it suited the kid, somehow.

“Nice, dude. Well, you’re welcome to chill out here, I guess,” I chuckled and shrugged. Walter never mentioned whether or not we could have company, and after all, the creepy shit I’ve put up with on my own, the idea of another soul around sounded pretty good.

“Awesome, man. I’d be bored as hell back at the restaurant. Hey, you, uh…” Ricky said as he pressed his forefinger and thumb together, pulling his hand up to his pursed lips. The universal sign for smoking a joint. Ricky was becoming quite the good company, indeed.

“As often as I can,” I answered.

Rick and I headed out to his hatchback and he pulled out the fattest, longest joint I had ever seen. We sat on his hood and watched the tiny patches of purple clouds slowly crawl across the sky. The joint burned slow and went down easy. Whatever Ricky had, it was damn good. By the third hit, I was already feeling it.

“So man, what do you even do out here? The last guy I delivered to was pretty sketchy. Didn’t say a lot about this place and just kind of ran me off,” Ricky said as he took a long drag and passed it to me, holding his breath.

“Doesn’t surprise me. This place is nine kinds of off. I basically check numbers and make sure the juice keeps pumping,” I responded through a thick haze of smoke that drifted out of my mouth and nose.

“You guys make juice here? I thought it had to do with electricity and shit, judging from all that humming stuff behind the building,” Ricky said in earnest.

I turned and stared at him for a moment, the joint still in my hand hovering between us. I wasn’t sure if he was screwing with me or not, and when I realized he wasn’t, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, Ricky…it’s an electrical…here, let’s just finish this and I’ll show you,” I finally settled with as I took another deep drag.

We finished the joint, switching to music as our topic of conversation. I couldn’t help but call him out on the Van Halen I’d heard over the phone earlier. He got a little red and said that the radio was just on that station. I didn’t believe him for a second, but I let him slide for the most part. I did however educate him on what he should be listening to. I listed off everything from Soundgarden to The Who (insisting on playing all of it from my Chevy’s stereo), and he seemed receptive. Once the joint was gone, we headed back inside and I showed Ricky to the control room. I was starting to assume Walter would not be cool with this, but I didn’t really give a damn. From what I’d gathered, he wasn’t in charge of firing me. And apparently, the “higher-ups” wanted me to stay, so in my opinion, Walter could eat shit.

“This is it, man. This little concrete box, a whole big empty desert, and that long empty tunnel,” I said as I pointed at the rows of glowing tubes.

“Far out. You gotta’ go down there?” Ricky asked as he caught a bit of air in his throat.

“Twice a night. And it’s weird down there. I’m not claustrophobic or easily spooked, but when I go down there…” I trailed off. Ricky must’ve noticed my eerie tone, because he turned to me with a gloomy expression.

“Like ghosts, or spirits, or something?” he asked me, his silly and worried face glowing blue from the hue of the wall of tiny monitors.

“Or something… I tell ya’ Rick, I don’t really put much stock into supernatural or the like. But something’s not right here, and it doesn’t take a psychic to figure that out,” I said, staring at the TVs and talking more to myself then to Ricky.

“Dude… can I go down there with you?” Ricky asked, a stupid grin gradually beginning to take up his whole face.

“No… I don’t think that’s such a hot idea,” I said, glancing at the red, digital clock. It was already 12:38AM. I got another idea, though. One that I’d mulled over the night before. “Tell ya’ what though… feel like watching some movies?”

Ricky and I headed back outside. The temperature had dropped quite a few degrees, and a thin layer of fog was beginning to roll across the desert floor like a shag carpet made of cold mist. I immediately was put on edge. I had a feeling that I’d never feel fine around fog again, which was a shame, because I used to love the fog. I made my way through the gate and to the back of the fenced off area. I opened up the storage shed and spent just a minute looking through boxes. One box of VHS tapes seemed to span a large gap of time, so I elected to grab that one and head back.

As I was heading back around the building, Ricky was standing a few feet from the open driver side door of his beat up hatchback. He was lighting another joint and waving me over with a smile. I laughed a little and put the box down on the ground, watching the thin layer of mist curl and crawl away from the edges of the box. I jogged up to Ricky to join him.