Jimmy had been working as a night watchman, in a customs warehouse, for the last 3 years. He guarded contraband type goods, cigarettes, alcohol, etc, prior to it being expedited from the country by sea. His previous occupation was as a store manager, and due to work-related pressures he gave up that position four years ago. He did not want any more stress, and neither did his GP. His eleven years as a manager contributed to him developing an ulcer, and a heart condition - he was glad to be away from all that.
Tom, a fellow watchman, worked the first half of the week while Jimmy worked the other half. The only time they got to speak to each other was at their handover.
“Nothing to report, all was fine for the three days.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, Jimmy, wanna hear something wacky?”
“Yeah, sure…what?”
“Well, the ol‘ lad, the owner, came in the other night on my shift and we had a wee chat.”
“And…?” He said, impatiently. “Well, he started to tell a bloody creepy story about this place. Apparently, tonight is an anniversary of the death of one of the old workers.”
“ So?”
“Well, the poor swine only upped and died here; in this place, and the rumour has it that some lads got the shit scared outta them!”
“Get away outta that, I don’t believe in that stuff. See ya next week, Tom.” Tom shrugged in response and walked towards the exit. "Don't say I didn't warn ya" and left grinning with a final salute.
“Sonofabitch!” Thought Jimmy, “he knows I hate all that crap.”
Jimmy checked his watch, “22:04, and only 11hrs 46mins to go…”
*
It was 03:15 Jimmy sat with his feet crossed on the desk in front reading a magazine about boats. He was skimming through the state-of-the-art section, when he heard a noise. He sat up and scanned the warehouse, "Damn rats," he shivered and returned to his article.
Then, another sound came from the back aisle. He dragged his feet from the desk, leaving scuffmarks, and grabbed his torch and nightstick. He walked along the front of the pallet racking checking top to bottom - he tensed, tightening his grip around his nightstick, outstretched ready to swipe at the first sight of a rat. He switched on his torch, as it was darker towards the back. The place was small enough, twelve meters deep, twelve wide and eight high - every sound was amplified. There were two aisles that led towards the back wall - the first he just passed, there was nothing down there; he walked towards the second aisle.
Another noise, a dragging sound this time from the darkness ahead of him. Rats don't sound like that he thought. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow as he remembered Tom's ghost story and parting words. “What’s wrong with me, there’s no such thing as ghosts.” With each step his breath quickened as his fear increased. He slowly advanced on the area from where the sounds came. Jimmy’s head shot to the right; a whistle of wind from under the exit door startled him. He walked slowly onward towards the end of the rack - his torch swept across the floor and the back wall; he prayed no eyes would shine back at him.
He turned his torch to his left, and almost in answer to his worst fears the light fell on a pasty white face with blank eyes, and a grin that was not of this world. Jimmy’s breathing stopped as he stared at the ghastly vision before him. The face just stared back from behind a pallet. “Oh, my God!” He said aloud. He felt a searing pain in his chest. He fell back against the sidewall clutching the area around his heart, still with the torch on the unholy face. The ghostly figure held something up next to his head. The torch fell on it and Jimmy’s eyes grew wide; the figure was holding a pint! The figure was the John Smith ale life-sized cut out. Jimmy gulped, not knowing whether to laugh or die.
Subscribe