Special Presentation
- By Evil Jim -
Sheri,
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I know I've only ever written you in chat before but today since I've forgotten to bring the latest Issue of Weird Tales to work I've nothing to occupy myself on my three breaks; fifteen, thirty, and fifteen respectively. Therefore I'm taking the time for this letter to keep you up-to-date until next we meet which hopefully won' t be as long as the last interval of two-and-a-half days.
--Oop. There's the bell. I must start work.
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I'm back. Well, it's been a little busier than usual which is actually a relief since it gets pretty boring making busywork rather than moving pallets for the orders. There' s been something a bit out of the ordinary though that has people talking in the aisles more than usual.
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I was clearing the front dock of new freight and restocking the bulk rows in back (I'll never figure out why they don' t just unload the trucks at the same end of the warehouse that the product is stored) when I noticed a group of people just standing around the back dock. For safety reasons only truck drivers and unloaders are allowed there since forklift traffic is heavy. I parked my lift and walked over to find everybody's attention glued to the gate where a semi-trailer was parked.
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A half-dozen people including myself had gathered near the open trailer. I stepped closer to get a better look inside but found it too dark to make anything out. I took another step and a couple people visibly tensed but said nothing. As I reached for the mini flashlight that I keep on my belt I finally noticed what was making people act so strangely. The inside of the trailer smelled very odd. At the edge of the dock it was nauseatingly strong but I crept closer anyway being the only one brave enough to check it out. The odor was similar to molten plastic -- which I've smelled enough of while working at our factory across town -- but also masked with an almost organic overripe sweetness. I decided it must be some new raw resin that they'd sent us for storage.
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I played the flashlight around the dim interior searching for the freight. There were only three objects at the far end and I walked in to investigate. The terrible smell didn't get any worse as I approached but I did grab the handkerchief from my back pocket to make it more bearable.
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I found two large cardboard gaylords, each tightly lidded and banded to a wood skid, and one huge crate. I found this latter the only one with any form of identification; some sort of address which must have been foreign because I couldn't make head or tales of where it was from, if indeed it was the "From" address. For all I knew it could have been sent here by mistake.
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Stenciled in black on all sides of the wood crate it read simply:
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QUINE ORG.
Followed by a series of numbers and letters that were likely abbreviations for city and street names.
Ah! Break is over -- more later --
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Wow! Things just keep getting weirder and weirder today. I'm glad I'm writing all this down. I'll make a photocopy for my journal before sending this to you.
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After I examined the strange delivery I learned that the driver had never been seen. He (or possibly she) parked this trailer at our dock and left with an empty which is only common practice with shipments we are expecting. The shift manager was notified and he said he'd get on the problem but I've seen no action taken yet.
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Meanwhile, after break all the order pickers finally returned to work and our regular deliveries picked up enough to keep me distracted from those three odd containers. However, later on I was called to the back dock to unload that same truck so they could use the trailer slot. I hurried back, anxious to snoop the contents of our delivery.
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An eerie dimness preceded me as I drove through the gaping trailer doors, one that could not be extinguished as I turned on the floodlights mounted behind the lift uprights. When I reached the first gaylord I discovered that the dimness was not due to lack of light but to a heavy black dust that hung in the air. Surprisingly, it didn't t affect my respirations any more than the foul smell that still accompanied the gloom. However, I tied the handkerchief over my nose and mouth as a precaution.
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I lifted the gaylord and found extremely heavy. The Toyota lift truck is rated for up to 2,800 pounds and this was very near the limit.
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I carefully exited and parked the pallet on a far corner of our dock now in a shimmering haze of that curious powder and returned. I reentered the trailer and this time found the gloom even more oppressive. So much so that I had to stop and adjust the lights, but even this was of little help. Moving the pallet must have disturbed the dust further. I lifted the second gaylord and looked around to back up but found darkness confronted me. Either the dust in the air was so thick or someone had closed me in.
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I was really starting to get creeped out. I stayed on the lift (for some reason that seemed safer) and began to slowly back up. I stopped when I reached what I thought would be the end of the trailer but nothing was there. I crept backward, expecting any moment to bump the closed doors. Still nothing. I cautiously continued. I increased my speed until I felt a constant breeze and the dust blowing in my face. This was insane! I kept going even though it felt like I had already traveled several hundred yards.
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Eventually I stopped. I was too panic-stricken to drive straight and the walls still remained in spite of the trailer's seemingly endless length. I took a moment to relax and collect my thoughts. I was thankful that I hadn't gotten any of that dust in my eyes or nose yet.
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Somehow I decided to go back to the crate in the absurd sense that retracing my path would help. But how can you get lost in a nearly empty semi-trailer? Regardless, I shifted to forward and sped ahead, following the floodlights.
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A sudden shock came when I realized that I hadn't driven backwards as far as I' d thought. No sooner had I reached a good speed when I saw the wooden crate leaping toward me. I stomped the brake but no use; I was still carrying the heavy gaylord and couldn't stop in time. I crashed into the crate.
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It was horrible! With the weight of the lift truck and the gaylord the crate exploded in the collision. My chest struck the steering wheel and the seat belt cut painfully into my hips. Shattered wood flew everywhere but I finally saw what was in the crate; two 55-gallon drums, now crushed like soda cans and pouring a foul black liquid everywhere.
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Suddenly, a dark blue-green sludge started foaming out from under the gaylord's lid. The stench was so unbearable that I could no longer breathe. I tried to unclasp my safety belt but it must have locked in the crash. The muck kept rising and began to engulf the lift. Horrible black bubbles rose to the surface and burst, splattering the walls and sizzling as it slid back down. It rose to the lift's battery compartment and the lights went out. Then . . .
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And then . . .
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Christ! I can't remember. I remember coming into the break room to continue this but not how I got here. I gotta get a grip.
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There isn't anyone else in the break room. How long have I been here? I gotta go. I'm gonna try to figure out what happened. --
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Back. Wow, what a weird day! But I've already said that. Man, you're lucky you work in music. Warehouse work just isn't for me anymore. There was some sort of accident earlier but I'm kind of sketchy on the details at the moment. You'd think people would be talking more. Hmm.
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Anyway, please forgive my spelling this time. I want to put this in the company outgoing mail for today soon and I don't have time to reread and correct it.
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I hope to see you soon. Maybe next time you can tell me about your day.
Your Friend,
Evil Jim
©2001 Evil Jim
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