My coworker is a ghost I work at an auto parts store in…
0 reactions
My coworker is a ghost
I work at an auto parts store in Buenos Aires. My job is stock clerk. I’m in charge of dealing with the suppliers who deliver the parts, checking the merchandise to make sure everything has arrived and is in good condition, and then putting the products away. Sometimes, though, the people who work at the counter call me over to get things for them—something they could easily do themselves, but since I’m already here, why bother, right?
One afternoon, one of my coworkers asked me if I could go get a hose from the warehouse. The warehouse has always been a very uncomfortable place to be alone. It used to be another auto parts store that closed a long time ago. Over the years, the former owner of the store where I now work bought it to expand his business, giving him more space to store more auto parts. There are hoses, pipes, brake discs, fenders, doors, hoods, and more things than I could ever finish listing. But what is worth mentioning is that, no matter the season, the place is always cold, dark, and incredibly quiet. You could hear a pin drop from the far end of the warehouse if you listened closely.
I went to the warehouse to look for the hose and spent at least fifteen minutes searching for the damn thing. Unfortunately, finding spare parts with the positional system in this place has always been like solving puzzles. You have to rely not only on one pattern of numbers, since each brand or part uses different systems for each one, because the entire store is too big to rely on just one system. Unless you’ve been working here for years, it’s very difficult for newcomers like me. I was getting really frustrated because, while I was looking for that part, my boss called me with an order for a client. Out of sheer frustration, I whispered out loud, “Where the hell is that damn hose?”
That’s when I heard something fall to the floor about five meters away. The sound must have come from something made of hollow rubber. I cautiously approached the noise, and—probably not to the surprise of readers already familiar with the clichés of these stories, but surprising to me at the time—I saw that it was the hose I was looking for. I checked the code, and it matched. Far from feeling scared, I simply sighed with relief, knowing I could go back to work as usual.
Before finishing my shift, I chatted with Osvaldo, an employee who’s been working at the business since it practically opened. He simply refuses to retire; for him, the auto parts store is like his second home. I told him what had happened to me a few hours earlier in the warehouse, and that’s when he let out a small sigh—more like a soft laugh. “Ha! It must have been Pedro.”
“Pedro? Who’s Pedro?” I asked, knowing there wasn’t an employee named Pedro.
Osvaldo smiled. “Pedro was an employee at the old auto parts store next door. He was about my age back then, but one day he had a terrible accident. He was putting some brake discs on a shelf when the ladder he was standing on broke. He apparently grabbed onto the shelf, which caused him to fall backward, and all the brake discs fell on top of him. One of them hit him hard in the frontal lobe and killed him. It’s not the first time he’s appeared; it’s happened to others like you.”
I thought the guy was messing with me. It was typical—scaring the new guy in the group for fun. But over time, I started having more strange experiences in the warehouse. For example, once, while putting away boxes of coolant, I thought I heard the short whisper of a deep voice. Then another day, I thought I saw a figure next to me in the reflection of an old windowpane. But the worst thing happened recently, and it’s the reason I’m posting this story.
I was putting brake discs away on a shelf in the warehouse. I only had one left to put away, and it was too high, so I got a ladder and started climbing. That’s when I heard small knocks on the other side of the shelf, like someone was knocking on a door. I tried looking through the gaps in the shelf to see if anyone was there, but I didn’t see anything. I asked in a low voice, “Osvaldo, is that you?” but there was no answer. I wanted to go out and check what was behind the shelf, but a feeling in my stomach told me I’d regret it. I climbed down, left the brake disc on the floor, and went to the door without looking back. Just as I was about to close the door, I heard the sound of several heavy objects crashing to the floor. I opened the warehouse door again, and what I saw made my skin crawl. The brake disc shelf was destroyed, and the heavy spare parts were scattered across the floor.
Many of you are probably wondering, "Why does the story start in the present tense? Shouldn't he have quit that very day?" Well, first, the economic situation in this country is never stable enough for someone to just say, "Yeah! I'll just find another job." Not being able to make ends meet is far scarier than any paranormal situation. Second, after thinking about it for a while, I don't believe Pedro intended to kill me, as my story might suggest. Why would a ghost help me find a hose one day and then try to crush my head with a shower of brake discs the next? I like to think he saved my life from meeting the same fate as him by giving me that gut feeling, so whenever I go to the warehouse alone to get something, before returning to do anything else, I look back at that old place and say "Thanks, Pedro."
#entertainment
source
I work at an auto parts store in Buenos Aires. My job is stock clerk. I’m in charge of dealing with the suppliers who deliver the parts, checking the merchandise to make sure everything has arrived and is in good condition, and then putting the products away. Sometimes, though, the people who work at the counter call me over to get things for them—something they could easily do themselves, but since I’m already here, why bother, right?
One afternoon, one of my coworkers asked me if I could go get a hose from the warehouse. The warehouse has always been a very uncomfortable place to be alone. It used to be another auto parts store that closed a long time ago. Over the years, the former owner of the store where I now work bought it to expand his business, giving him more space to store more auto parts. There are hoses, pipes, brake discs, fenders, doors, hoods, and more things than I could ever finish listing. But what is worth mentioning is that, no matter the season, the place is always cold, dark, and incredibly quiet. You could hear a pin drop from the far end of the warehouse if you listened closely.
I went to the warehouse to look for the hose and spent at least fifteen minutes searching for the damn thing. Unfortunately, finding spare parts with the positional system in this place has always been like solving puzzles. You have to rely not only on one pattern of numbers, since each brand or part uses different systems for each one, because the entire store is too big to rely on just one system. Unless you’ve been working here for years, it’s very difficult for newcomers like me. I was getting really frustrated because, while I was looking for that part, my boss called me with an order for a client. Out of sheer frustration, I whispered out loud, “Where the hell is that damn hose?”
That’s when I heard something fall to the floor about five meters away. The sound must have come from something made of hollow rubber. I cautiously approached the noise, and—probably not to the surprise of readers already familiar with the clichés of these stories, but surprising to me at the time—I saw that it was the hose I was looking for. I checked the code, and it matched. Far from feeling scared, I simply sighed with relief, knowing I could go back to work as usual.
Before finishing my shift, I chatted with Osvaldo, an employee who’s been working at the business since it practically opened. He simply refuses to retire; for him, the auto parts store is like his second home. I told him what had happened to me a few hours earlier in the warehouse, and that’s when he let out a small sigh—more like a soft laugh. “Ha! It must have been Pedro.”
“Pedro? Who’s Pedro?” I asked, knowing there wasn’t an employee named Pedro.
Osvaldo smiled. “Pedro was an employee at the old auto parts store next door. He was about my age back then, but one day he had a terrible accident. He was putting some brake discs on a shelf when the ladder he was standing on broke. He apparently grabbed onto the shelf, which caused him to fall backward, and all the brake discs fell on top of him. One of them hit him hard in the frontal lobe and killed him. It’s not the first time he’s appeared; it’s happened to others like you.”
I thought the guy was messing with me. It was typical—scaring the new guy in the group for fun. But over time, I started having more strange experiences in the warehouse. For example, once, while putting away boxes of coolant, I thought I heard the short whisper of a deep voice. Then another day, I thought I saw a figure next to me in the reflection of an old windowpane. But the worst thing happened recently, and it’s the reason I’m posting this story.
I was putting brake discs away on a shelf in the warehouse. I only had one left to put away, and it was too high, so I got a ladder and started climbing. That’s when I heard small knocks on the other side of the shelf, like someone was knocking on a door. I tried looking through the gaps in the shelf to see if anyone was there, but I didn’t see anything. I asked in a low voice, “Osvaldo, is that you?” but there was no answer. I wanted to go out and check what was behind the shelf, but a feeling in my stomach told me I’d regret it. I climbed down, left the brake disc on the floor, and went to the door without looking back. Just as I was about to close the door, I heard the sound of several heavy objects crashing to the floor. I opened the warehouse door again, and what I saw made my skin crawl. The brake disc shelf was destroyed, and the heavy spare parts were scattered across the floor.
Many of you are probably wondering, "Why does the story start in the present tense? Shouldn't he have quit that very day?" Well, first, the economic situation in this country is never stable enough for someone to just say, "Yeah! I'll just find another job." Not being able to make ends meet is far scarier than any paranormal situation. Second, after thinking about it for a while, I don't believe Pedro intended to kill me, as my story might suggest. Why would a ghost help me find a hose one day and then try to crush my head with a shower of brake discs the next? I like to think he saved my life from meeting the same fate as him by giving me that gut feeling, so whenever I go to the warehouse alone to get something, before returning to do anything else, I look back at that old place and say "Thanks, Pedro."
#entertainment
source
| 4,000 mlx | |
| 9 | |
| 0 |