I started working nightshift at the local gas station, but something strange has been happening

I guess you can say I'm somewhat of a failure. At least a failure in the 21st century millennial's mind. That is, I never went to college, only have a high school diploma, and am pregnant now at the age of 20.
I'm not really ashamed to say that the pregnancy was from stupid planning, and the "I'm sure it will be fine," when me and my boyfriend decided to have unprotected sex in the back of his pickup truck before a movie. But, there's really nothing I can do now, as an abortion is out of the question. I'm actually kind of looking forward to it -- being a parent.
During my senior year of high school is when I started picking up shifts at the QuickStops on the weekends. Our town is small, so the store is only open until 2am, rather than 24/7. But it was only after I graduated that they brought me on full time. Realizing I probably wouldn't have many other options, as I was well below the poverty line and my drunk parents wouldn't bother helping out with anything financially to further my education, I decided to accept.
It wasn't long before they decided to promote me to a manager, as I was the only reliable employee. It really wasn't hard -- the mopping, having to ID people who bought cigs or alcohol, and kicking the occasional drunk ******* out.
Before I get into telling you about what happened, let me preface by saying that I don't scare very easily. In the two years I've worked here, I had been robbed at gunpoint twice and hardly batted an eye.
"Pull the ****ing trigger," I said to one of them at the mere age of eighteen.
The man, bright and jittery, high on some substances I couldn't afford, gave me a sideways look. Like maybe what I had just said was part of his hallucination. But, in the end, he walked out with a couple of candy bars and a pack of beer.
But last night I closed by myself for the first time, and something odd happened.
It started when I sent my last worker home -- Carly. She reminded me a lot of me when I was in high school, and it sadden me. So I never kept around to the wee hours of the night. When she left, we had the occasional customer, but nothing substantial. And at about 1am, we were dead.
The door chimed, and I look to see Finch, my boyfriend, walk in. His shirt was dirty and jeans looked like they had seen better days. He often helped out on his family's farm, and he came over around the counter and gave me a kiss, rubbing my stomach and remarking, "How are my two girls?"
I laughed, "I'm about to start closing up, so I'll meet you back at home in --" He stopped my words with another kiss, and I could feel the length of his **** through his pants as he pressed against me. I know he wanted to go to the bathroom -- be dirty and have a quick ****. But that was not happening, especially when I had just gotten promoted.
I pushed him away. "When we get home, okay?"
He looked slightly hurt, but he knew I was trying to turn over a new leaf, trying to be a new me and make the right decisions. And with that, he nodded, "You called me," and left. I let out a breath as he closed the door behind him, the taste of him still on my lips and slightly confused at what he had said.
The only reason I even bothered to tell you about all of that nonsense, was because things started getting weird the moment he left.
A man came in -- blue beanie, red sneakers. I looked out at the pump and saw he hadn't pumped any gas or even came in a car, so I was on alert. But everything went smoothly, he bought a Snickers with exact change and left.
It was 1:30 now, and I was about to start stock on our beer, when I heard the door beep and saw the man walk in again. Thinking he forgot something, I went on to my business of counting the alcohol we had sold for the day until I saw him back up at the counter -- his blue beanie highlighting the deep blue in his eyes. He was pale like the moon, and his gaze never shifted from mine as I walked and saw that he had exactly what he purchased before on the counter -- a Snickers bar.
"Want one for your girlfriend, too?" I said, competently out of any good jokes for the night.
The man laughed, "Nah. One'll do."
I thought his comment was odd, considering he had just bought one a few minutes ago, but I didn't say anything as I scanned the item, he handed over exact change, and left.
But I hadn't even closed the ****ing cash drawer when I heard the door open again and that same man walked in. Went to the candy isle and brought a Snickers bar to the counter. His dopey eyes just looked up at me, smiling. I said nothing.
After a moment of us standing there, the man shifted on his feet, rubbing the little bit of stubble that had started to grow on his face. "That -- uh -- that'll be it."
"Are you trying to **** with me?" The words left my mouth before I could really consider that I was talking to a customer.
The man merely looked at me, turned behind him like I might have been talking to someone else, and then turned back to me. "Uhm, no?" he said.
I shook my head, letting out a long breath and closing the drawer. "Sorry. I . . . yeah, sorry," I said, scanning the bar, getting the exact change I was expecting, and watching the man walk out the door again.
That time, I waited. Waited to see if I was actually crazy -- waited to see if the man would walk in for a fourth time. After a few minutes of silence, I decided to blame it on the baby hormones. But . . .
But there was just something inside of me that wanted a more solid answer than that.
I hadn't sold a Snickers bar all night, so if this man was ****ing with me, there'd be three missing from the shelf. I walked over, clipboard in hand from the last shift's count of stock. According to 2nd shift, we should have had seven. So, if he had come in three times and bought three bars then there should be . . .
The clipboard fell from my hands as I approached the display.
Six.
There were only six.
I shook my head, running my fingers through my hair and picking up my phone to take a picture, like that would be some sort of mediocre proof that I wasn't going ****ing insane. Then I dialed Finch.
"Babe?" he answered.
"Hey."
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
"Um, yeah. Could you, uh . . . could you maybe come over while I close down?"
I could hear him huff a breath of worry, "Do I need to call the police, or -- "
"No, no," I said laughing, still standing in the middle of the store. "I'm just being paranoid, is all. I'd just feel a lot better if you were here."
"Already on my way," he said, before hanging up.
I picked up my clipboard and walked over to the counter, pulling out my phone so I could write this for all of you. So I know I'm not ****ing crazy and I don't forget a single thing when he comes.
The door chimed, and I look to see Finch, my boyfriend, walk in. His shirt was dirty and jeans looked like they had seen better days. He often helped out on his family's farm, and he came over around the counter and gave me a kiss, rubbing my stomach and remarking, "How are my two girls?"
I laughed, "I'm about to start closing up, so I'll meet you back at home in --" He stopped my words with a kiss.


Source.