Finn Olsen was driving home after closing up shop at Wilderman’s Feed Store when an image flashed in his head. The sliding bay door in the warehouse out back of the store was open. He was sure of it. Dang it if I didn’t leave it open. It may have just been a crack, but that was more than enough for squirrels or possums or a wide variety of varmints to squeeze their way in from the small woods that abutted the warehouse. At nineteen, Finn was the youngest manager that old man Wilderman had ever trusted to lock up the shop, and he wasn’t going to do anything to break that trust. Not now. Not with college and tuition dues coming up and a chance to finally leave this town just around the corner. With six siblings, he couldn’t spare a penny.
Finn turned his pickup truck around and headed back to the feed store. He looked down at the clock on the dash: 9:20 p.m. He still had time to lock up, get back home and shower, then make his way over to Millersville to meet the others at Bacci’s Pizza. The sun had set, and just the tips of the trees captured the fading light, like candles.
Minutes later, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of Wilderman’s and turned off his stereo. The warehouse out back was now covered in shadows, and the sky was dark purple, the color of a deep bruise. His intuition was right. He had forgotten to shut the bay door. He got out of his truck and left the passenger door open. This would be fast and there was no need to lock it. Gravel popped under his feet as he made his way across the empty lot. Keys jangled at his side. He was talking to himself in a low voice with his head down, as he sometimes did—engrossed in an internal dialogue about the night ahead—when he stopped cold. He felt a chill that made his shoulders shake, even though temperatures were still in the high eighties.
Finn lifted his head slowly. It was nothing but shadows behind the crack in the sliding bay door. No sound. No movement. But still, something didn’t feel right. He tiptoed up to the door even though he wasn’t sure why. He peeked his head through the gap. In the dim light he could make out a rounded shape: bags of cow and horse feed covered in tarp. He was ready to close the door when a black shape streaked in front of his line of vision. It moved fast—almost too fast to see. But it was unmistakable. Four misshapen limbs scurried silently along the concrete floor like a giant crab across the sand.
He jerked his head back out of the shadows and stood frozen in front of the warehouse door. He took in small gulps of air. It was all he could manage. His chest felt like it was being squeezed tight in a vise.
“Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Uh-uh,” Finn whispered as he shook his head.
From inside, a ticking sound echoed through the cavernous warehouse, a sound like a stick being dragged across a picket fence. Tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick—tick. Or a rattle, Finn thought. That’s all it took to break the spell, and Finn took off in a run for his truck without looking back.
He slammed the truck door behind him and immediately rolled up the windows and locked both doors before slumping back in the cabin seat. He started the engine. The headlights shone bright on a row of steel gates stacked in front of the warehouse, their shadows creating twisted shapes against the warehouse wall. He paused to look at the still-open bay door, afraid of what might come crawling out. Finn grabbed his phone from his back pocket and dialed 911. Two rings.
“911 operator. What’s your emergency?”
Finn fumbled. He hadn’t thought this far in advance. “Uh, I want to report a break-in. I think.”
“What’s your location?” the dispatcher asked.
“Outside Wilderman’s Feed Store. I mean out back. Near the warehouse.”
“I know that place.” The dispatcher’s voice brightened. “Wait, is this Finn? I thought I recognized your voice.”
“Ma’am?”
“It’s Mrs. Chaffin. Roy’s mom. You boys played football together.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you need me to send someone out?”
“I don’t know. I think so. I think something’s in the warehouse.” Finn rubbed his forehead.
“You mean someone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, Finn. I’m sending someone out there as soon as I can. You want me to stay on the line with you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”