The Harvester

You were dead tired from your shift, craving sleep, though nodding off in a place like this was a nightmare in itself. Finally, your hours were winding down. You knew that by this time, the crowd of "people"—or more accurately, demons and creatures—usually thinned out. You slipped into the back room to restock the most popular item, the one running lowest on the shelves: toilet paper. Grabbing a huge armful of rolls, you hurried back to the main area of this hell-hole of a kiosk, only to drop the entire load. There he was, right in front of you—the face from the poster. The banned customer stood there, making a quiet, otherworldly clicking sound that echoed straight from his throat. A split second passed, and he started throwing his face and pitch-black paws against your window glass.