Category: Bonus

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The Storage Papers is a fiction horror podcast.

Discretion is advised.

Transcript

WRITTEN BY JEREMY ENFINGER

In his mind, Thomas wavered between causing problems for those charities that take most of the money they collect and pocket it versus ensuring his family prospered.  

On one hand, there are charities doing great things and they’re competing with these corrupt ones. Helping those charities by preventing the corrupt ones from swindling good people would have a great effect for the many people who need them. The positive impact could be exponential.

On the other hand, Thomas considered the financial trouble his family was in, and the only reason he was even working that holiday season was to help pay the bills so they’d have the necessities while his mother worked on recovery. 

What Thomas didn’t know was that Cain was aware of his thoughts. Thomas did think of his family at first, with hopes for his mother’s well-being. But then he began imagining what he would do with his nights off after he was able to leave his job. Cain knew Thomas was selfishly imagining stacks of money and making lavish purchases without intending to help anyone around him. 

Greed drove him to his choice as Thomas reached for the gold key.

Cain looked at the boy, who was ready to turn around and begin his trek to the storage unit.  He said, “Oh, Thomas… are you sure this is the correct decision?”

Thomas said, “Absolutely. I’ve thought long and hard and I think it would be best to make sure I do this for my family.”  

Cain lifted an eyebrow of inquiry, to which Thomas noted, but decided to move along anyways. As he walked away, Cain said, “Oh, Tomas?”

Thomas turned around to find Cain standing in the shadows again, but he could see a glint of light reflecting from his eyes. He said, “What is it?”

Cain replied, “Just make sure you don’t open the package within the box”, then smiled.  

Cain’s smile made him feel uneasy as the little thing backed completely into the shadows and out of Thomas’s sight.

So then, Thomas walked the distance to the storage unit, and when he arrived at the main gait, he noticed a number pad for an electronic code entry.  He hadn’t counted on this, so he began looking for a keyhole around the gate to use the golden key, but was unable to find one.  

He began thinking of a solution as he gripped the key in his jacket pocket.  That’s when he noticed it was warm to the touch.  As he pulled it out of his pocket, the key grew warmer, so he pinched it between his thumb and index finger and held it in front of him.  

He took a step toward the gate and the key cooled down a bit.  Then he turned to face the opposite direction away from the gate, and the key grew warmer.  He took several steps away from the gate and the key became hot.  And as Thomas approached the keypad once again, with the key just inches from it, it became almost too hot to hold.  Suddenly, the gate began rolling open, and he thought to himself, “This really is a magic key!”

Thomas used the same technique to locate the storage unit within the complex, and to open the outer lock to the storage bin.  Once he was inside the storage unit itself, there was a small lock-box on the floor in the back right corner of the unit.  

Thomas walked over to it and noticed the key was no longer hot, nor cold. He picked up the box and noticed an actual keyhole on the side.  When he inserted the key, the lid popped open with a click and the key disappeared before his very eyes.

Thomas reached inside and pulled out a small box wrapped in parchment paper.  He recalled Cain’s warning to avoid opening the package, though he was tempted.  

On his walk back toward the bench to meet up with Cain, Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being swindled somehow.  He thought about the circumstances that led to this moment.  The way in which Cain only appeared to him without any witnesses.  About how fast he had moved.  How he could hover in the air, and claimed he was able to perform magic.

Thomas then began to justify the existence of magic in his own mind.  He hadn’t believed in magic before tonight, and he was still skeptical, even considering what he saw Cain do, and what the key he was given did.  

This gave him hope.  Thomas tried to recall Cain’s exact words when he approached him with the proposition.  “You won’t need to worry about finances any longer” was the phrase that continued to play back in his mind, like dripping water from a leaky faucet.

Before Thomas returned to the bench, he was tempted to open the package.  It didn’t weigh very much… less than a pound he estimated.  He tried shaking it but there were no loose pieces making any noises when he did so.  He thought to himself, “How valuable could it be?”

And then Thomas’s mind wandered toward the silver key.  They key he did not choose.  What kind of package would he be carrying right now if he had made a different choice?  

All of this thinking of hope and possibility made Thomas’s walk back to the bench pass by quickly.  

When Thomas arrived, it was very dark.  He could see street lamps over the parking lot in the distance where a single car remained – his car.  He looked in every direction, but didn’t see Cain, so he sat on the bench for a moment.

Minutes went by and Thomas’s breath could be seen like he was exhaling after a cigarette drag as the night drew colder.  He finally grew impatient and yelled for Cain, who did not come.  He thought, “What else is there to do?” and considered opening the package.  He turned the package on-end and slid a finger underneath a flap that was taped closed, then paused, contemplating whether or not he should open it.  Cain’s warning rang in his mind.

Thomas ultimately decided against opening the package, and he laid it down next to him on the bench.  That’s when Cain suddenly appeared next to him and picked up the package.  His eyes glowed red, though there were no red lights near them for this to be a reflection.  

Cain appeared giddy with excitement as he turned the box over and examined all sides of it.  He let out some grunts and groans with an even bigger smile than he’d previously seen on Cain’s face.  

Then Cain suddenly stopped.  All expressions of excitement and glee left his face, and without moving his head, which was still down facing the package in his hands, Thomas noticed Cain’s eyes rolled up to meet his own, and there he sat on the armrest of the bench, staring at him like a statue.

Moments filled with dread passed in what seemed like hours before Thomas finally broke and said, “Um… so what’s in the package?”

Thomas couldn’t be certain, but he may have seen a smirk form in one corner of Cain’s mouth.  Finally, Cain spoke.  “Well Thomas, since you were the one to do all the hard work, why don’t you open it?”

Thomas paused for a moment and said, “Are you sure? I mean, you seemed so excited to get it, and I wouldn’t want to take away the surprise from you.”

Cain replied, “Oh Thomas, I already know what’s in the box… Part of my fun would be seeing you find out what’s inside it.  Go ahead.”

Cain extended an outstretched hand with the box in it.  Thomas was hesitant, but he took it and began slowly peeling away the parchment paper.  Once the paper wrapping was off, he found a cardboard box taped closed with packing tape.

He looked at Cain, who said, “Go on…” 

Thomas took his car keys out of his pocket and punctured the tape, then ran a key along the seam of the lid, splitting the tape as he went.  He opened all four flaps and found some packing material on top, which he removed.

At this point, he noticed Cain’s head over his right shoulder looking down at the box with him.  Inside the box was what appeared to be an ornate wooden Christmas tree ornament.  It was rather large, and beautifully carved.

Thomas looked at Cain, somewhat confused, and said, “A Christmas tree ornament?  That’s what you had me get for you?  But why?  What’s so special about this ornament that you couldn’t retrieve it yourself?”

He held the box up to Cain’s face, which caused him to recoil.  

Cain said, “Thomas, I must not touch this. It has been forbidden. I will need you to handle it for me.”

Thomas replied, “I just don’t get it… why do you want this so badly?”

Cain eagerly responded, “I don’t want it, I need it… for my tree, you see?  The big one over there!”

Thomas looked over at the large tree he had motioned to.  It was the one he first saw Cain standing next to.

Cain said, “I just need you to place it on the tree, and then you will have fulfilled your duty and earned your reward.”

Thomas said, “Um… okay I guess.”

Cain and Thomas walked toward the large Christmas tree, and as they did, the lights on the tree began to dimly glow.  The closer they got to the tree, the brighter the lights became.  

“Where do you want me to place it?” Thomas asked.

Cain pointed to a spot that looked bare near the base of the tree and Thomas approached it and reached for the ornament.  When his hand made contact with it, Thomas felt a surge of energy, as if the wooden object were somehow giving off some kind of magical effect.

Thomas lifted the ornament up toward the branch and used the small metal hook to suspend it where Cain had shown him.  He turned to Cain and said, “How’s that?” but Cain was no longer standing with him. He could hear retreating laughter in the distance that was drowned out by a cold breeze.

Thomas stood there silent for a moment, wondering what was going to happen next, if anything.  And then he looked down and noticed he was suspended in the air about a foot off of the ground.  He was levitating, and gliding slowly toward the ornament he had just hung.

He felt a sharp pain in his feet, which traveled up his shins and into his knees, then up his legs and into his hips.  The wave of pain continued and Thomas cried out until the pain reached all the way up to his throat, when he found his voice stopped making noise, though he was trying to scream.  

He found himself frozen in place, and unable to move as he continued to glide toward the ornament on the tree.  Then the pain stopped suddenly, and Thomas began to notice the other ornaments on the tree.  

Scattered between the lights and colorful bulbs were the ornaments with faces on them that he recalled noticing before.  But this time, he noticed all of the eyes within the ornaments moving to watch him as he got closer to the ornament he had just hung.  And as he floated even closer, he finally understood exactly what was happening to him.

Cain returned to the tree before sunrise, and with him, he brought a chisel, a hammer, and a small paintbrush with some red paint.  He went to work, chiseling away at first.  At one point, the branch Thomas was hanging from suddenly shot up in the air before he heard a large “thunk” sound hitting the ground below him.  He couldn’t move anything except his eyes, and when he turned them to look at what made the noise below, he saw his shoes, his jeans, and his coat, but they looked like they were made of wood.  There it laid, headless.

Cain did some additional chiseling before he was right up in Thomas’s face, then said, “Well, we can’t have an unhappy decoration now, can we?”  He had carved a smile on Thomas’s now-wooden face, then finished up by painting some rosy cheeks, then stepping back to admire his work.  Then he dragged Thomas’s body away, and that was the last time Cain spoke to him.

There Thomas hung as the sun rose and people started to appear to take in the decorations.  Hundreds of people each day walked by to appreciate the joy and cheer brought by the festive decor.  All the while, Thomas was of sound mind, but he could not make noise, he could not sleep, and he could not move, save his eyes, which moved too slowly for living people to appreciate.

About a week later, late in the evening after most people had left Santa’s Workshop, he saw his family. His father and two younger sisters were in the distance. It appeared as if they were hanging something on the walls of the adjacent buildings. He tried with all of his might to cry out, but nothing happened.

A few minutes later, he saw his mother.  She was out of the hospital and actually walking.  She appeared healthy.  She was only feet away, taking in the beautiful decorations on the tree and holding a stack of papers.  On the front, Thomas could make out some writing and an image. At the top, in bold letters, was the word, “Missing”, and below it was a picture of Thomas.

Soon his father and sisters joined his mother in viewing the tree.  And eventually, his mother gazed at Thomas directly.  She focused on him for a moment, then squinted and pointed at Thomas, and said, “Doesn’t that look like…” 

Thomas’s father looked at him as well, then said, “Dear, I think we’re both seeing things that we hope for, but aren’t there.”

His father then took one of the fliers from his mother and used an empty branch on the tree to perforate the flier in order for it to be displayed for all to see.  Right next to Thomas’s head. He then wrapped his arms around Thomas’s mother and said, “It’s getting cold. We’ll come back out tomorrow and post more fliers.”  

Thomas was overrun with emotion, and the realization that he was going to be hanging there for eternity. As his family walked away, a single tear ran down Thomas’s now-wooden face, down the side of his cheek, and below his head where his neck once was before dripping onto the cold grass below.

As the people went home, Thomas noticed someone in the distance sitting on the bench, appearing to be lost in thought. And not long after that, the man appeared startled and was squinting to see something to the side of the tree. Thomas couldn’t turn his head to look, but when the silhouette of a short pointed-eared person began making his way toward the man on the bench, he only wished he could warn him.

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The Storage Papers is a fiction horror podcast.

Discretion is advised.

Transcript

WRITTEN BY JEREMY ENFINGER

Times were tough that Christmas. Thomas Wright worked a seasonal job to help his family pay the bills. He was 16 years old and his parents each worked two jobs to support him and his two younger sisters, but his mother had fallen to illness in recent months. His father tried to pick up extra work, but found that keeping a second job was very difficult to do with chronic back pain he experienced from years of manual labor. So this year, Thomas decided to start helping out. 

He eagerly went to work in hopes to make a contribution to help his family afford the necessities, but after three weeks, he found his contributions were meager at best. He planned to be the first in his family to attend college and he knew his dreams would be threatened if his family couldn’t afford to pay the ever-increasing rent prices in San Diego. 

He wondered if he was going to be able to make things work. His mind struggled to focus on other possible ways to make more money using less time and effort. 

SOUND: CHRISTMAS MUSIC AND CHATTER ARE IN THE BACKGROUND WITH ADULTS AND CHILDREN ENJOYING THE ATTRACTION.

After his shift one night, he found himself so immersed in thought about this, he didn’t notice that he sat down on a bench in front of an elaborate seasonal attraction until a small girl started crying near him after spilling her hot cocoa and parents promising her they’d go purchase another. That’s when Thomas began taking in his surroundings, now distracted by its grandiosity.

It was truly a sight to behold. There were bubbles on the ground simulating snow, candy cane fences and gingerbread houses with people dressed in elf costumes. In the center of it all was a small structure with a hand-painted sign that said, “Santa’s Workshop”. On either side of that structure stood two of the largest Christmas trees he’d ever seen, elaborately decorated with vibrant lights, reflective globes of various colors, and life-like ornaments that looked like actual peoples’ faces, which he thought was very peculiar, but brushed it off since they all had smiles and cheeks painted red similarly to the elves in costume.

Though it was late, Thomas decided to spend some time thinking about possibilities for earning more income, and that’s when he thought of it. He’d heard a local crime-stopper report about how some of these local charities had spent very little of the money they actually earned through donations toward the people they claim to serve. Something like less than five percent. All that money with pure intention was going to the very few at the top of those organizations. People who didn’t need it, who already lived lavish lifestyles, greedily feeding off the good will of hard-working people like parasites. Yes, that’s how he would make ends meet. After all, his family needed charity more than those people.

He needed to devise a plan for how he was going to intercept those donations, but his time was spent rationalizing the morality of his idea. He told himself he’d make sure a large portion of it actually goes to the people it was intended for, which just happened to include his family. He mentally justified it before he began thinking of a plan. He found himself sitting on that bench longer than he anticipated.

SOUND: BACKGROUND NOISES FADE, AND THE SOUND OF FAINT BREEZE IS HEARD.

Still lost in thought, his concentration was broken when all of the lights from the attraction began shutting down, one by one, except for one of the Christmas trees. He looked at his watch and it was nearly midnight, and he realized how cold he was becoming.  

Thomas stood up with every intention of walking to his car and driving home. But movement caught his eye just beyond the Christmas tree with the lights on. Two separate lights, about 4 feet off the ground and slightly dimmer than the lights on the tree, yet separated from the rest of them by considerable distance, reflected green and red and gold. It wasn’t the colors that made them stand out though. It was the odd pattern of horizontal swaying back and forth that drew his attention. But they would frequently blink off and blink back on again, which ultimately led to the realization that they weren’t actually lights. They were reflections of the lights on the tree from a pair of eyes in the darkness, staring at him.

When Thomas realized this, he saw even more faint reflections below them, as if whoever was standing in the shadows had smiled and teeth reflected the nearby lights as well.  

Shivers sent up Thomas’s spine and he looked around to find no other person in sight. It’s as if he was entranced somehow, so deep in thought that he didn’t realize everyone around him had gone… except the person staring at him from the dark.

When Thomas turned his gaze back to that person, the eyes were gone, which made him more uncomfortable. Then the final remaining lights from the Christmas tree were shut off and Thomas found himself in darkness. 

He turned to walk toward the parking lot and to his astonishment, a small person was perched on the armrest of the bench he had been sitting on. He had pointed ears and a long, thin bleach-white beard that he was twirling in his fingers. A smile adorned his face as he sat staring at Thomas.  

Still overcome with surprise, Thomas asked the small person, “How the hell did you get here without making a noise?”

They replied, “Christmas magic, of course! Something tells me you’re troubled.”

Thomas took a step back, hesitant to interact with the thing. “Who are you?” He asked.

It stood up on the armrest of the bench as Thomas stepped away. “You can call me Cain” it replied.

Thomas took a moment to take in some details. It was wearing what looked like durable work clothes with a few holes in it, and its hands were calloused. The thing was covered in hair and never seemed to stop smiling. 

“So uh… Do you work here? I mean with the decorations and lights and all?” Thomas asked.

Cain replied, “You could say I contribute to it… but that’s not why I’m here.”

In a blur, the thing went from standing on the armrest of the bench to behind Thomas’s right shoulder, suspended in the air, to whisper, “I’m so glad you stayed for a while. I have a proposition for you.”

Thomas jumped and turned around to face Cain.

“How the hell are you moving so fast?” Thomas exclaimed.

Cain said, “I told you… Christmas magic. For all of the mockeries of elves, fictitious characters and magical beings everyone seems to enjoy every year around this time, why does it amaze people so much when the notion of real magic comes into question?”

Thomas said, “I guess I see your point. What’s this about a proposition?”

“Yes,” said Cain. “I noticed you seem a little glum… perhaps financial troubles have you down?”

“How did you know that?” Thomas replied. “Were you watching me this whole time?”

Cain said, “Not necessarily. I just happen to know many things… Things that normal people don’t know… I know your intentions and I agree with you. The rich often take advantage of the poor in so many ways… and they always seem to get away with it. My proposition has two options, but you’ll need to choose.”

Thomas said, “Choose? What do you mean?”

“Well, the universe doesn’t allow me to go everywhere I’d like to go, so I need your help to acquire something for me. You’ll be rewarded handsomely for your time and effort, of course.”

Thomas was apprehensive, but asked, “How much are we talking about… for the reward, I mean?”

Cane’s eyes became narrow and his smile widened. He said, “Oh, let’s just say you won’t need to worry about finances any longer if you do this for me.”

In his heart, Thomas knew this was too good to be true, but he also considered the timing of this offer and perhaps fate, or karma, or luck just happened to be on his side for once, and he did not have the strength nor the knowledge to resist such an offer.

“What do you need me to get?” Thomas asked.

Cain explained, “It’s simple, really. I need two things, but you need only to retrieve one for me. But don’t worry, they’re both nearby.”

Thomas said, “You mean right now?”

“Oh yes,” Cain replied. “It must be now while the opportunity still remains. Walk away and the opportunity will be gone forever.”

Thomas looked at his watch, which said twenty past midnight. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Cain held up his right fist, then opened it revealing a silver key in his palm and said, “There’s an office building about two miles from here. On the third floor, the southeast corner office has a locked cabinet adjacent the window overlooking the harbor. There’s a small box on the top shelf of that cabinet. This key will grant you entrance to the building, the office door, and the cabinet.”

“Okay, that sounds simple enough,” Thomas said as he reached for the silver key.

Cain retracted and closed his fist, saying “Or…”

Thomas lowered his hand and waited.

Cain lifted his left fist and opened it, revealing a gold key and said, “There’s a small storage unit just north of here that contains only one item… another small box. This key will grant you entrance into the main gate and the storage unit itself.”

Thomas thought carefully for a moment, then said, “What’s in these boxes? And why can’t you get them?”

Cain replied, “Nothing of value to you, of course, but each contains something of considerable value to me. And my reasons for wanting them are mine, and mine alone.”

Thomas hesitated.  “What’s the catch?” he said.

Cain replied, “No catch. My offer only requires you to retrieve one of them for me… But know this: Acquiring the box from the office building using the silver key will negatively influence one of the corrupt charitable organizations that you were previously thinking about.”

“And the gold key?” Thomas Asked.

“If you use the gold key to retrieve the box from the storage unit, your family will be rewarded.”

Cain then held both keys in his open palms in front of Thomas and said, “So, will you take the silver key and influence the corrupt charity? Or will you take the gold key and provide good fortune to your kin?”

“Simple as that?” Thomas said.

“Simple as that.” Cain replied. “I’ll meet you here on this bench when you return.”

Cain took a step closer to Thomas as he contemplated which key to take.

Listen

The Storage Papers is a fiction horror podcast.

Discretion is advised.

Transcript

WRITTEN BY NATHAN LUNSFORD

MALCOLM: Hello, Jeremy. This is quite the lovely home you have here. I hope you don’t mind. The door wasn’t quite closed— well, maybe that’s not entirely true, but it was easy enough for someone like little old me to slide in, either way. So I let myself in, and, as I was saying, it truly is a lovely home. Everything seems so… normal. I can’t in all honesty say it’s entirely how I pictured it. Somehow I thought there’d just be… more to you. Not all these formulaic photos of Disney and weddings and… I suppose that’s neither here nor there now, like they say.

Don’t worry, your children are sleeping, and so perfectly peacefully. They remind me of two siblings I used to know in a past life. Siblings who are all eaten away now. But that’s all between the memories of a wasted winter and the lost time of a forgotten fall. And that’s about where we are now. Here, together. You and me. And your wife over there, but we’ll pay her no mind, will we?

That’s right, stay sleeping. Stay dreaming. We both know what can happen in those pockets of space and time that we visit and create in our minds, don’t we? And what are you dreaming of now, I wonder? What secrets are you sharing with your Monitor? Judging by the small trail of blood slowly leaking from your skull, it must be a doozy. Perhaps one day you’ll tell me all about it. Or maybe I’ll just rip your head right open and savor the scent of decades of love, life, knowledge, education, thoughts, and dreams fading into nothing.

Another time, perhaps. I still need you. Just a little longer, Jeremy. Just a little longer.

For now, I’ll read you a little bedtime story. It’s about that time of year, isn’t it? That time when, despite the detective’s warnings you delve into my grandfather’s journal, exploiting his many deaths and for what? Your own amusement? That I could respect. But this podcast… really, Jeremy? Even I think that’s a bit… crass.

Did you ever wonder why this book of Joseph Jacob Foye contained so many deaths? No, I suppose you didn’t. It’s a wonder the few things you’ve caught onto with how… unique your brain works. I would have expected that, for someone you’ve been so interested in, you would have given it a bit more thought.

But no matter. I’ll find us a juicy one. Just for us. What do you have for us today, grandfather? Hmm… nothing too early on. And don’t want to jump straight to the end and spoil everything. Where’s the fun in that? Ah, here we are. October thirty-first, nineteen seventy-eight.

I’d never given much thought to pumpkin decorations. I suppose I’ve been so busy for so long that the whimsy of Halloween always just passed me by. Then I intercepted a call trying to reach the local police and I’ve paid a lot closer attention to pumpkins since then.

The sun was getting low and a light fog beginning to nestle into the ground when I arrived at Perry’s Pumpkin Patch. It was an unusual sight—at least for me. Perhaps this is more normal than I realize, but in front of me was at least a full acre—if not more—of pumpkins. Not entirely normal pumpkins, though. These ones were all different colors: a rainbow as far as I could see. And they were large! Not a single runt in sight. I neared the gate and saw a key “P” word I’d missed on the sign: Perry’s Pumpkin Painting Patch. Below that was a smaller sign with a few rules.

• Five dollars per family.
• Paints and brushes provided.
• Don’t move the pumpkins.

This was the sort of thing I suppose I could see the value in were I ever to form proper roots. As things stand now, however, my interest was singular, and the one to guide me had just arrived.

“Detective Flint?”

Judging by the man’s calloused, dirt-stained hands, this was the man who had called me, believing me to be a detective with the sheriff’s office. I offered my hand.

“You’re the caretaker here?”

He took my hand, giving me a firm shake and a curt nod before letting go and looking back over the field which was quickly turning amber below the lowering sun. “Tell me exactly what happened,” I said.

His arm rose and I followed his finger as he pointed near the center of the pumpkin patch. “It’s right over there,” he began. “It was busy earlier. Families everywhere. It’s really our time of year, you know? Out of nowhere, I hear a kid scream. I run out, thinking maybe a kid tripped and hurt themselves on a rock or some such. Then I hear more screams.”

“Can you show me,” I asked.

He nodded and, with me in tow, he began walking with the limp of a man who’d been limping for decades. “This’ll ruin us. I’ve always liked looking after a place that’s just meant to be a bit of family fun. I don’t know why he moved the pumpkin in the first place. It’s one of the only rules here. Not that this whole mess is the kid’s fault, but… I don’t know, I’m just rambling, I suppose.”

“Why the rule,” I asked. “Seems a bit particular, doesn’t it?”

He glanced back at me and offered a half shrug. “‘A bit particular’ would be a good way to describe Mr. Perry. But if things get moved, it can ruin the whole look, I think. Suddenly pumpkins get detached or carelessly broken and this is no longer an iconic view of multicolored pumpkins, but a pumpkin graveyard.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “If you’ll excuse the expression. Jesus.”

He slowed to a stop. “There. The half-painted one.”

I moved past him, eyeing the oversized squash. Not even half of it had actually been painted. Black bats and an unpainted orange full moon decorated a purple sky, but apart from that it was all pumpkin. “The kid moved it?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t even tell you how. These things are heavier than they look,” he answered.

“Well, they look pretty heavy, so that’s saying something,” I mused as I crouched by the pumpkin in question. “How do they all get to be so big?”

“Mr. Perry says it’s the fertilizer, but I can attest that that’s nothing special. I always tell people it’s a bit of Halloween magic. But honestly, hell if I know.”

I stood up and turned to him. “Would you mind helping me?”

He nodded and stepped forward. Together, and with much effort, we lifted the pumpkin and moved it to the side. “Oh Christ,” he gasped.

It wasn’t a pretty sight, I’ll give him that. The bottom of the pumpkin had a hole in it, and it’d been hollowed out to make room for the head that protruded from the ground before us. I withdrew a penlight from my pocket and inspected the corpse. I heard the caretaker swear behind me, then turn away. I’m sure I’d seen worse, but at this precise moment I’m having a hard time remembering exactly when. The flesh was missing in chunks across the victim’s cheeks and back of his head. His teeth were exposed for the lack of lips, and an eye was missing entirely, the other gray and without a pupil. The exposed white bone was riddled with holes, like a piece of wood after a swarm of termites took a pass at it.

I thought I saw movement and peered more closely into the empty eye socket to see that it wasn’t empty at all. Dozens of dark, maggot-like creatures hurriedly moved away from my light. I stood up. This seemed more likely to be a regular crime scene with a slightly more interesting twist, but, as I surveyed the field, I saw nothing that would fall into my purview; it was likely just a murder victim being reclaimed by nature. Dust to dust and all that.

I told him that I had everything I needed for now and would be sending a unit out to take care of this further, but the place would need to remain closed for now. He wasn’t happy about having to be closed on Halloween weekend, but understood that it was the right thing to do given the circumstances. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to look at these pumpkins the same,” he said quietly before I left. I couldn’t disagree with him, and was somewhat thankful I had no need to return.

I didn’t sleep well that night. Something was bothering me, rattling around in the back of my brain, not unlike the John Doe in the pumpkin patch. Why leave the head out of the ground? Sure, an oversized pumpkin is a good enough place to hide it if you’re going to, I suppose, but why risk getting caught at all? It was around two in the morning when I decided that sleep wasn’t paying me a visit and made my way back out to Perry’s Pumpkin Painting Patch.

The fog that had just started to roll in was now fully settled over the field, covering all but the tops of the pumpkins. I carried a stronger flashlight now, and let the beam slowly roll over the property. There was the field itself, then the office which was attached to a small house (presumably the caretaker’s residence), and a large shed where I could surmise that all the tools and maintenance supplies were kept. So what was the tiny shed on the far side of the field for? I debated leaving it alone, but nothing was speaking to me amongst the pumpkins and I still had that itch to scratch.

It was a jaunt, but as I approached, my curiosity only intensified. This shed had a locking mechanism I hadn’t encountered before outside of facilities that were far more secretive than a family pumpkin patch. I’d picked up a few things at those facilities, however, and was able to bypass the electronic lock entirely. As I opened the door, lights flickered on to illuminate a staircase leading underground. I looked behind me at the rows of painted squash, then descended below the shed.

The room I entered at the bottom could hardly be called a room at all for its sheer size. Everything was white—almost blindingly so. The entirety of the room was empty except for massive cylinders hanging from the ceiling like giant stalactites. I walked twenty or so paces to the one nearest me so I could inspect it. There seemed to be a removable panel on the side. Withdrawing the same screwdriver I’d used to bypass the lock, I began to work on the panel. It took some effort due to the size, but I was able to remove it. The answer I was looking for wasn’t immediately apparent, though. A plastic window was behind the panel, and behind that was solid dirt.

I looked around, then moved to the next cylinder, repeating the process. More dirt. Looking more closely at the window itself, I noticed a small button on the frame that I had mistaken for a bolt at first glance. I pressed it and the window immediately opened, sliding upwards into the frame. I stepped back and a bit of dirt spilled out, although with how tightly packed it was, not much was displaced. I hesitated, then began pulling chunks of dirt by hand, digging for answers. Then I found them. My hand made contact with something. I hurriedly cleared out enough dirt to realize what I’d connected with. Bone.

Just like the skull I’d seen in the pumpkin, this had been tunneled through by something. I looked more closely, trying to see what may have caused the unique pattern, then jumped back as something long and thin moved rapidly through one of the holes and crawled out of the capsule faster than I could react. I spun around to catch it—or to instinctively stomp on it—before it scurried away entirely, but my face was met with a very hard, dull object and I blacked out.

I don’t know how long it was before I came to, but I found that I was struggling to breathe. It was hard not to let panic set in, but I knew that would just make things more difficult. I tried to move any part of my body, but found I could barely even open my mouth. I looked around, searching for any explanation or, preferably, any way to escape. It was hard to tell where I was, but the pieces soon fell into place.

“It’s not personal, you know.”

The voice came muffled through the pumpkin shell. I didn’t recognize it. I tried to ask why but he’d already begun to answer before my efforts could yield any results.

“It’s an interesting species. We’ve been maintaining them for decades now. We’re still learning so much. Why do they feed primarily on bones? Why do they need to lay eggs above ground when they mainly live their lives below it? An unexpected byproduct is that their excrement makes for excellent fertilizer, of course. Not that that’s why they’re here.”

He paused, and I coughed, trying desperately to breathe. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain inside my leg.

“I don’t want to kill you. I’ve never actually killed anyone. Not directly, at least. But I can’t have you walk away with what you’ve seen. Instead, you’re contributing to science. Perhaps it’d be better not to tell you this, but by now you’ve probably begun to feel them. They should be burrowing into you about now to get at your bones. After some time, they’ll work their way up where they’ll lay their eggs inside your skull. Hopefully, you’ll be dead by then. Rinse and repeat, and you’ll have officially made an immeasurable contribution to science.”

With much effort I managed to get out two words through the pain and suffocation. “How? Why?”

I heard him crouch down by the pumpkin. “That’s just one of those questions, isn’t it? Maybe with your help, we’ll finally have an answer. We tried feeding them so many things. Animals, plants, fungi, but none of them took. So we feed the bones to them. Human bones, unfortunately. That’s it.”

I could feel them crawling up the inside of my legs. He stood back up. “And as to why? Well, is the scientific mind not enough for you? Then perhaps the incredible fertilizer that can be sold at an unmatched price point could be your answer. I hear they can also be used for some intense interrogation methods. But I know little about all that. I’m just here to get answers. I have to be on my way now. If you want my advice… try to relax. I don’t know if it helps you, or not, but it couldn’t hurt. And it allows them to work a bit faster. It doesn’t really make a difference to me either way, though. Goodbye, now.”

I tried to scream but couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. I heard him walking away as I felt the insects—or whatever they were—burrow through my bones, getting closer and closer to my head. I wasn’t alive by the time they made it to my brain.

My, my, that was quite the delicious entry, wouldn’t you say? That’s all for now, though, Jeremy. I’ll go ahead and let myself out. We’ll be in touch soon. Sweet dreams. 

Listen

The Storage Papers is a fiction horror podcast.

Discretion is advised.

Transcript

WRITTEN BY JEREMY ENFINGER

SCENE 1: RESERVATION: FATHER / MARGARET
EXT: HEAVY RAIN AND THUNDER AS FATHER AND DAUGHTER, MARGARET, APPROACH LUCIUS’S FRONT DOOR.

MARGARET: I’m scared, father.

FATHER: Oh Margaret, there’s really no reason to be.

MARGARET: But what if he doesn’t like me?  What if I don’t get picked?

FATHER: Then… that’s okay. Not every family member gets chosen for the inheritance. 

(footsteps change from in mud to on wood)

FATHER: And even if you don’t get picked now, you could always get picked in the future… when you’re a little older. Come on, let’s go inside where it’s warm.

(Father jiggles door handle)

MARGARET: (pouty) But wait!

FATHER: What is it, sweetie?

MARGARET: Are you going to be upset if I’m not picked?

FATHER: No, sweetheart. You know I’m very proud of you, right?  

MARGARET: Yes, father.

FATHER: And your mother was very proud of you too before she passed.

MARGARET: I know.

FATHER: Hey, did you know that I didn’t get picked the first time? It took me three years to get picked! 

MARGARET: (uplifted) Really!!

FATHER: …And your mother… Well, she did much better than I did.  She was picked her second year.

MARGARET: So it’s okay if he doesn’t like me this year?

FATHER: Oh, it has nothing to do with liking you or disliking you. Tonight is all about just getting to know you.  You want to get to know your relatives, don’t you?

MARGARET: Yes, father.

FATHER: So, when we go inside, I’m going to introduce you, and he’s just going to ask you some harmless questions… to get to know you, okay? That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?

MARGARET: No. That sounds easy.

FATHER: It is incredibly easy, and you’re going to do great. And since I already know you, don’t you think I know what I’m talking about?

MARGARET: (chipper) Yeah.

FATHER: Okay, now… Are you ready to meet some more of your family? 

MARGARET: (excited) Yes!!

FATHER: Okay, that’s my girl! Let’s get inside and warm up!

(thunder rolls as they walk in the door and close it)

SCENE 2: TRADITION: FATHER / LUCIUS / MARGARET
INT: Fireplace raging with Lucius sitting in a recliner next to it.  Father introduces Margaret to Lucius.  Margaret approaches, hesitant to engage in conversation.  

FATHER: Wait here a moment and I’ll call you over.

(walking away several steps toward Lucius)

FATHER: (at distance) Lucius, we’ve arrived.

LUCIUS: Ah yes, very well. Send her in.

FATHER: Of course. I’ll be anxiously waiting to hear from you. I’m getting hungry!

LUCIUS: As am I… as am I.

FATHER: Margaret, dear. Come over here. I’d like to introduce you to someone.  

(closer)

FATHER: This, Margaret, is Lucius. Lucius, my daughter Margaret.

MARGARET: Hello?  Are you my grandpa?

LUCIUS: (weak/frail sounding) Well, not exactly, my dear. But I knew your grandfather well. And your mother… you have her eyes and her nose (laughs weakly).

MARGARET: Really?

LUCIUS: Oh you most definitely do.
(to Father) The family is out back with everyone else. You know the way. 
(to Margaret) Come here little one, and sit next to an old man by the fireplace. Let me get to know you.

MARGARET: (joyful) Okay. Father told me you’re going to ask me some questions.

LUCIUS: Why yes, I will. But I want to tell you a story first… as long as you can promise me two things.

MARGARET: Of course!  What two things?

LUCIUS: First, there’s always a lesson to be learned from one of my stories.  You must promise me you will take this lesson and apply it to your life.

MARGARET: Okay, that should be easy.  What’s the second thing?

LUCIUS: You can’t tell anyone this story outside of family. Can you keep a secret?

MARGARET: That’s silly, but okay.

LUCIUS: I’m quite serious now… mum’s the word!  If you ever do get tempted and tell someone… 

(eerie music intensifies)

LUCIUS: (cont’d) I’ll know! 

(emphasis on “I’ll know” and voice effects, voice grows strong and deep, echoes with a growl)

MARGARET: (almost amused) Okay… I promise.

LUCIUS: (voice is comforting, returning to normal) You understand my terms for telling you this story?

MARGARET: Um… to use its lesson in my life and don’t tell anyone the story.

LUCIUS: Spot on!  That’s a good girl!

MARGARET: (joyful) You’re silly… can I hear the story now?

LUCIUS: Yes dear. Are you ready?

MARGARET: Yes!

LUCIUS: Okay. Here we go. There was once a man who traveled West. The days were long and hard traveling by horse and wagon, and he made camp each night, cooking by a fire he would make near his wagon, moving to new locations each day.  
The man traveled alone, but after weeks of traveling, he began to believe he was being followed. Day after day, night after night, he was convinced he saw movement in the corner of his eye.  He would constantly look over his shoulder hoping to catch a clear glimpse of someone or something that he was certain was behind him, but he was never able to. After enough time, he began to live every moment of his life in fear, and he began to develop a cruel disposition.
One night near the end of his travels, he had nearly run out of food and he did not know how much longer it would take to reach his destination.  After making camp, he had an idea that would not only relieve his hunger, but would serve as entertainment to distract him from his paranoia of being followed, and he hoped it might satiate his new found need for cruelty. 
You see, he had come across a variety of creatures, snakes, and vermin he had never before witnessed in his travels. He was so fascinated by them that he collected them in baskets and took them with him during his journey.
So, that night by his camp fire, he emptied two of the baskets very close to one another and watched the creatures that came out of them in hopes they would fight to the death. And he planned to cook whichever one lost the fight as his dinner for that evening.
So, he sat on a tree stump as he watched a snake and a fox on the ground in front of him. Both of them had been disoriented after he released them from their baskets, but they did not quarrel. The man grew impatient and began throwing pebbles and sticks at them to instigate a fight. But the creatures did not fight, for they were both weak and hungry, having spent days in those baskets. 
As the man resigned his hopes for entertainment, he began to ponder which he would have for dinner, considering he’d have to kill it himself. As he sharpened his knife, a great beast which had been following him for days came from the shadows and crept up behind him. It lunged at him and killed the man in an instant. It happened so quickly that the man never saw the beast, and it devoured him right there while the snake and the fox observed.
So Margaret, what did you think about this story?

MARGARET: It’s a really weird story. But I liked it!

LUCIUS: And what was the lesson of the story, Margaret?

MARGARET: Well, it didn’t have a happy ending.

LUCIUS: (prompting more) Yes?

MARGARET: And the man wasn’t very smart.

LUCIUS: Oh? And why is that?

MARGARET: Well, it doesn’t matter what kind of person or animal you are… there’s always going to be something else that will eat you.

LUCIUS: Very perceptive, dear Margaret. So then, who was the villain in this story? The fox, the snake, the man, or the great beast?

MARGARET: Well… the fox and the snake didn’t do anything wrong.

LUCIUS: That leaves the man and the great beast.

MARGARET: Well they were both just trying to eat, but the man was mean about it.

LUCIUS: Why, my dear?

MARGARET: He wanted to watch the fox and snake fight and hurt each other just for fun.

LUCIUS: And how was the beast different?

MARGARET: The beast ate the man, but he killed him fast.

LUCIUS: And do you think it was wrong for the beast to kill the man?

MARGARET: No. It’s just an animal and if it didn’t kill the man then he would just be hungry.

LUCIUS: Very good, Margaret. Now… Do you remember what two things you promised me before I told you that story?

MARGARET: (excited) Ooh ooh yes!

LUCIUS: What were they, my dear?

MARGARET: That I wouldn’t tell anyone the story at all… well, unless they’re in our family.

LUCIUS: And the second promise?

MARGARET: Um… that I would use the lesson from the story in my life.

LUCIUS: VERY good! So, what was the lesson, Margaret? 

MARGARET: To not be cruel. 

LUCIUS: Mmm hmm.

MARGARET: And to never travel alone.

LUCIUS: (laughs) You are a bright one, Margaret! So young, and so perceptive.  You’ve done splendidly! There are two more lessons I want you to take with you from that story. Are you ready to hear them?

MARGARET: Yes. But did I mess up?

LUCIUS: No, my dear. You were amazing! I don’t expect anyone to know about these next two lessons until I tell them. Once I do, you’ll understand.

MARGARET: Oh, okay. What are they?

LUCIUS: First, the man was without family. Family is everything, Margaret. If you must be separated from family, do not let it be for so long. It’s a strict rule that our people live by!

MARGARET: Okay, I understand.

LUCIUS: And second: trust your instincts. Do you know what instincts are?

MARGARET: No.

LUCIUS: Instincts are just feelings. Like when the man thought he was being followed all that time during his travels. He actually was being followed. They’re just feelings you get that you should trust. And we all have them.

MARGARET: Like when I can tell if someone is good or if they’re bad?

LUCIUS: Exactly like that, but before they actually do something to show you that they’re good or bad. Instincts can be developed, but you have to learn to trust them. The moment the man in the story stopped thinking about his, he was devoured by the beast, remember?

MARGARET: I understand. Thanks for telling me that story.

LUCIUS: You’re welcome, child. Why don’t we go and find your father?

SCENE 3: THE PARTY: LUCIUS / MARGARET / FATHER
EXT: LUCIUS WALKS MARGARET TO MEET HER FATHER BEHIND THE HOUSE. THERE’S MUSIC COMING FROM THE STABLE AND IT’S RAINING.

LUCIUS: Help me find your father, dear.

MARGARET: Wow, who are all these people?

LUCIUS: They’re all family, and they’re all very excited to meet you.

MARGARET: But they don’t look like me. Some of them have different skin colors. Some of them have different hair.

LUCIUS: When I say “family,” I don’t necessarily mean in the way your school teacher or your friends use the word “family” – implying your mother and father. 

MARGARET: What do you mean?

LUCIUS: Well, a family can be a group of descendants sharing the same ancestors. If your ancestors are old enough, over generations, people look less and less like each other, but they are still family. Or…

MARGARET: Or?

LUCIUS: It can mean a very close group of people with similar traits. They’re like us, Margaret.

MARGARET: Oh! There’s father!

(father approaches)

FATHER: See? Nothing to worry about! And in your very first year!

MARGARET: What do you mean, father? Does that mean I was picked?

FATHER: Yes, Margaret. You wouldn’t be back here with the family unless you were.

MARGARET: So does that mean I get my in-hair-tense?

FATHER: Inheritance… yes! And at such a young age!

MARGARET: But what is my in-hair-tense, father? 

FATHER: You’re about to find out, Margaret. Lucius will make the announcement.

(fork dings on glass as Lucius calls the family’s attention to a toast)

LUCIUS: Listen up everyone! Listen up! I have an announcement to make. And this body of mine doesn’t allow me to speak loudly. (pause)
(to Margaret) Margaret, come stand next to me dear. 
(to crowd) I have with me tonight a very special young girl, whose mother was taken from us far too soon this past year. And maintaining tradition, I have met with the girl… and deemed her worthy!

(clapping)

LUCIUS: (cont’d) The cycle continues as the eldest male and the eldest female in each line receives their ancestral inheritance, if found forthright and just, and able to distinguish evil intention. I present to you, Margaret.

(clapping)

LUCIUS: (cont’d) May we all bear witness, as family, as Margaret undergoes the change. I know you’re all hungry and I could eat a horse myself…

(laughing)

LUCIUS: (cont’d) …So without further delay, Margaret, please drink this now. 

FATHER: (close to Margaret) Go ahead, we’ve all done it.

(Margaret drinks)

LUCIUS: And let us all make our way to the stable now to join the party, where our other guests have gathered and are enjoying our hospitality, though they deserve no such thing!

(loud cheers, then fade into background)

MARGARET: Will it hurt, father?

FATHER: Maybe for just a second, but it goes away really fast. Let’s move. You get to go into the stable first.

MARGARET: Are they all really bad people, father?

FATHER: Yes, dear. I can assure you that none of these people deserve to live. Do you recall the large man that visited us just before your mother passed?

MARGARET: Is he the one that…

FATHER: Yes, dear. He’s the one that murdered your mother, and because of his wealth and social stature, he has not faced justice.

MARGARET: But don’t you want to do it, father?

FATHER: Nothing would make me more proud than to watch my only daughter instill justice on the man that has brought us so much pain over the last year.

MARGARET: Ugh… my stomach hurts, father!

FATHER: That’s supposed to happen. You’re about to feel more hungry than you’ve ever felt in your life. Give into the hunger once we open those stable doors, Margaret, but not before then.

SCENE 4: FEAST: LUCIUS / FATHER / MARGARET / FAMILY
EXT: The family arrives at the stable, where there is music playing loudly inside. All of the people inside are about to be eaten as transformations of each family member are about to take place.

LUCIUS: Okay everyone, remember tradition! Margaret, my dear… the first transformation is the most uncomfortable. You will feel hunger and rage, but we direct it toward those inside the stable tonight, and never at family.

MARGARET: (uncomfortable) Are we like vampires or werewolves or something?

LUCIUS: No, my dear. We’re something… different. 
(voice gets younger-sounding/stronger) But we are feared just the same. 
(shouting) Ready at the doors!

MARGARET: (straining, voice growing deeper and raspy) I’m ready father!

FATHER: Remember, he’s the large man in a gray suit. Everyone will wait until you take him before they start attacking. I’ll be right there, sweetie.

(Margaret growling and in pain)

LUCIUS: (growl-speak) Margaret, are you ready?

MARGARET: Yes!

LUCIUS: Open the doors! 

(music stops, crowd gasps, and growling, gory flesh-tearing murder noises happen with screaming)

Listen

The Storage Papers is a fiction horror podcast.

Discretion is advised.

Transcript

WRITTEN BY ALEX KINGSLEY

Hello everyone. Due to the nature of how the last episode ended, I am unfortunately not yet able to give you episode ten, the mid-season finale. Instead, I’m recording this brief intro from a hospital bed and I’ll have to get back to you next time with episode ten. For now until I can get back to my normal recording self, I wanted to share with you one of the stories that was submitted through the writing competition we had last year. I hope you don’t mind this slight delay, and something tells me you’re going to enjoy this story. I’ll be back in two weeks with episode ten.

 The guidance counselor told me that it wasn’t too late for me to get on the right track. Which I thought was stupid, honestly— the idea that there was a “right track” and a “wrong track” for me. 

“You’re only a sophomore,” she told me, “There’s still time to make up for your mistakes.”

I guess there’s no use hiding it. I mean, it feels weird to admit to the police that you were selling pot out of the second floor girl’s bathroom every third period after Mr. Thompson’s class ended, but then again, you guys already busted me for that, so you know that part already. The thing is, I didn’t think of it so much as a mistake. High schoolers are stressed. They need something to help them chill. Thanks to my big brother, I had that something, and I didn’t really think there was anything wrong with that. 

I didn’t say this to the guidance counselor, though. I just told her that I didn’t think colleges would look fondly upon a fifteen-year-old who’d already racked up a criminal charge. She laughed, and I remember the way her beaded glasses chain waggled, she told me that I was not the first weed dealer she’d helped to get into college. 

“Colleges love to see that you’re engaging in your community,” she told me, “and since you’re still relatively young, if you get started now and stick with it, it’ll really look like you’re committed to whatever activity you pick.”
I tried not to laugh. First of all, I’m pretty sure selling drugs to students was already pretty great community engagement, but colleges wouldn’t see it that way. But I guess what really got me was that it all seemed so fake. Pretending that you really like something just so colleges will say, “oh, that kid’s got passion! Oh, that kid’s going places!” She shoved a bunch of brochures at me, telling me to “peruse these opportunities for promising youths” and get back to her. 

I chucked them as soon as I got home, but my dad found them in the trash. 

He told me, “If this is how Mrs. Vale thinks you’re getting into college, then goddamnit, you’re doing it.”

I looked through the brochures, and they all seemed pretty boring. Volunteering at a children’s museum. Working at a homeless shelter.  Doing paperwork for some environmental nonprofit. I managed to eliminate all of them except one: the city library. It’s not that I was exactly thrilled at the possibility of reshelving books, but I figured it sounded a lot better than spending my day with a bunch of screaming children trying to force them to learn about the life cycle of a bee, so that was the one I picked.

I went on Monday afternoon after school and was greeted like a returning war hero.

“You must be Bailey!” I remember the woman at front desk clasped her hands together, like my appearance was an answer to her prayers. She took me into a back office, where there was a spindly old man rubbing a wet paper towel on old children’s books. 

“Welcome, newest addition to the Children’s Section!” he said, much to my disappointment. The whole reason I took this job was to get away from a job with kids. Still, there was hope. Maybe they’d just have me preparing arts and crafts. Maybe I wouldn’t have to interact with kids at all. 

The lanky man introduced himself as Randy, and he rushed me away on a tour of the building. It’s funny what constitutes a big landmark in a tiny local library. He was particularly proud of the color copier, which is apparently a coveted thing in the library business. 

The big climax of the tour was the Reading Room. I didn’t want to be impressed by the library, but to be honest, the Reading Room was pretty cool. The carpet was blood red with little black dots that made me think of a ladybug, and one full wall of the room was covered in huge arched windows, with wooden spokes that reached down to connect at a central hub, like hands on a clock. There were no lights in the room. It was only lit by the sunlight streaming in from the windows. The floor was littered with multicolored pillows, now unoccupied. At the head of the room was a rocking chair with a stack of children’s books on the floor nearby it.

“This place is actually pretty nice,” I told Randy, and he looked so proud, like he’d built the library himself. 

“Why thank you,” he said, and took me back downstairs to give me more information about what I’d be doing for my job. A lot of it wasn’t so bad— laminating posters, folding brochures, making decorations for the “Book of the Month” display. But every weekend, I was expected to be there for Read Aloud Time. I didn’t want to let Randy know this, but I was dreading that part. I do not like hanging out with kids, and regardless of how pretty that Reading Room was, I didn’t enjoy the prospect of sitting on the muticolored pillows, doing stupid nursery rhymes with a bunch of drooling, sniffling, grimy toddlers. But Randy had this kind of pouty face, one you couldn’t say no to, so of course I told him I would be there bright and early Sunday morning.

I was really dragging my feet on my first Sunday, but once I saw all those cute little faces, so eager to hear about Peter Rabbit and Mother Goose or whatever talking animal they were going to learn about today, I felt my heart just melt a little. I remember thinking, “Oh, okay. I can make this work.” 

Basically my job was just to sit with them and listen to the story while Randy sat in the rocking chair reading.

Read Aloud always started with the Reading Time Song. It wasn’t so much a song really as a chant— I think it’s too much to ask of little kids to stay in tune. Before the story began, they would speak the words aloud with the accompanying hand gestures. It went like this: 

I open my heart 
I open my mind 
I open a book
And I read what’s inside
I keep my hands to myself
And I won’t be too loud 
So all of my friends
Can enjoy Read Aloud 

It was pretty sneaky, teaching the kids the rules like that. It was basically a nice way of saying “sit down and shut up.” It worked, though. The kids always paid attention during Read Aloud. And as much as I hate to admit it, I paid pretty close attention too. Some of those kids’ books are good, okay? 

Sunday mornings became my favorite day of the week. I started getting up early, even before my dad opened the store, to bring the front desk lady — her name is Laura — a bagel and a coffee. I kinda became a local library celebrity. I think it helped that I was the only person working there under the age of fifty. Oh, and I’m sure the fact that I was unpaid labor didn’t hurt either. I’m not gonna lie, I have a hard time getting myself motivated for school. I’m not really that interested in chemistry or history or trig or whatever. For a long time I didn’t know what I was interested in. Turns out I’m just interested in making kids laugh. 

Randy was particularly excited for me to be there for the Summer Reading Program. It’s the time of year that the children’s section is busiest because kids are coming in with their reading logs to get their hands stamped and to get a reward for how much they read. It encourages kids to read on their own, Randy told me. And to be quite honest, I was looking forward to it too. 

Okay, now I know you’re probably tired of hearing all that gushy stuff, but that’s where the touchy-feely part of the story ends, because a few months into my job was about when things started to go south. I knew something was wrong when I walked in one Sunday morning and Laura was not her usual chipper self. She still had her hands clasped together like she usually did, but this time she was a little shaky, like she was nervous about something. I gave her the usual bagel and coffee, and she just shook her head. I asked her what was wrong. She leaned over the desk and whispered that Randy was gone.

Before I could ask her what she meant, a man I didn’t recognize stepped out from what used to be Randy’s office. He was a lot younger than Randy, with full dark hair combed back and thick beard. He wore a suit and a crooked smile, two things you don’t usually see on someone who works in a public library. The new man introduced himself as Damion, and he said that he’d been transferred from another branch to be Randy’s replacement. I asked where Randy had gone, and he brushed the question aside, saying it wasn’t any of his business. Then he told me I was going to be late for Read Aloud and he hurried upstairs. 

Before I followed him, I turned to look at Laura. Her eyes were wide with panic. I asked her if Randy had told her anything about retiring and she said no, he’d never mentioned anything about leaving. She’d tried calling him and there was no answer. She’d also asked around to the other branches to see where Damion had come from, and none of them seemed to know who he was. 

Despite Laura’s franticness, I wasn’t actually that concerned. Mostly just confused. What kind of guy just shows up to take over Read Aloud? 

Just as I was about to ask Laura some more questions, I heard my name:

“Bailey.”

Without turning around, I knew it was him calling me. His voice felt cold, like ice water dripping down my back. I turned around to face him without thinking about it first. 

“You’re late for reading time. Come.” 

“Yes sir,” I said reflexively, and followed him upstairs.

That was the first Sunday that we did not do the Read Aloud Song. Damion said he had a new song to teach the kids. It went like this: 

We invite him to come in
We invite him to come feast
We invite him to our doorstep
We invite the hungry beast
We give him all he asks for
Anything he needs
We invite him to come in
So that he may feed

Damion didn’t teach the kids fun hand gestures like Randy did. He made them cover their faces with their hands as they spoke. 

Usually that’s when Randy would go on to read the story, but Damion didn’t do that. He started handing out sheets of paper. He called them “reading logs” and he said they were part of the Summer Reading Program. Only thing was, they didn’t look like the reading logs you usually give to kids— lined pages covered with clipart of books and caterpillars and things like that. These were blank. And instead of instructing them to write the books they read and bring the reading log in to get a stamp and a reward, he told them to write down what they believe in. The child who believes the most will be the Summer Reading Champion. 

After Read Aloud, I told him I thought it was a really weird nursery rhyme. He said it was just something he used to do as a little kid, that it was about feeding a stray dog. I told him I still thought it was really weird, and he just glared at me. Usually I have no problem with people looking at me funny, but this was the first glare I ever got that truly made me want to run away. And it was just over his stupid nursery rhyme. 

I was hoping maybe there was some mistake, that Damion was a temporary replacement and that Randy would return, but from that day forward, I only saw his crooked little smile when I looked into Randy’s office. I wanted to quit, but everytime I made my decision that I’d had enough, it was like he knew, and he appeared behind me, asking me to stay. And I didn’t want to stay, but somehow I still found myself saying yes.

Laura disappeared. Not in the same way Randy did, luckily. I showed up one day with a bagel and coffee for her and she was gone. I called her and she told me that she just couldn’t stand it anymore. Something wasn’t right and she didn’t want to be there. I was jealous of her, actually. I don’t know why I kept coming in, watching the kids do their chant and turn in their “reading logs” every Sunday morning. 

I’m not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t forgotten my jacket that day. Summer was coming to a close and it was going to be a chilly night, but I didn’t notice myself shivering until the sun started to go down and I was already most of the way home. I considered not turning back for it, but I figured that since I had the keys anyway, I might as well run back into the library, scoop it up, and be out of there.

As soon as I entered the building I knew something was wrong. I heard what sounded like a rhythmic hum, like there was some kind of generator running. But all the lights were off. I decided to ignore it and just look for my jacket, but the deeper I got into the library, the louder it got. At that point I was too curious to let it go, so I started to follow the noise. It led me to the stairs, and I realized it was coming from the second floor. From the Reading Room. In that moment I knew that whatever was happening, Damion was behind it. 

I crept up the marble stairs. As I walked down the second floor hall, I realized the hum was actually a chant. The same chant that Damion made the kids do. But this time, they weren’t saying it like a nursery rhyme. They were repeating it like…a plea. 

I gently pushed the door to the Reading Room open, knowing that Damion would not be pleased at my intrusion. I feared what he might do to me if he found I was there. All the kids were seated on their cushions, hands pressed over their eyes, repeating that horrible chant. The only light in the room was the moonlight streaming in through the huge windows, casting long shadows of the children across the floor. Damion sat in the rocking chair, his face almost glowing in the moonlight, grinning.

“Now,” he whispered, “it’s time to crown the Summer Reading Champion.”

With a flourish, he lifted one of the “reading logs ” and a little girl stood up. I recognized her from Read Aloud as Lucy, a shy three-year-old. I had spent a lot of my volunteer time sitting her in my lap and encouraging her to interact with the other kids. 

“Thank you for choosing me,” she said in a voice that was not hers, “I am honored.”

Slowly she glided through the other children and towards Damion, who stood with an outstretched hand at the front of the room. 

I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen. Even looking back, I still have no idea what might have happened if that girl had taken Damion’s hand. But I had this sense of dread deep in my stomach, this knowledge that if he touched that little girl, something irreversible would happen, and it would be terrible and it would be all my fault for doing nothing. 

Without thinking about it, I leapt forward, dashing through the children and scooping up Lucy in my arms. Damion cried out in surprise when I appeared. I guess he hadn’t seen me lurking in the shadows in the back of the room.

“The child now belongs to me,” he said in a voice I know did not come from him. 

“No,” I told him, “she doesn’t. And you are ruining the Summer Reading Program.”

I shifted Lucy to my left arm to free up my right, and I smacked him hard across the face. I didn’t actually hit that hard, but I think it was the surprise of it that made him give an inhuman shriek, reeling backwards. The moment he fell, it was as though a spell was broken. The children simply stood up and left. Even Lucy wriggled out of my arms and walked towards the door. When I looked down, Damion was gone, and I was alone in the Reading Room.

I know I sound crazy, especially since none of the kids remember this happening, but you can ask Laura. She’ll back me up. Damion was there, and he did…he did something to those poor kids, even if they don’t remember it. And then he just…disappeared.

You may think that after all this, I would never want to set foot in the library again, and that was true. For like a week. But I missed the kids, and I missed Read Aloud, so I picked up where Randy left off and started reading those kids books myself. I don’t think I want to go to college anymore since it seems like I’ve got a pretty sweet gig lined up right here, so it turns out all that “community engagement” was for nothing. Well, not for nothing. I’m pretty happy. Mostly.

I still often wonder what happened to Randy. And I never stay in the library after dark.