A/N: I'm just reposting this straight from my Instagram, so you might have seen it already. 

"Sorry, but I'm not allowed to trade my soul or firstborn child. It's company policy."

The demonic-looking girl raises an eyebrow. "Okay, okay, chill! I was just wondering if you knew where the toilet rolls were?"

"I - um -" I balance the jar of newts' eyes on top of the stack. "They're down aisle seven point four. I'll show you."

Abandoning the pickled newts' eyes, which stare at me reproachfully, I lead the way to the toiletries section. "I didn't know demons were panic-buying, too."

She laughs. "Kind of. This is for one of my clients. They wished for an unlimited supply of toilet paper."

"So, let me get this straight." I gesture to the shelf holding toilet rolls. "Someone summoned a demon... for loo rolls? Things must be getting really bad."

"Yeah. I mean, if it was Nutella, I would understand, but..." She shrugs, piling toilet paper into her trolley.

"Absolutely! Nutella's the best. Since it's an order for an unlimited supply, would you like to order monthly, or...?"

"I thought I'd set up a portal. That okay with you?"

"Portal delivery costs two dollars or one sacrifice a package," I inform her, "unless your total order is worth twenty dollars or more."

"Cool." She snaps her fingers, and a note appears in her hand, which she hands to me.

I begin drawing the necessary sigil in whiteboard marker on the shelf. It's all automated nowadays; order comes in, toilet paper goes out, money is deducted from account (or, if you're paying the old-fashioned way, life is deducted from chicken). "So," I ask, "how is it that you can make money appear, but not loo paper?"

Her smile is wicked and bright as a flame, lingering for a moment before it vanishes. "Oh, I can't make money appear from nowhere." She catches my glare. "Don't worry! I only take from people who won't even notice it. Besides, I'm a demon. Evil is kind of in the job description."

"Hmph." I turn on my heel and walk back to aisle three and two thirds, Potions and Hair Care, to resume slamming jars of newts' eyes onto the shelf harder than strictly necessary. 

My day does not improve from there.

"This enchanted sword doesn't have a price tag! How am I supposed to pay for it?"

I sigh, and inform her for the third time, "I'm sorry, ma'am, that sword isn't for sale."

The gorgon glares at me from behind her designer sunglasses. One snake escapes from her elaborate hairdo, hissing in my face. "Don't you give me lip, young man. Where is the price tag?"

"It isn't for sale. It's part of our Cursed Weapons display."

"Rubbish! You're just trying to rob me! How much is the damn sword?"

"Ma'am, I assure you, that item is not for sale."

Her fingers drift towards her sunglasses. "How dare you deceive me? I want to speak to your manager!"

"Hermes is out at the moment. If you'd like to call him-"

"Are you sassing me?," she hissed. "I could just take off my glasses right now, you know, and-"

"It's not for sale."

The new voice belongs to the demon girl from earlier. She leaves her trolley, piled high with toilet rolls, and saunters towards us. "Stop threatening him."

"He was refusing to let me buy this item!," the gorgon snaps. "Keep your nose out of other people's business, or it just might turn to stone."

The girl smiles serenely. "Go ahead."

She waves a hand, and the sword bursts into flames. It clatters to the floor. The gorgon yelps and snaps her glare towards the demon girl, who rushes over, looking concerned. 

"Oh no! Are you okay?" She picks up the sword. "Dear me. That's what happens when we hold cursed items without reading the warning label. I think you should hurry off and run that under cold water, then maybe get yourself a coffee."

She gestures pointedly towards the revolving doors and optional exit pentagram. The gorgon splutters, but can hardly complain, since the sword's label does in fact contain the words 'WARNING: Extremely Cursed' in bold scarlet letters. Her eventual retreat likely has less to do with coffee and more to do with the expression on the demon girl's face, and the sword in her hand.

"Oh. Er. Thanks, I guess," I say. "You know, you're not really allowed to threaten customers either..."

She pushes her trolley into the pentagram and flips her ponytail. "How many times must I tell you? Evil is kind of in my job description."

The pentagram flares up, and she disappears.

I pick up the sword and return it to the weapons display, because what else can I do?

Something crashes down in aisle √2. I jump, dropping the sword, and run to the aisle.

The entire Nutella display has tumbled to the floor. Miraculously, none have shattered. I curse under my breath, but when I pick one up, the label catches my eye.

Instead of the word 'Nutella', the label is dominated by a phone number: (666) 032 4457.

Where it should say 'Hazelnut Spread with Cocoa," the label reads: 'call me?' The Ingredients section on the back says, 'We could hang out, eat Nutella and complain about clients and customers. What say you?'

Every jar is the same.

I get out my phone and type in the number. As I press Save to Contacts, reality seems to flicker, and the jars are back on their shelf.

I smile.

A/N: Reposting this from my Instagram because it's my favourite of all the short stories I've written to date! I hope you guys enjoyed it too, and let me know if you'd like to see more short stories set in the Supernatural Supermarket (or just a few canon facts about it!).