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It's been two days since I moved to the small town of MillCreek.
It's been two days since I moved to the small town of MillCreek with my mother and two sisters, Reada and Jane.
Originally, I was born in Toronto and lived there my whole life up until now. My father passed away six months ago, and without him, my mother couldn't afford the cost of living in the city anymore.
There were only 5 houses on our street, and the nearest general store was 1 hour away by car.
"Dean, get in here and help your sisters unpack the kitchen."
"Yes, Mom," I replied.
So I powered down my laptop and walked over to the kitchen. As I walked in, Reada was unpacking all the dry goods we had, and Jane was working on putting away all of our dishes.
I looked at my mom and asked what she wanted me to work on, and she pointed at a box and said, "This goes in the basement, please."
I had yet to go down there, and all I knew was that the only way in was a door out back, and I heard it was made for emergencies like tornados and shit.
I bent down, picked up the box, and started walking to the basement.
I put the box down, unlocked the door, and opened it and stood at the doorway for about 30 seconds.
It was dark, smelled like mold, and I couldn't see any light switch near the entrance. I got this eerie feeling, but I quickly shrugged it off and pulled out my phone so I could use it for light.
I left the box outside and walked down the concrete steps into the darkness with my phone on so I could find the light switch.
I got to the center of the basement, and there was only one light that was dangling and had a rope I pulled to turn it on.
Once the light was on, the basement was still dark, but now I could see a bit.
As I looked around, the basement was empty, had no windows, and a strange tiny black door that looked like it was made for a child.
"What the fuck is this for?" I thought to myself.
I wanted to see what was behind the door, but fear got the best of me, so I booked it up the stairs, got outside, grabbed the box, quickly placed it in the basement, and got out of there.
I walked back to the kitchen, and my mother looked at me and asked what took me so long.
So I said to my mom,
"There's a tiny door in the basement, did you know that?"
She replied, "What are you talking about? I was down there yesterday, and there was no tiny door."
So we both went out back together, and I stopped at the door and gave my mom the keys and said, "Go look."
She walked over and opened the door and said, "You can't forget to lock this, Dean."
She walked into the basement, and I followed.
We couldn't see anything, and when she turned the light on, the tiny door that was at the end of the basement was gone.
"Where is this door you're talking about? Are you doing drugs, Dean?"
My mom said, looking at me concerned.
I rubbed my eyes in disbelief.
"No, I am not on drugs, Mom, and I was in a hurry and it was dark, so I must have been seeing things."
We both left the basement and went inside.
After a few hours of unpacking, it was now 8 PM, and my mom said that we were done for the day.
So I decided I would take a drive over to the nearest store and buy a few beers.
I grabbed my keys and drove over to the general store. It was 1 hour away from where we lived.
As I was driving to the store, I turned on the radio and decided I would listen to the local news to see what's been going on in the area.
The woman on the radio was talking about a local festival happening next weekend and that the weather would be cold and cloudy.
I was about ten minutes away from the store when the radio had some sort of interference.
It was static, and that's when I heard a child's voice singing a creepy melody:
"There's a door and it's black, it was gone, now it's back." (x3)
"The dooooors back."
The radio cut back to the local news just as I pulled into the general store parking lot.
I turned off my engine and sat in silence trying to process what the fuck I just heard, and then I immediately thought about that tiny little black door in the basement.
"Am I losing my fucking mind right now?"
I opened the car door and walked into the store, still thinking about what happened with the radio.
The cashier looked at me and said,
"You alright, buddy? You look a little spooked."
I looked at him and replied,
"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Can you tell me where the liquor aisle is?"
He pointed and said, "Aisle 6, buddy."
As I got to the liquor section, I came across a bottle of gin and thought, fuck it.
I picked it up and walked over to the counter.
I looked at the man working and said,
"I also need a pack of smokes, Paul's Lights please."
He grabbed the pack and rang up the total, then looked at me and said,
"That'll be $34.55."
I handed him cash, and he said,
"You're new in town, aren't ya?"
"Uh yeah, I just moved here with my family two days ago," I replied.
I smiled and walked back to the car, got in, and stared at the radio.
I decided not to turn it on this time since I was still creeped out from what happened earlier.
After getting home, I went to the kitchen, grabbed some lemonade, and made a mixed drink.
My mom walked in and asked for a glass as well, so I made it for her and asked,
"Where's the girls?"
My mother replied with a bored tone, "Reada and Jane are driving over to Aunt Lisa's house and staying for the weekend."
I thought to myself, why would they invite me, but brushed it off and said,
"Okay, well, I'm going to sit out front on the porch for a bit. I'll see you later."
I said this while handing her a mixed drink garnished with a half-sliced lemon.
I sat on a chair out front, and I looked at my watch. The time was now 9:30 PM.
"What is going on?" I thought to myself while sipping from my glass.
For about two hours, I kept on making mixed drinks and chain-smoking my brains out until I could only think about what I heard on the radio and that little black door I had seen earlier in the basement.
After obsessively drinking, I gained enough courage to check out that basement again.
I boogied inside and grabbed a bottle of gin and took a shot straight from the bottle, then grabbed the basement key along with a flashlight since it was now around 11 PM and completely dark outside.
I walked past the living room, and my mother was passed out on the couch.
Ignoring that, I stumbled towards the front door and headed out back to the basement.
Again, upon arriving at the basement door, I got that weird, eerie feeling that something wasn't right.
My heart started racing, and I almost backed out of going in.
With hands shaking, I reached for the key and unlocked the basement door and opened it.
I turned on my flashlight and shined it inside as I stepped down the stairs, and when I did, the door was there.
It was back.
I freaked out and went to reach for my phone so that I could take a picture to prove to my mother I wasn't crazy, but realized I had left it in the kitchen.
Out of sheer fear and being completely wasted, I fumbled backwards and fell to the floor while still staring at the door.
That's when it happened.
The knob on the door started rattling like something was trying to get out.
I ran, in fact, the fastest I have ever run in my life.
I tripped on the steps upstairs, basically crawling up them in a panic.
I quickly slammed the doors shut, locked them, and ran inside.
My mom was awake at this point, probably because of how loud I was coming inside.
She looked at me confused and half-awake and said,
"What the fuck are you doing? What was that noise?"
I came up with some bullshit lie stating,
"There was a spider and it freaked me the fuck out, so I ran inside. I'm sorry, and I'll try not to be so loud."
"It's okay, Dean. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
I told her goodnight and went to the living room, sat on the couch, and grabbed my laptop.
I tried searching up anything involving seeing tiny black doors and folklore or anything, and there was nothing at all.
Around 4 AM, I decided it was time for me to get some sleep.
I woke up the next morning at 10:00 AM to my alarm blaring some random static, and my head was pounding due to the fact I drank way too much last night.
I slapped off my alarm clock and stumbled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and quickly showered.
I ran down the stairs to the kitchen to make something to eat quickly, and as I looked out the kitchen window, I realized my mother's car was gone.
So I checked my phone to see if she left me a text saying where she was going, but there was nothing, which was unusual of her not to say anything.
I fixed myself breakfast and tried turning on the TV, but it wasn't working.
I checked to see if maybe it wasn't plugged in, but it wasn't.
I got up off the couch and headed to the kitchen where we kept the batteries, and suddenly the TV turned on while my back was turned.
I turned around to the TV showing static and that tune of a child singing:
"There's a door and it's black, it was gone, now it's back." (x3)
"The dooor's back!"
The TV shut off, and I immediately ran to the kitchen, grabbed the keys to the basement, the flashlight, my phone, and a knife and ran outside to the backyard.
"This is fucking it..." I thought to myself, half-drunk from last night.
I unlocked the basement doors, whipped them open, and with the flashlight, staring down there, it was the fucking door.
It was there.
So I walked towards it, centered the flashlight on the floor facing the door, and pulled out my phone to take a picture.
I took it and put my phone back in my pocket, picked up the flashlight from the ground, and slowly backed away to leave.
As I got to the stairs, I turned around and heard a little girl's voice whisper in my ear,
"What were you going to do with that knife?"
I could feel the hairs on my arms raise, and with a burst of adrenaline, I ran out, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
Staring at the basement door, I just stood there, not knowing what just happened or what to do next.
So I went back inside.
In my bedroom, I pulled out my phone to look at the picture I took of the door in the basement.
"What the... fuck..."
There was no door in the photo.
It was just a concrete wall.
My stomach dropped, and I started feeling so nauseous that I actually threw up all over my bedroom floor.
After cleaning up the puke off my bedroom floor, I looked at the photo once more, and still there was nothing.
Nothing but a dark picture of a basement and no door.
The only thought running through my head was that I must be dreaming and none of this could be real.
I needed to get proof that this door existed.
#entertainment
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It's been two days since I moved to the small town of MillCreek with my mother and two sisters, Reada and Jane.
Originally, I was born in Toronto and lived there my whole life up until now. My father passed away six months ago, and without him, my mother couldn't afford the cost of living in the city anymore.
There were only 5 houses on our street, and the nearest general store was 1 hour away by car.
"Dean, get in here and help your sisters unpack the kitchen."
"Yes, Mom," I replied.
So I powered down my laptop and walked over to the kitchen. As I walked in, Reada was unpacking all the dry goods we had, and Jane was working on putting away all of our dishes.
I looked at my mom and asked what she wanted me to work on, and she pointed at a box and said, "This goes in the basement, please."
I had yet to go down there, and all I knew was that the only way in was a door out back, and I heard it was made for emergencies like tornados and shit.
I bent down, picked up the box, and started walking to the basement.
I put the box down, unlocked the door, and opened it and stood at the doorway for about 30 seconds.
It was dark, smelled like mold, and I couldn't see any light switch near the entrance. I got this eerie feeling, but I quickly shrugged it off and pulled out my phone so I could use it for light.
I left the box outside and walked down the concrete steps into the darkness with my phone on so I could find the light switch.
I got to the center of the basement, and there was only one light that was dangling and had a rope I pulled to turn it on.
Once the light was on, the basement was still dark, but now I could see a bit.
As I looked around, the basement was empty, had no windows, and a strange tiny black door that looked like it was made for a child.
"What the fuck is this for?" I thought to myself.
I wanted to see what was behind the door, but fear got the best of me, so I booked it up the stairs, got outside, grabbed the box, quickly placed it in the basement, and got out of there.
I walked back to the kitchen, and my mother looked at me and asked what took me so long.
So I said to my mom,
"There's a tiny door in the basement, did you know that?"
She replied, "What are you talking about? I was down there yesterday, and there was no tiny door."
So we both went out back together, and I stopped at the door and gave my mom the keys and said, "Go look."
She walked over and opened the door and said, "You can't forget to lock this, Dean."
She walked into the basement, and I followed.
We couldn't see anything, and when she turned the light on, the tiny door that was at the end of the basement was gone.
"Where is this door you're talking about? Are you doing drugs, Dean?"
My mom said, looking at me concerned.
I rubbed my eyes in disbelief.
"No, I am not on drugs, Mom, and I was in a hurry and it was dark, so I must have been seeing things."
We both left the basement and went inside.
After a few hours of unpacking, it was now 8 PM, and my mom said that we were done for the day.
So I decided I would take a drive over to the nearest store and buy a few beers.
I grabbed my keys and drove over to the general store. It was 1 hour away from where we lived.
As I was driving to the store, I turned on the radio and decided I would listen to the local news to see what's been going on in the area.
The woman on the radio was talking about a local festival happening next weekend and that the weather would be cold and cloudy.
I was about ten minutes away from the store when the radio had some sort of interference.
It was static, and that's when I heard a child's voice singing a creepy melody:
"There's a door and it's black, it was gone, now it's back." (x3)
"The dooooors back."
The radio cut back to the local news just as I pulled into the general store parking lot.
I turned off my engine and sat in silence trying to process what the fuck I just heard, and then I immediately thought about that tiny little black door in the basement.
"Am I losing my fucking mind right now?"
I opened the car door and walked into the store, still thinking about what happened with the radio.
The cashier looked at me and said,
"You alright, buddy? You look a little spooked."
I looked at him and replied,
"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Can you tell me where the liquor aisle is?"
He pointed and said, "Aisle 6, buddy."
As I got to the liquor section, I came across a bottle of gin and thought, fuck it.
I picked it up and walked over to the counter.
I looked at the man working and said,
"I also need a pack of smokes, Paul's Lights please."
He grabbed the pack and rang up the total, then looked at me and said,
"That'll be $34.55."
I handed him cash, and he said,
"You're new in town, aren't ya?"
"Uh yeah, I just moved here with my family two days ago," I replied.
I smiled and walked back to the car, got in, and stared at the radio.
I decided not to turn it on this time since I was still creeped out from what happened earlier.
After getting home, I went to the kitchen, grabbed some lemonade, and made a mixed drink.
My mom walked in and asked for a glass as well, so I made it for her and asked,
"Where's the girls?"
My mother replied with a bored tone, "Reada and Jane are driving over to Aunt Lisa's house and staying for the weekend."
I thought to myself, why would they invite me, but brushed it off and said,
"Okay, well, I'm going to sit out front on the porch for a bit. I'll see you later."
I said this while handing her a mixed drink garnished with a half-sliced lemon.
I sat on a chair out front, and I looked at my watch. The time was now 9:30 PM.
"What is going on?" I thought to myself while sipping from my glass.
For about two hours, I kept on making mixed drinks and chain-smoking my brains out until I could only think about what I heard on the radio and that little black door I had seen earlier in the basement.
After obsessively drinking, I gained enough courage to check out that basement again.
I boogied inside and grabbed a bottle of gin and took a shot straight from the bottle, then grabbed the basement key along with a flashlight since it was now around 11 PM and completely dark outside.
I walked past the living room, and my mother was passed out on the couch.
Ignoring that, I stumbled towards the front door and headed out back to the basement.
Again, upon arriving at the basement door, I got that weird, eerie feeling that something wasn't right.
My heart started racing, and I almost backed out of going in.
With hands shaking, I reached for the key and unlocked the basement door and opened it.
I turned on my flashlight and shined it inside as I stepped down the stairs, and when I did, the door was there.
It was back.
I freaked out and went to reach for my phone so that I could take a picture to prove to my mother I wasn't crazy, but realized I had left it in the kitchen.
Out of sheer fear and being completely wasted, I fumbled backwards and fell to the floor while still staring at the door.
That's when it happened.
The knob on the door started rattling like something was trying to get out.
I ran, in fact, the fastest I have ever run in my life.
I tripped on the steps upstairs, basically crawling up them in a panic.
I quickly slammed the doors shut, locked them, and ran inside.
My mom was awake at this point, probably because of how loud I was coming inside.
She looked at me confused and half-awake and said,
"What the fuck are you doing? What was that noise?"
I came up with some bullshit lie stating,
"There was a spider and it freaked me the fuck out, so I ran inside. I'm sorry, and I'll try not to be so loud."
"It's okay, Dean. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
I told her goodnight and went to the living room, sat on the couch, and grabbed my laptop.
I tried searching up anything involving seeing tiny black doors and folklore or anything, and there was nothing at all.
Around 4 AM, I decided it was time for me to get some sleep.
I woke up the next morning at 10:00 AM to my alarm blaring some random static, and my head was pounding due to the fact I drank way too much last night.
I slapped off my alarm clock and stumbled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and quickly showered.
I ran down the stairs to the kitchen to make something to eat quickly, and as I looked out the kitchen window, I realized my mother's car was gone.
So I checked my phone to see if she left me a text saying where she was going, but there was nothing, which was unusual of her not to say anything.
I fixed myself breakfast and tried turning on the TV, but it wasn't working.
I checked to see if maybe it wasn't plugged in, but it wasn't.
I got up off the couch and headed to the kitchen where we kept the batteries, and suddenly the TV turned on while my back was turned.
I turned around to the TV showing static and that tune of a child singing:
"There's a door and it's black, it was gone, now it's back." (x3)
"The dooor's back!"
The TV shut off, and I immediately ran to the kitchen, grabbed the keys to the basement, the flashlight, my phone, and a knife and ran outside to the backyard.
"This is fucking it..." I thought to myself, half-drunk from last night.
I unlocked the basement doors, whipped them open, and with the flashlight, staring down there, it was the fucking door.
It was there.
So I walked towards it, centered the flashlight on the floor facing the door, and pulled out my phone to take a picture.
I took it and put my phone back in my pocket, picked up the flashlight from the ground, and slowly backed away to leave.
As I got to the stairs, I turned around and heard a little girl's voice whisper in my ear,
"What were you going to do with that knife?"
I could feel the hairs on my arms raise, and with a burst of adrenaline, I ran out, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
Staring at the basement door, I just stood there, not knowing what just happened or what to do next.
So I went back inside.
In my bedroom, I pulled out my phone to look at the picture I took of the door in the basement.
"What the... fuck..."
There was no door in the photo.
It was just a concrete wall.
My stomach dropped, and I started feeling so nauseous that I actually threw up all over my bedroom floor.
After cleaning up the puke off my bedroom floor, I looked at the photo once more, and still there was nothing.
Nothing but a dark picture of a basement and no door.
The only thought running through my head was that I must be dreaming and none of this could be real.
I needed to get proof that this door existed.
#entertainment
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I just received a letter from my childhood friend. He died ten years ago
Why, WWWWWW!!!!?
Every Night and days, 360th, 361st, 362nd...365th, why are you still bothering me, why, In the name of our Almighty lord, why, you, a Blasphemy, a heretic! A bastard...
for 10 years, for 40 Summers, I never get true peaces even just 1 day from you, Duke Windson, the start of everything, the torment for 10 years and 36500 days with countless hours.
I writing down everything with my blood and tears, perhaps something called sweat, but I can't truly understand what I am writing, as explain or just echo of my own tortued souls in days and nights of screaming nigthmarish sleep.
Every Night, you would visit, Duke Windson, you were, you are and you will, haunted my soul, draging me back to that cursed, nameless island called Turtle island. Behold what you and your corpse worshipers claimed as Miracle from your Blespehmous Master,
Ahh, why, Duke Windson, why do you turn my kindness to torment for me, and your tree, your tree of life, How dare you, you took the life of Miko, you took the life of everyone on that island, and claimed you release them from the torment of death? You said that mortal's life, Wealthy or poor, peasant or Noble, sick or healthy, fortune or misfortunate, all just a long, tortured process to wait for death. You want to explained this as your poetic release and ascension?
That night, You, and your master, the cursed..I could't use even the most blasphemous word been created in this language to describe that, anyway. Every of them, boys, girls, students, teachers, notherless, become what I can described as living Nightmare, just likw what happened 5 centuries ago.to http://ago.to those missionaries and tribes of pitiful locals whom knew the truth.
You, Windson, I want to accuse you, because of you, each of them has a flower on their back, on their head, each of them, no exception, but, why do you left me keep conscious while Miko been infected by your plague of damned.
Ah, Tree of life， Yggdrasil，you didn't bring Plague but death and despair. Ah, YOUR servant, a doomed being whom once a pathetic sick man, while now a carrier of your plague walk on Earth, bring everyone, to your embrace.
Ah, for days and nights, I still can't forget how unimaginable that was to be seated on that bus to the living hell. everyone become something between live and dead, but believed they been blessed and granted immortality.
Ah, Yggdrasil, your root dragging deep to the soil of this cursed island, and become part of this cursed island, Ah, Yggdrasil, countless souls been dragged to you after they live and die, and been absorbed Ah, Yggdrasil, your root were never satisfied with their situation, they would not, they would expand, they would expand days and nights, they would expands, and all of us, will only have two pathes. Become part of you, been granted blessed gifts to become part of your corpse worshippers sing day and night for their Almighties. Otherwise, they would be dragged, and sacrificed in the most unspeakable way, beyond ethic and moral of humanity since the civilization.
Ah, it's you Duke, it's you again, do you remember that verses? I am Ozmendes, king of kings, Mighty, Despair... Just like my life, no cue of regression for giving you kindness, a soul been damned. I know, before you dragging me to your garden of Metamorphasis, I want to wr..ri..wri...writ...e soemt..hi..ng, just something.
Ah, yggdrasil, the lord of death, the carrier to immortality, the place full of happiness and miracle for eternity.
#entertainment
source
Why, WWWWWW!!!!?
Every Night and days, 360th, 361st, 362nd...365th, why are you still bothering me, why, In the name of our Almighty lord, why, you, a Blasphemy, a heretic! A bastard...
for 10 years, for 40 Summers, I never get true peaces even just 1 day from you, Duke Windson, the start of everything, the torment for 10 years and 36500 days with countless hours.
I writing down everything with my blood and tears, perhaps something called sweat, but I can't truly understand what I am writing, as explain or just echo of my own tortued souls in days and nights of screaming nigthmarish sleep.
Every Night, you would visit, Duke Windson, you were, you are and you will, haunted my soul, draging me back to that cursed, nameless island called Turtle island. Behold what you and your corpse worshipers claimed as Miracle from your Blespehmous Master,
Ahh, why, Duke Windson, why do you turn my kindness to torment for me, and your tree, your tree of life, How dare you, you took the life of Miko, you took the life of everyone on that island, and claimed you release them from the torment of death? You said that mortal's life, Wealthy or poor, peasant or Noble, sick or healthy, fortune or misfortunate, all just a long, tortured process to wait for death. You want to explained this as your poetic release and ascension?
That night, You, and your master, the cursed..I could't use even the most blasphemous word been created in this language to describe that, anyway. Every of them, boys, girls, students, teachers, notherless, become what I can described as living Nightmare, just likw what happened 5 centuries ago.to http://ago.to those missionaries and tribes of pitiful locals whom knew the truth.
You, Windson, I want to accuse you, because of you, each of them has a flower on their back, on their head, each of them, no exception, but, why do you left me keep conscious while Miko been infected by your plague of damned.
Ah, Tree of life， Yggdrasil，you didn't bring Plague but death and despair. Ah, YOUR servant, a doomed being whom once a pathetic sick man, while now a carrier of your plague walk on Earth, bring everyone, to your embrace.
Ah, for days and nights, I still can't forget how unimaginable that was to be seated on that bus to the living hell. everyone become something between live and dead, but believed they been blessed and granted immortality.
Ah, Yggdrasil, your root dragging deep to the soil of this cursed island, and become part of this cursed island, Ah, Yggdrasil, countless souls been dragged to you after they live and die, and been absorbed Ah, Yggdrasil, your root were never satisfied with their situation, they would not, they would expand, they would expand days and nights, they would expands, and all of us, will only have two pathes. Become part of you, been granted blessed gifts to become part of your corpse worshippers sing day and night for their Almighties. Otherwise, they would be dragged, and sacrificed in the most unspeakable way, beyond ethic and moral of humanity since the civilization.
Ah, it's you Duke, it's you again, do you remember that verses? I am Ozmendes, king of kings, Mighty, Despair... Just like my life, no cue of regression for giving you kindness, a soul been damned. I know, before you dragging me to your garden of Metamorphasis, I want to wr..ri..wri...writ...e soemt..hi..ng, just something.
Ah, yggdrasil, the lord of death, the carrier to immortality, the place full of happiness and miracle for eternity.
#entertainment
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My partner vanished during our shift at Relay Station 4. Two days later, we found his ID tag inside a sealed pipe
Never bypass the manual pressure relief valve on an isolated pump station intake line. If line pressure builds past twelve hundred pounds and the backup rupture disk fails, the cast manifold splits and floods the lower vault in less than ninety seconds.
Wayne and I were working the four-to-midnight shift out at Relay Station Four. It sits about twenty miles north of the timber gate along the upper river basin. Our routine was always the same. We logged dial readouts every hour on the hour, walked the fence line to toss off fallen pine limbs, and kept an eye on the secondary runoff pit. Right around nine o'clock, the wind died down flat. A minute later, the primary intake gauge lost ten pounds of pressure without the pumps cycling on to correct it.
I walked over to the telemetry cabinet and tapped the glass dial with my knuckles. The needle didn't move. Wayne grabbed the rechargeable lantern off the wall dock, picked up his clipboard, and said he was walking down to the intake shed to bleed the manual valve himself. He threw on his high-vis vest, went through the double doors, and pulled the primary latch shut behind him. Company rules said that door stays locked from the inside whenever one guy is out on the yard.
Ten minutes went by. The digital clock on the wall rolled to nine-fifteen. Looking out through the reinforced wire glass, the gravel yard was empty under the floodlights. Then the needle on my intake board dropped another eight pounds.
I picked up the company handheld from the desk dock and keyed the mic. I called Wayne's call sign three times. The speaker just gave back flat dead air. No clicks, no static, nothing. I set it down and checked my phone. The screen showed Searching with zero bars. I picked up the landline receiver on the desk next to the monitor bank. The line was stone dead. Not even an off-hook hum.
I didn't like the feel of it. I grabbed the master ring and a four-pound steel pipe wrench out of the locker by the breaker panel. I unlocked the exit door, stepped out into the cold, and let the latch fall shut behind me.
The yard smelled like damp dirt and diesel exhaust. The intake shed is eighty yards west, right up against the rock cut. When I got to the door, the padlock was hanging open on the hasp, unhooked, but the door was pushed shut against the frame. I pulled it open and swung my flashlight inside. Wayne wasn't in there. His hard hat and his clipboard were sitting right in the middle of the work table next to an open socket set. The manual intake valve was turned half a crank open, but there wasn't a drop of water coming out of the bleed pipe into the floor drain.
I stepped back out onto the gravel and turned back toward the main station. Fifty yards out, right by the timber boundary fence, someone was standing there. It was a tall, solid silhouette, completely motionless. The person was squared up toward the building, shoulders level, feet set in the stone. It didn't shift weight. It didn't lift an arm. I put the flashlight beam dead on it. The light hit the chain link behind it, but the figure stayed flat black. It didn't bounce any light back, and it didn't throw a shadow against the fence.
I started backing toward the station doors, keeping my light on the fence line. The figure didn't flinch. I reached the concrete pad, looked down for two seconds to stick the key into the cylinder, and turned the lock. When I looked back up, the fence line was completely empty. The gravel was undisturbed. The wire wasn't shaking. There wasn't a single boot step or a branch snapping anywhere in the timber.
I got inside, racked both deadbolts, and threw the heavy steel safety bar across the brackets.
At ten-forty, the intake gauge spiked hard. The needle slapped the brass stop pin past twelve hundred pounds with a loud metal crack. A second later, the intercom unit above the breaker panel clicked open. The speaker let out a dull hum, and then I heard Wayne clear his throat. His voice came through clean and dry. He told me to unbar the rear door and come give him a hand at the intake shed because the bleed valve was seized up on the threads.
I didn't move an inch from the console. I had both hands wrapped around that four-pound wrench. Right on the desk, three feet away, Wayne's two-way radio was sitting in the plastic charger with the red light solid. The radio wasn't receiving. The overhead speaker went off again. It repeated the exact same sentence, using the exact same breath, the same pause, and the same pitch.
Right after that, three heavy knuckles hit the outside of the steel exit door behind my back. Then the intercom keyed again. This time it was my own voice coming out of the wall. It was the exact sentence I had called into the handheld an hour before, word for word: Station Four to Wayne, check the bleed valve.
The metal handle on the locked door started turning down. The brass latch ground against the steel strike plate. I looked right through the four-inch inspection window. There was nothing out there except the yellow floodlights hitting the wet stone. No face. No body blocking the glass. The handle turned all the way down to the stop, released slowly, and turned again. It did that three times in a row.
I stayed right where I was with the wrench up, watching the wall clock until the readout clicked to midnight. The second the numbers flipped, the intake needle dropped dead to zero. The handle on the door stopped moving. The intercom snapped shut. The only sound left in the room was the low buzz of the step-down transformer.
At five-fifteen in the morning, truck headlights hit the front glass. I waited until I saw Miller get out of the company truck with his paperwork before I lifted the bar and unlocked the door. The first thing Miller asked was where Wayne took off to, since his personal pickup was still parked over by the propane tank.
We walked the entire yard. We checked the pump shed, the intake house, and every foot of the boundary wire. The chain link was tight all the way around. No cuts, no bent posts, and no boot tracks in the mud along the ditch. Wayne's truck keys, his wallet, and his lunch box were still sitting on his locker shelf in the back hallway.
The state troopers ran a full site check three hours later. They found zero signs of forced entry, no marks on the doors, and the high-pressure manifold was completely dry with no leaks. They wrote Wayne up as a missing person who walked off into the woods on his own.
Two days after that, Miller brought in an outside pipe crew to pull the intake apart. When they unbolted the three-inch check valve inside the manifold shed, they found Wayne's brass plant ID tag wedged flat across the internal seat. The stamped numbers were clean and the ring was whole, sitting locked inside a cast-iron line that hadn't been unsealed since the plant went in fourteen years ago.
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Never bypass the manual pressure relief valve on an isolated pump station intake line. If line pressure builds past twelve hundred pounds and the backup rupture disk fails, the cast manifold splits and floods the lower vault in less than ninety seconds.
Wayne and I were working the four-to-midnight shift out at Relay Station Four. It sits about twenty miles north of the timber gate along the upper river basin. Our routine was always the same. We logged dial readouts every hour on the hour, walked the fence line to toss off fallen pine limbs, and kept an eye on the secondary runoff pit. Right around nine o'clock, the wind died down flat. A minute later, the primary intake gauge lost ten pounds of pressure without the pumps cycling on to correct it.
I walked over to the telemetry cabinet and tapped the glass dial with my knuckles. The needle didn't move. Wayne grabbed the rechargeable lantern off the wall dock, picked up his clipboard, and said he was walking down to the intake shed to bleed the manual valve himself. He threw on his high-vis vest, went through the double doors, and pulled the primary latch shut behind him. Company rules said that door stays locked from the inside whenever one guy is out on the yard.
Ten minutes went by. The digital clock on the wall rolled to nine-fifteen. Looking out through the reinforced wire glass, the gravel yard was empty under the floodlights. Then the needle on my intake board dropped another eight pounds.
I picked up the company handheld from the desk dock and keyed the mic. I called Wayne's call sign three times. The speaker just gave back flat dead air. No clicks, no static, nothing. I set it down and checked my phone. The screen showed Searching with zero bars. I picked up the landline receiver on the desk next to the monitor bank. The line was stone dead. Not even an off-hook hum.
I didn't like the feel of it. I grabbed the master ring and a four-pound steel pipe wrench out of the locker by the breaker panel. I unlocked the exit door, stepped out into the cold, and let the latch fall shut behind me.
The yard smelled like damp dirt and diesel exhaust. The intake shed is eighty yards west, right up against the rock cut. When I got to the door, the padlock was hanging open on the hasp, unhooked, but the door was pushed shut against the frame. I pulled it open and swung my flashlight inside. Wayne wasn't in there. His hard hat and his clipboard were sitting right in the middle of the work table next to an open socket set. The manual intake valve was turned half a crank open, but there wasn't a drop of water coming out of the bleed pipe into the floor drain.
I stepped back out onto the gravel and turned back toward the main station. Fifty yards out, right by the timber boundary fence, someone was standing there. It was a tall, solid silhouette, completely motionless. The person was squared up toward the building, shoulders level, feet set in the stone. It didn't shift weight. It didn't lift an arm. I put the flashlight beam dead on it. The light hit the chain link behind it, but the figure stayed flat black. It didn't bounce any light back, and it didn't throw a shadow against the fence.
I started backing toward the station doors, keeping my light on the fence line. The figure didn't flinch. I reached the concrete pad, looked down for two seconds to stick the key into the cylinder, and turned the lock. When I looked back up, the fence line was completely empty. The gravel was undisturbed. The wire wasn't shaking. There wasn't a single boot step or a branch snapping anywhere in the timber.
I got inside, racked both deadbolts, and threw the heavy steel safety bar across the brackets.
At ten-forty, the intake gauge spiked hard. The needle slapped the brass stop pin past twelve hundred pounds with a loud metal crack. A second later, the intercom unit above the breaker panel clicked open. The speaker let out a dull hum, and then I heard Wayne clear his throat. His voice came through clean and dry. He told me to unbar the rear door and come give him a hand at the intake shed because the bleed valve was seized up on the threads.
I didn't move an inch from the console. I had both hands wrapped around that four-pound wrench. Right on the desk, three feet away, Wayne's two-way radio was sitting in the plastic charger with the red light solid. The radio wasn't receiving. The overhead speaker went off again. It repeated the exact same sentence, using the exact same breath, the same pause, and the same pitch.
Right after that, three heavy knuckles hit the outside of the steel exit door behind my back. Then the intercom keyed again. This time it was my own voice coming out of the wall. It was the exact sentence I had called into the handheld an hour before, word for word: Station Four to Wayne, check the bleed valve.
The metal handle on the locked door started turning down. The brass latch ground against the steel strike plate. I looked right through the four-inch inspection window. There was nothing out there except the yellow floodlights hitting the wet stone. No face. No body blocking the glass. The handle turned all the way down to the stop, released slowly, and turned again. It did that three times in a row.
I stayed right where I was with the wrench up, watching the wall clock until the readout clicked to midnight. The second the numbers flipped, the intake needle dropped dead to zero. The handle on the door stopped moving. The intercom snapped shut. The only sound left in the room was the low buzz of the step-down transformer.
At five-fifteen in the morning, truck headlights hit the front glass. I waited until I saw Miller get out of the company truck with his paperwork before I lifted the bar and unlocked the door. The first thing Miller asked was where Wayne took off to, since his personal pickup was still parked over by the propane tank.
We walked the entire yard. We checked the pump shed, the intake house, and every foot of the boundary wire. The chain link was tight all the way around. No cuts, no bent posts, and no boot tracks in the mud along the ditch. Wayne's truck keys, his wallet, and his lunch box were still sitting on his locker shelf in the back hallway.
The state troopers ran a full site check three hours later. They found zero signs of forced entry, no marks on the doors, and the high-pressure manifold was completely dry with no leaks. They wrote Wayne up as a missing person who walked off into the woods on his own.
Two days after that, Miller brought in an outside pipe crew to pull the intake apart. When they unbolted the three-inch check valve inside the manifold shed, they found Wayne's brass plant ID tag wedged flat across the internal seat. The stamped numbers were clean and the ring was whole, sitting locked inside a cast-iron line that hadn't been unsealed since the plant went in fourteen years ago.
#entertainment
source