He knew he could just break through the glass and escape with the unpleasant noise of an alarm accompanying him into the night. It seemed funny, even to him, that he was trying to open the automatic double doors even though, secretly, he didn't want to. After one more attempt of standing on the black pad, he gratefully gave up. "Well, that's it."

He was stuck in a supermarket for the night.

Wasn't it kind of fun, though? He got to look at all the things in the store without any white noise, without any other people getting in his way. Just complete silence. And darkness. He did wish it was a little brighter.

"This is so cool," he muttered, forgetting to mention the other emotion – fear. And there was silence again.

Okay, he was hungry now. Some male urge to get that obesity-contributing, oh-so-satisfying midnight snack. He had actually read a study years back showing (and apparently even "Proving") that 80% of the men who eat in the middle of the night are type B. He laughed at that study. For about 3 seconds. That didn't matter now, though; the food was calling. All of it.

"Eat."

"EEEEEAAAAATTTTT! COME ON, MAN; WHAT THE H-"

He shook himself. Watch it; you don't want to make a scene by knocking things over, he thought as he almost ran into something. He then paused. It was not to look at what he had nearly disturbed, but to contemplate his own thinking. His wife hated him for this.

The first thing he realized was, he couldn't really make a scene by upsetting a rack here and now. There was no one to embarrass himself in front of. Another fact he came upon in his mind was that he had already spoken to himself many times while locked in this building. Those were noises. What difference would they have from the noise of a clatter or clang, minus a few decibels? The store had cameras anyway; even in low light, they could most likely tape the minor incident with perfect lucidity.

Well then, what would it matter?

Kick.

CLA–N–G! It reverberated through the admittedly hollow place. The man laughed at the hilarity of it all. Now, finally, he could pay some of his mind to what he had knocked over.

Donuts. He saw donuts. A lot of them. Strewn across the floor, just begging to be munched up.

OHMYHOLYSONOFAMOTHER – IT WAS FOOD! He got to his knees in exultation, grabbing X amount of those perfect baked rings of delight and throwing – no, chugging; no – well, he was eating them quickly. And then he stopped. Very suddenly.

It was because of a shadow. Yes, he knew shadows were an undeniable consequence of night, but this one was different. Large. Disturbing. Bandit-like; he had no idea why that thought occurred to him.

Oh, and he was also kneeling right in the center of it.

He slowly got up, first things first. And then he slowly turned towards the caster of that shadow, knowing it was living. And then he slowly adjusted his eyes to the figure. And then he very hastily took two steps back, slipped on a sprinkled donut, and crashed on his tailbone.

The figure, who, unabashedly, was a werewolf, howled; certainly a complete disregard for the silence night deserved. He then bent down to glare at the man devilishly. "Hey, bruvver," he spoke, smiling. Extremely British. "You like breakdancing?"

"I, I'm incredibly, astonishingly good at it," the man replied with wide eyes, too stunned to stutter or be humble.

"That's what I like hearing," the creature responded. He then tilted his head upwards and spoke as if he were addressing the ceiling. Or maybe everywhere. "Hey Joe, put the dank music on!"

"You got it, boss," a slimy tone replied over the store's loudspeakers. Just a moment later, to the man's continued bewilderment, "Cosmic Sans" by Cory Wong started blaring loudly.

"Now you're in for a treat, bruvver," the wolf growled. "You ready?"

The man got up, his fin still bruised. "Well, let's give it a go."

It was morning. The store's doors opened now, and in walked the single early costumer, who promptly ran into the werewolf. She tensed, then relaxed. "You're still wearing a costume, man? Nice. It looks sick."

"Hey, I mean, if you're working the night shift on Halloween night, why not do it in style?" the British creature pleasantly snarled. The costumer then walked into the store. The werewolf clomped out into the parking lot.

He hadn't, obviously, mentioned to the lady that the rest of the night shift had actually tasted pretty good. So had the breakdancing man, too.

Boy, could that guy dance!

THE END.