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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MikeJesus on 2024-10-21 19:58:48+00:00.

‘You never wondered what was in that warehouse?’ I hear you ask. ‘Not even a little?’

No. Absolutely not.

I have worked a lot of jobs throughout the years. Shit jobs. The sort of jobs where you’re happy to make it through the week with all your limbs attached. When this gig fell into my lap, I didn’t play dentist with the gift horse.

No. I did not question what I was guarding. I was just happy that I didn’t have to count coins when I bought bread.

When I first accepted the night watchman job, I expected to be warding off thieves — or at least drunks. Yet no such characters presented themselves. For well over a year, no characters presented themselves at all. I was left alone in the peace and tranquility of my guard booth with nothing but an old television and an even older gas heater to keep me company.

The parameters of the job were simple. Arrive midnight, leave at seven. Around five-fifty I would raise the barrier at the guard house and unlock the main door of the warehouse. Then I’d take a ‘break’ in the office.

Six o’clock sharp, the siren goes off. Six-ten, it goes silent. I lock the warehouse door, bring down the barrier and sit on my ass watching television till seven.

‘Whoa,’ I hear you say. ‘What happens in those ten minutes? What’s in that warehouse? Did you ever check?’

No. Never gave a damn about things that didn’t concern me. The world would be a calmer place if others took a similar approach.

‘But what if there were stolen goods in that warehouse?’ I hear you ask. ‘What if you were working for the mob, or a corrupt politician, or some other nefarious organization? Wouldn’t you want to know?’

Again, no. I didn’t give a damn who paid my bills, as long as they got paid. All I knew about my employers was that they were punctual when delivering my paycheck. Once a week, in an unmarked envelope, my wages would make their way into my mailbox. That’s all I cared about.

Did I know something shady was going on? Sure. The world is a shady place. No point dwelling on it. It’s not like I was setting people on fire though. Just opening and closing a door and keeping an eye out. I didn’t dig around the moral quandaries much. The TV dial kept those thoughts at bay.

Spent seasons in that security booth not questioning about a thing. If I could go back to those simple days, I would. If there was a monetary exchange I could make to rewind time, I would gladly pay the price. Sadly, ignorance can’t be bought.

She showed up by taxi last week. The car didn’t leave after she got out. It idled. The abandoned buildings make folk think this part of the industrial district is dangerous. It’s not. It’s abandoned. Yet there aren’t any good reasons to hang around it in the day, let alone the middle of night. The driver probably thought she made a mistake with the address and would climb in for another fare momentarily.

She didn’t. The girl waved off the taxi into the darkness and then made her way to the guard shack.

After a brief greeting, she confirmed the address of the warehouse with me. I wasn’t particularly excited about talking to a stranger, but she seemed harmless enough. Cute, even. Had one of those faces that retain childhood well into their thirties.

At first, I didn’t think she could do any harm. With each question she asked, however, I started to change my mind.

What’s in there? Why don’t you care? Who owns this place? Those sorts of questions. You know my answers and attitude.

How did you get this job? How do you get paid? Why aren’t you questioning any of this?

Didn’t answer those. Instead, I had a question of my own: what was she doing here?

Journalist. Looking into a story. Doing research. Making sure she gets the facts right.

I told her I wouldn’t be answering any more questions. I also told her that she shouldn’t be in this part of the city at night. Advised her to grab a taxi and shut the visor. For my part, the conversation was over.

From beyond the window, she kept up her interrogation. How did I communicate with my employer? Was there someone I could call in case of an emergency? Who hired me?

My first night on the job, I was walked through the rules by some scientist type. Had a lazy eye, that’s all I remember of him. He showed me the landline in the guard shack. No dial-pad — just a black receiver on a plastic hook. Only to be called in case of an emergency.

I had used the phone once. As I listened to the journalist insistently tapping on the window, I briefly considered picking it up once more. I decided against it. I thought I could get her to leave on my own.

Just as she started asking me whether I ever associated with a certain Anton Barat, I grabbed my baton and slammed it against the table. That scared her. When I ran out of the guard shack — demanding that she leave the property immediately — she got even more frightened.

I half-expected her to run off into the night in fear of getting a taste of the baton, but she only took a couple steps backwards. The journalist said she was going to leave but she thought I should know that Anton Barat was the owner of the warehouse, legally speaking at least.

She had reason to believe I had met him before. Since she was reasonably certain I knew the man, she also thought it important for me to know that he’d been found dead recently.

Gas station out in the sticks. Multiple gunshot wounds. Executed. The sole gas station employee present at the time of the shooting left the mortal plane along with him.

The name still wasn’t ringing any bells but I asked when he was shot.

Two weeks ago, she said.

Well, I’m still getting paid. Probably have the wrong guy, I told her and left it at that.

When I got back into the guard booth, as she called for her taxi — I considered picking up the black phone once more. A journalist showing up at the warehouse seemed like a reasonable enough emergency.

The one time I used the phone was the summer prior. Some sort of government inspection showed up waving around badges and documents. They wanted me to lift the gatehouse barrier and let them in. If they weren’t appeased, they promised to make their way into the warehouse in a rougher manner.

The voice from the other side of the phone was drenched in static and void of all emotion. ‘What is the nature of your emergency?’ asked a woman in a discomforting tone of ice.

I told her. She did not reply. Instead, she hung up.

I feared that the inspection would barge their way past the gate I was meant to protect, but almost instantly the most excited member of the team received a call. I do not know what information was passed on, but within five minutes the inspection was gone.

I considered picking up the black receiver the night the journalist showed up, but I didn’t. Whatever the inspector had heard on the phone the summer prior had turned him pale as death. Whatever events picking up the phone set in motion, were not pleasant ones. The journalist was far too young and pretty to be getting wrapped up in all of this. I thought I could deal with the situation on my own.

She smoked a couple cigarettes while she waited for her car. Twenty minutes later, she got into a beat-up taxi and disappeared into the night. When the tail lights of the journalist’s ride faded into the darkness, I considered that to be the end of it. I went back to watching my television.

Later, as I unlocked the warehouse and lifted the barrier to my usual siren alarm clock, I realized the name she said did sound familiar. Dr. Barat. The scientist with the lazy eye. He was the one who had walked me through the first day of the job.

The thought of him being found dead didn’t elicit any strong feelings from me. Barely knew the guy. I was still getting paid. There was no need to dig into a good gig.

While I sat in the break room, it had started to snow. As I returned back to my guard box for the final leg of my shift, I noticed footprints in the light cover of white. They went from the entrance of the warehouse and past the gate.

Thoughts of the nature of my job nipped at me then, but I buried those ruminations with more television. I chose to ignore the strangeness of my job in lieu of a paycheck. I chose to not ask myself any questions I might not like the answers to.

The appearance of the journalist, the murder of Barat, they made my self-imposed ignorance more difficult to hold on to, but I managed. As the days passed by, I found myself returning back to my usual groove of not worrying about things that don’t concern me.

I almost forgot about the journalist. Almost. 

It wasn’t until this morning that she forced her way back into my life.

I made my way out of the guard booth early today, before the siren. The TV was duller than usual and I was ready to take my tea early. Maybe, the fates have rebelled against me. Maybe, I’m just an unlucky bastard. I don’t know what it was, but I decided to get out of the guard booth early this morning.

I raised the barrier and unlocked the main door, as per usual. It was cold outside, but the fresh snow made the world pretty. For a moment, I found myself looking at the snowcapped trees that line the road out of the city. For a moment, I found myself wondering how peaceful the depths of the forest must be.

The siren quickly washed out all of my daydreams.

I made my way into the office building and set the pot to boil. As usual. No part of my ritual was out of the ordinary. Yet, as I grabbed my tea and made my way over to t…

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