The Warehouse, Part 3

I can’t go back now… I’m here, standing outside a 35k square foot abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night. Nobody knows I’m here, nobody will look for me, and I can’t call for help unless I scream. What would you do?

Behind me, moving trains, the river, and several large creepy dudes milling about down by the river. I’d felt their presence when we had passed by the empty camp on the way in, but now they had officially made themselves known. It would take more to shake me off my mission.

As far as entering the building, I didn’t know what to expect, and I hadn’t questioned my guide. As it turned out, we had to climb up and through an old door that was about six feet off the ground. As I expected, it was pitch black inside. Homeless people tend to travel prepared, I traveled more than prepared, including a Navy Flashlight that kinda resembled a stun gun flashlight combo. I didn’t tell the woman that it was a taser, but I purposely handled it one, repeatedly giving off false clues as to if it was a taser and I was trying to hide the fact. This way she would lie to herself, which of course is more convincing. It was just a badass flashlight and that’s it.

She and I made our way through the maze of blackness, filth and debris, and endless walls of graffiti. The quantity and quality of the endless murals impressive, suggestive, and quite eerily fantastic! Several times she found me dragging behind, examining paintings of supernatural or demonic sceneries. I’m not saying I do or do not endorse such things, but I am saying I endorse making the most of my time while I was there. Besides, there’s nothing to worry about until there’s something to worry about. Fortunately, I’m somewhat practiced in the ways of knowing if there’s something to worry about. Does that make any sense?

Within thirty minutes of entering the labyrinth, a building resembling the sets of Hostile, Saw, and the vampire mansion from Salem’s Lot, we came to a huge sliding door with a large padlock. Yes, the entrance to her home. Well actually, she called it the door to her apartment.

I’ll finish Part 3 with this bit. I was 100% sure that we were not alone, and I’m not referring to her husband.

Ends Part 3,

Please return for Parts 4 & 5, you won’t be disappointed.

J. S.

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