I came in to work this morning to a mess, let me tell you. The receptionist’s desk was crushed, many doors were off their hinges, papers everyone. But I found this particular document among the absolute disarray of the front desk, and it is particularly curious. The writing is harsh, letters and words blending together. The last few pages of the document are stuck together, requiring I gently pry them apart to read them. But I figured you all would like it.
I don’t know how long I’m for this world so writing as fast I can. God. God I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Okay. So. That factory in town. The one that’s been there since the 1800s, been through how many owners, you know the one. The one that always has a night position open. Yeah I know the rumours and reputation, yeah yeah. But I’m an insomniac and I figured if I’m going to be awake all night, I might as well be earning money, and monitoring an old factory is better than smiling through some creepy old guy hitting on me at the drive-through.
The inside of the building is just as old and Victorian looking as the inside, though the machines are pretty modern. I was given a tour during the day so there was a lot of activity, lot of product. My boss told me not to worry about the machines as they are idled at night. Seems the factory makes enough product that they could afford 24-hour production, but who am I to judge? Just pay me, buddy.
Then he brought me to the back, to a truly steampunk machine. Once-shiny copper and steel, faded with time, puffs of steam coming out of the top as it conveyed off-white discs around. None of the day folks paid it any mind, and to be fair I couldn’t actually see anywhere logical for loading raw materials. Nor did it produce anything. When those discs got to the end of the conveyor, it just brought them back to the beginning.
This was the factory’s pride and joy, its first automated machine from 1892, proof that someday they wouldn’t need people to handweave or hand-mill or what have you. Still working to this day, a key part of those tours they host on the anniversary of the factory. God, I should have realized something was wrong then. Time didn’t dull that metal…
See, there was one thing my boss told me about the machine. If it ever stopped working, I was to immediately leave, get in my car, call him, and not reenter the building. He said it was a fire risk or something. What a liar.
So I took the job because easy money, and maybe I could save up sooner for my own place instead of living at my dad’s.
It was easy at first. Spooky, yeah, but this factory has enough rumours that most people didn’t dare approach, and those who did I could scare away by flicking the lights on and off. I loved laughing at the fear on their faces as they realized the rumours that this place is haunted were true!
I shouldn’t have fucking laughed. I should have run with them, God.
It’s August 26th. We’re having a record thunderstorm. The power went out. We have a few emergency lights, but obviously all of the machines went down.
Including the steampunk one.
God, why didn’t I fucking listen? Maybe I’d be safe at home, helping my dad light candles or some shit instead of huddled under this desk, feeling the floor shake with every mechanical step–
See, the machine made an odd noise. And my boss just had a baby, so I didn’t want to wake him at 3AM about a power outage, you know? So I figured, I can take care of it. It’s just an old machine.
The emergency lights buzzed as I approached; the conveyor appeared to be off. Was the fire risk that steam would build up or something? Was that the smell?
No. No fire doesn’t smell like that. That smell was wet, rank, like when dad forgets about the steaks in the back of the fridge.
And the lights weren’t buzzing. It was the machine. An eerie hum as it trembled, and I was about three feet away when I realized the noise was a voice, scratchy and yet still wet, coming from deep within the machine.
I could just make it out – god, i should have just fucking called him! Even if I get out of this, which I doubt I will, I’d have to live knowing that machine was fucking carving up bones.
I could see the little pocket holes in the skeleton where the machine had taken them from. I could also see the tarry black eyes of whoever that used to be, flesh long gone from their bones, brain no doubt long rotted and yet something they could still have a voice:
“Save me.”
I backed up.
“Replace me.”
And then the machine moved.
Old machinery screeched and sparked as the two ends of the conveyor swung upward, and the conveyor itself curled around the inner machine, forming a tank tread. The exhaust formed its head, and the wheel that controlled it all came out of the ground, shattering the floor. The skeleton inside collaped to the floor and instantly shattered, too brittle to withstand even a small fall. The discs, though hit the ground with a deafening clatter, all of them booming the same words.
“Replace me.”
“Replace me.”
“Replace me.”
I screamed and ran, hearing the conveyor start up again. I was in the hallway when I heard it move, treads moving along the floor with a grisly screech. I made it out of the production floor, made it to reception, made it to the front door as I heard the machine slam apart either a wall or door–
And the front door wouldn’t open. It still won’t fucking open. And my phone won’t work, if I try to call I just hear this horrible shrieking metallic sound, and I can’t text or get online or anything, all that appears on my screen is blood.
It’s close to me now, I can tell by the horrible noise. Think it just crushed someone’s desk. I think it uses that wheel as a sledgehammer. God, I should have just listened, I should have just called him, or maybe gotten treatment for my insomnia, fuck I don’t know, I just wanted to move out and get my own
shit it’s here it’s
he r e
pl s
Redditors, imagine that the last pages are bloody; I think the pen she used to write is the one crushed within the desk. But what a mess! Blood, hair, what is probably brain matter are smeared on the floor and up the wall, and there’s a blood and organ trail leading back to that room. Several machines got damaged too, though the steam engine is okay. Churning out those white useless discs as usual. They’re a bit wetter, that’s about it. Takes at least four weeks for them to dry completely, which means four weeks of lost tour money. Too smelly when the discs are fresh, you see.
Sheesh, The end of the month is the worst time for this kind of thing! My boss is going to ream me out.
I already let most of our employees know that they should take the day off or work from home, covered by us of course. Corporate hates that, but we can’t force employees to use their PTO unless we want them getting mad or even worse, suspicious, But those in the know were called in, of course. A few of them are getting the cleaning supplies ready. One of them brought the above document to me. Been a while since we had one who stayed that lucid.
Paula is already looking up the girl’s emergency contact to tell them about the horrible accident that happened. We change it up slightly each time so it’s not quite so suspicious. Local news likes to cover it but thankfully they always just stick to the “cursed factory” element. Anything for an easy story that doesn’t require actual work.
It’s gonna take forever to clean this up, and if her contact gets a lawyer, that’ll make it all take even longer. We settled last time to avoid everyone digging in too deep. Too many skeletons in the closet, you know?
But damn, at least that new baby lie worked again! Kids these days. Everyone is right, they just don’t listen like they used to.
But they aren’t too soft, no. Just right.
I’d better get to calling my boss, Redditors. Wish me luck. I’m predicting at least five minutes of screaming.
More than she got, I guess.