The day is February 15, 2007. The time is 7:00 p.m. It’s during that time when winter is no longer wanted. It’s when its depressing hand has grasped the people and has them firmly in its hold. It is also the time of a murder. The old factory located on the corner of Night Street looked deserted. It always looked this way. Every window had a broken pane. Erosion infested the building. To sum it up, the warehouse was disgusting. Usually, at 7:00, the night man would lock up for the night, meticulously checking all of the doors and truck bays. Not this time however. This time, the old man was running for his life. The old factory worker dragged himself to the stairway. There was only one way to go: down. He hurtled down the stairs as fast as his aged and weary legs could carry him. His life was in jeopardy. With a quick glance behind him, the old man’s heart skipped a beat. He was right behind him, steadily gaining. The old man knew his only chance was to hide among machinery located on the ground floor of the gigantic warehouse. He erupted from the stairway, tripping on a lone piece of metal. The old man went down hard. Because his reflexes were not what they once were, his nose made contact with the hard, cold, clay earth. He immediately rose, trying to stifle the warm, gushing stream of blood that was emerging from his destroyed nose. The floor was covered with machinery of all shapes and sizes. They all had one thing in common: they were old. These machines were not judged by how shiny they were, but by how much rust they contained .Some wielded drills, large enough to take off a head. Others were big enough to house a whole family. This kind of machine was exactly what he was looking for. His breaths came in gasps as he stumbled to the nearest one: a rusting and decomposing hunk of metal that had once served the purpose of cleaning machine parts that were twice the size of him. The gaping maw of the machine looked extremely foreboding. The factory worker knew however that it was his only option. His old joints creaked as he climbed into the opening. He closed the door, shutting himself in from the outside world. As the man sat there, holding his nose, trying to contain the blood flow, his surroundings began to get to him. He imagined everything as the killer, slowly making his way toward him. The buzz of the machinery was a saw blade, preparing to cut him in half. The radio that played the upbeat elevator music throughout the building sounded so sinister, the worker would never be able to handle an elevator again. If he ever survived. Just when the noises were becoming too much for him, the stairwell door slams shut. The killer was in. His footsteps echoed throughout the room as he approached. The old man held his breath as the footsteps drew closer, and closer. His thoughts are abuzz with plans of escape, but deep down, the worker knew that there was no escape this time. He knew that these would be his final minutes. Slowly, an eye approached a tiny hole in the wall of the machine. The masked face of the killer made its way toward the many machines. Gradually, the man came to a halt. He began to survey the equipment laid out before him. There were rows upon rows of greasy machinery. The floor was littered with screws and various pieces of metal. Most of the apparatus were at least ten, if not twenty years old. There was a fine layer of rust on most of the equipment. It looked like a retirement home for machines; where all of the overused souls went during their final days. The worker realized that the man had no idea where he was and let out a sigh of relief. The killer’s head shifted direction, looking directly where the worker hid. He pulled his eye away from the pin hole immediately, but he knew it was too late. He had been spotted. It was over. Instinct took over then. With a tremendous shove, the worker threw the door open, almost ripping it off of the rusty hinges. Before his foot reached the floor, he was thrown back into the machine. Blood started dripping from his shoulder. Metal sprouted from where there had once been perfect, if not wrinkly skin. The two foot piece of shrapnel was the exact one that he had tripped on earlier before. It had not only pierced his shoulder, but had drove into the wall of the machine, securely pinning him down. His body was on fire. The slightest twitch of his shoulder brought on unimaginable sessions of pain. It felt as if the bone was grinding against a sander. During this time, the murderer was approaching slowly, savoring his victim’s pain. His entire body was enveloped in shadow as he drew nearer and nearer. All the old man could do was sit there. From the depths of the killer’s pocket, a bare hand appeared containing a wicked looking dagger, jagged and malformed. The mere sight of the dagger was enough to inspire fear in anyone. The dagger confirmed the old man’s thoughts. This day had finally caught up to him. He knew it was going to happen. His years in hiding were finally over. The killer was in front of the machine now. The moon suddenly appeared, revealing the man’s masked face. The mask was pulled off. The old man suddenly remembered what had caused him such nightmares of this day. It was not the knife, but the face of this man that haunted him for so many years. With a manic grin, the man, if you could call it a man, bopped the worker on the nose with the butt of his knife. Pain seared through the old man’s head as he realized that the worst was yet to come. “Make it fast,” the old man begged. “Oh I will make it as painful as you made it for me,” the implacable killer replied and with a crazed laugh, began to perform his foul business. All that was left of Thomas Dredford were pieces of himself, just enough for an autopsy to reveal his identity. The rest of him had been disposed of in the river neighboring the factory building. The screams were said to have gone on late into the night. The next day, the unqualified police force of the small town of Wintersville stood in front of the door to the Williams factory. The police force sent two people to investigate: an officer named Lenny and a coroner named Squiggy, both of them hideously lacking the experience needed for this. As the duo approached the large metal doors, they realized how unqualified they were for a job of this proportion. The towering factory stood before them, immense and terrifying. Even in the daylight, it looked dark and secretive. The grimy windows blocked all sun from entering the building. The only daylight that reached the inside was from the broken pieces of glass that allowed small little squares to line the interior. The bricks that made up the building were old and crumbling. It needed a renovation, or better yet, it needed to be knocked down. From what the witnesses had said, there was not much of a body, just pieces of one. This was way out of their league. The most action the police crew got in a year was delivering the occasional ticket. With a heavy hand, they pushed the door open and began their work. The day was filled with monotonous work, searching throughout the building for what possibly happened to Dredford. According to the factory owner, Dredford would usually leave the building by seven with all of the doors locked. He must have been on his way out when the murderer apprehended him. The only evidence of an actual murder taking place was blood on the ground floor of the building and of course, the machine where Dredford hid. The sheer size of the factory made the investigation go on for hours. The ominous passageways were enough to make any person shy away. The police crew may have been small, but they were determined. They investigated everything. Lenny spent most of the morning searching the floors of the building. Squiggy spent his time analyzing the remains of the body. By lunch time, the two of them discovered two things. Lenny learned that all of the action took place on the ground floor of the factory. Squiggy learned that the victim was stabbed by something rusty, most likely a piece of metal. Coincidently, a bloody piece of metal was also at the scene of the crime. If they could find prints on the piece of metal, they would have their killer. With a surge of hope, they rushed down to the crime scene. It was gone. “Where did it go?” Lenny asks.
“I could have sworn it was propped up against the machine over there,” replies Squiggy. At that moment, they hear the slightest sound, almost as if a door is being shut.
“Did you hear that? It sounded like the door!”
They run down the seemingly endless room and shove the door open. THUMP! The door doesn’t budge. They hear a crazy cackle come from the other side and the clang of a deadbolt.
“We’re locked in!” they both yell. They sprint to the other side of the floor, praying that the door there is unlocked. Their prayers were answered, but not in the way they expected. Lenny charges at the door, unaware that it was unlocked all along. He charges into the stairwell, right into the waiting arms of the murderer. Before he can change direction, the masked killer sticks his leg out and “helps” him down the stairs. Lenny takes the stairs at a tumble and rolls the way down. When he gets to the landing of the basement floor, he doesn’t get up. There is a gash on his forehead and he is obviously in pain. Before Squiggy can even react, the masked man has him. The murderer takes him by the throat and launches him backwards. Squiggy lands five feet away, near the site of the crime and before he can even think to get up the murderer has him. Taking him by the throat, the murderer hauls him up to the wall of the machine where the murder first took place. Retrieving his menacing knife from his pocket, the murderer puts it to Squiggy’s face and says, “I’ve been chasing that horrible man for years! Why would you protect him? Why are you after me?” The tone of his voice indicated that the man was obviously insane. “Look what he did to me! I was supposed to be aiding in the science experiments, not be one. All I wanted was to feed my family! Look where that got me! They’re dead and I’m a freak! ” With that, he yanks off his mask and exposes his malformed face. It was a face from nightmares. Certain parts of his face were without flesh, leaving only bone and muscle. Where there was skin, it was hideously deformed. It was burned in some places and his left eye socket was empty, leaving a void where an eye should have been. The knife drew closer and closer to Squiggy’s throat and he realized his time was up. Then, from nowhere, there was a loud yell and Lenny charges into the distorted man. The crazed killer crashes into the machine where Dredford once took refuge in. Before he can come to his senses, Lenny has the door firmly shut and locked. The nightmare is over. The creature is apprehended.
The old factory located on the corner of Night Street looked deserted. It always looked this way. Every window had a broken pane. Erosion infested the building. To sum it up, the warehouse was disgusting. Usually, at 7:00, the night man would lock up for the night, meticulously checking all of the doors and truck bays. Not this time however. This time, the old man was running for his life.
The old factory worker dragged himself to the stairway. There was only one way to go: down. He hurtled down the stairs as fast as his aged and weary legs could carry him. His life was in jeopardy. With a quick glance behind him, the old man’s heart skipped a beat. He was right behind him, steadily gaining. The old man knew his only chance was to hide among machinery located on the ground floor of the gigantic warehouse. He erupted from the stairway, tripping on a lone piece of metal. The old man went down hard. Because his reflexes were not what they once were, his nose made contact with the hard, cold, clay earth. He immediately rose, trying to stifle the warm, gushing stream of blood that was emerging from his destroyed nose. The floor was covered with machinery of all shapes and sizes. They all had one thing in common: they were old. These machines were not judged by how shiny they were, but by how much rust they contained .Some wielded drills, large enough to take off a head. Others were big enough to house a whole family. This kind of machine was exactly what he was looking for. His breaths came in gasps as he stumbled to the nearest one: a rusting and decomposing hunk of metal that had once served the purpose of cleaning machine parts that were twice the size of him. The gaping maw of the machine looked extremely foreboding. The factory worker knew however that it was his only option. His old joints creaked as he climbed into the opening. He closed the door, shutting himself in from the outside world. As the man sat there, holding his nose, trying to contain the blood flow, his surroundings began to get to him. He imagined everything as the killer, slowly making his way toward him. The buzz of the machinery was a saw blade, preparing to cut him in half. The radio that played the upbeat elevator music throughout the building sounded so sinister, the worker would never be able to handle an elevator again. If he ever survived.
Just when the noises were becoming too much for him, the stairwell door slams shut. The killer was in. His footsteps echoed throughout the room as he approached. The old man held his breath as the footsteps drew closer, and closer. His thoughts are abuzz with plans of escape, but deep down, the worker knew that there was no escape this time. He knew that these would be his final minutes.
Slowly, an eye approached a tiny hole in the wall of the machine. The masked face of the killer made its way toward the many machines. Gradually, the man came to a halt. He began to survey the equipment laid out before him. There were rows upon rows of greasy machinery. The floor was littered with screws and various pieces of metal. Most of the apparatus were at least ten, if not twenty years old. There was a fine layer of rust on most of the equipment. It looked like a retirement home for machines; where all of the overused souls went during their final days. The worker realized that the man had no idea where he was and let out a sigh of relief. The killer’s head shifted direction, looking directly where the worker hid. He pulled his eye away from the pin hole immediately, but he knew it was too late. He had been spotted. It was over. Instinct took over then. With a tremendous shove, the worker threw the door open, almost ripping it off of the rusty hinges. Before his foot reached the floor, he was thrown back into the machine. Blood started dripping from his shoulder. Metal sprouted from where there had once been perfect, if not wrinkly skin. The two foot piece of shrapnel was the exact one that he had tripped on earlier before. It had not only pierced his shoulder, but had drove into the wall of the machine, securely pinning him down. His body was on fire. The slightest twitch of his shoulder brought on unimaginable sessions of pain. It felt as if the bone was grinding against a sander.
During this time, the murderer was approaching slowly, savoring his victim’s pain. His entire body was enveloped in shadow as he drew nearer and nearer. All the old man could do was sit there. From the depths of the killer’s pocket, a bare hand appeared containing a wicked looking dagger, jagged and malformed. The mere sight of the dagger was enough to inspire fear in anyone. The dagger confirmed the old man’s thoughts. This day had finally caught up to him. He knew it was going to happen. His years in hiding were finally over. The killer was in front of the machine now. The moon suddenly appeared, revealing the man’s masked face. The mask was pulled off. The old man suddenly remembered what had caused him such nightmares of this day. It was not the knife, but the face of this man that haunted him for so many years. With a manic grin, the man, if you could call it a man, bopped the worker on the nose with the butt of his knife. Pain seared through the old man’s head as he realized that the worst was yet to come. “Make it fast,” the old man begged. “Oh I will make it as painful as you made it for me,” the implacable killer replied and with a crazed laugh, began to perform his foul business. All that was left of Thomas Dredford were pieces of himself, just enough for an autopsy to reveal his identity. The rest of him had been disposed of in the river neighboring the factory building. The screams were said to have gone on late into the night.
The next day, the unqualified police force of the small town of Wintersville stood in front of the door to the Williams factory. The police force sent two people to investigate: an officer named Lenny and a coroner named Squiggy, both of them hideously lacking the experience needed for this.
As the duo approached the large metal doors, they realized how unqualified they were for a job of this proportion. The towering factory stood before them, immense and terrifying. Even in the daylight, it looked dark and secretive. The grimy windows blocked all sun from entering the building. The only daylight that reached the inside was from the broken pieces of glass that allowed small little squares to line the interior. The bricks that made up the building were old and crumbling. It needed a renovation, or better yet, it needed to be knocked down. From what the witnesses had said, there was not much of a body, just pieces of one. This was way out of their league. The most action the police crew got in a year was delivering the occasional ticket. With a heavy hand, they pushed the door open and began their work.
The day was filled with monotonous work, searching throughout the building for what possibly happened to Dredford. According to the factory owner, Dredford would usually leave the building by seven with all of the doors locked. He must have been on his way out when the murderer apprehended him. The only evidence of an actual murder taking place was blood on the ground floor of the building and of course, the machine where Dredford hid. The sheer size of the factory made the investigation go on for hours. The ominous passageways were enough to make any person shy away. The police crew may have been small, but they were determined. They investigated everything. Lenny spent most of the morning searching the floors of the building. Squiggy spent his time analyzing the remains of the body. By lunch time, the two of them discovered two things. Lenny learned that all of the action took place on the ground floor of the factory. Squiggy learned that the victim was stabbed by something rusty, most likely a piece of metal. Coincidently, a bloody piece of metal was also at the scene of the crime. If they could find prints on the piece of metal, they would have their killer. With a surge of hope, they rushed down to the crime scene. It was gone.
“Where did it go?” Lenny asks.
“I could have sworn it was propped up against the machine over there,” replies Squiggy.
At that moment, they hear the slightest sound, almost as if a door is being shut.
“Did you hear that? It sounded like the door!”
They run down the seemingly endless room and shove the door open. THUMP! The door doesn’t budge. They hear a crazy cackle come from the other side and the clang of a deadbolt.
“We’re locked in!” they both yell.
They sprint to the other side of the floor, praying that the door there is unlocked. Their prayers were answered, but not in the way they expected. Lenny charges at the door, unaware that it was unlocked all along. He charges into the stairwell, right into the waiting arms of the murderer. Before he can change direction, the masked killer sticks his leg out and “helps” him down the stairs. Lenny takes the stairs at a tumble and rolls the way down. When he gets to the landing of the basement floor, he doesn’t get up. There is a gash on his forehead and he is obviously in pain. Before Squiggy can even react, the masked man has him. The murderer takes him by the throat and launches him backwards. Squiggy lands five feet away, near the site of the crime and before he can even think to get up the murderer has him. Taking him by the throat, the murderer hauls him up to the wall of the machine where the murder first took place. Retrieving his menacing knife from his pocket, the murderer puts it to Squiggy’s face and says,
“I’ve been chasing that horrible man for years! Why would you protect him? Why are you after me?” The tone of his voice indicated that the man was obviously insane. “Look what he did to me! I was supposed to be aiding in the science experiments, not be one. All I wanted was to feed my family! Look where that got me! They’re dead and I’m a freak! ”
With that, he yanks off his mask and exposes his malformed face. It was a face from nightmares. Certain parts of his face were without flesh, leaving only bone and muscle. Where there was skin, it was hideously deformed. It was burned in some places and his left eye socket was empty, leaving a void where an eye should have been. The knife drew closer and closer to Squiggy’s throat and he realized his time was up. Then, from nowhere, there was a loud yell and Lenny charges into the distorted man. The crazed killer crashes into the machine where Dredford once took refuge in. Before he can come to his senses, Lenny has the door firmly shut and locked. The nightmare is over. The creature is apprehended.