Assignment Stirs Up Imagination

Here’s what LC senior Heidi Sander came up with when her English teacher asked the class to write a murder story based on a metal structure in the middle of their classroom. It’s been edited for space reasons.

“I have never seen anything like this.” I whispered the thought to myself, scraping a generous amount of a black-gelled mercury substance into an evidence bag for the lab.

My name is Agent Fields. Of the 15 years working for the FBI, not one of my cases has ever been this puzzling. Last week I received a call from the head of the FBI, in other words my boss, assigning me to a case in Spokane, Wash. It seemed to be a missing persons case. Five construction workers appeared to have disappeared after entering the fifth floor of the Holley-Mason building. The building had been used as a warehouse during World War II, then was boarded up for the past 50 years. Recently it was adopted as a replacement building for Lewis and Clark High School, which was reconstructing their old school.

This substance appears to be leaking from a large metal structure in the middle of the room. Evidently, no one seems to know what this object is. From what I have gathered, it resembles a large, greatly deformed pellet stove, with many levers and knobs, most of which do nothing. It is a reddish-brown color and has a pipe connecting it to the ceiling but goes nowhere.

I decided to start in the basement and work my way up, hopefully to find some sort of clue or indication on what has happened to the unfortunate crew.

The elevator lurches to a stop and the doors open to the underpinnings of Holley-Mason. In the darkness, I search the undressed walls for a light switch. Finding none, I pull out my flash light. Very little seems to be down here. As the light hits the wall I notice that there is some sort of engraving on it. Running my fingers over it, I get a chill, everything becomes very cold and seems only visible in black and white. Turning around I spy the foreign writing on the other walls, too. I could no longer take the coldness, so decided to move to the next floor.

Curious to see if the writing found its place on the first floor walls, too, I searched for a spot where the drywall had not been tacked to the wall. Sure enough the scribbles were there.

I traveled up to the second, third, and fourth floors - all were the same. Each floor gradually seemed as though it was warmer than the one before. I thought it rather odd since the heating and air conditioning had not been used yet. As I approached the fifth floor it became extremely hot. The doors opened and I went to the object. It seemed to have grown, and now was glowing red. The oily substance was bubbling out of the seams.

I hear a whisper behind me and a cool breeze brushes the back of my neck. I realized I was not alone, Turning around I saw a young soldier, probably around 18. He had grief in his eyes and worry lines on his forehead. His body was transparent, yet solid in form. I stood there paralyzed. He opened his mouth to speak. His words were clear and pierced through the air. “Ma’am, this is a restricted area!”

I looked around the room, now seeing several other of these soldiers. Trying to sound as calm as I wasn’t, “Sir, I am with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I have authorized access to this building,” speaking while flashing my badge. Before he could speak again I jumped in, “Could you tell me what is that metal object and what is kept in it?”

He hesitated, “I am not authorized to give you that information, ma’am.”

“Then tell me who is!” I said, not knowing what was going on. I just wanted some answers and was not in any mood to play games. The young man pointed his finger towards another man standing in front of the object, as if he was standing guard. He must have already heard my question, because he began to answer it as I walked over to him.

“This is none of your business!” Putting my gun to his head I whispered, “You can tell me or you won’t be able to tell anybody.”

Although he did not seem very threatened by this, he gave me the information I wanted. He began with a deep breath and started to rattle the words off. “Back in 1943, the government held a series of tests on radiation. A worker stumbled into one of the testing rooms accidentally and the door locked behind him. By the time they found him he was no longer recognizable as a human. As he recovered he seemed possessed and went on a killing rampage. This was his slaughterhouse. The writing on the walls are the curses of his possessor, the devil. He was locked away in this (pointing to the object) hopefully to stop him, but as time went on he figured out how to escape. Now he can come and go when he pleases, from our world to yours.”

“Our world to yours,” I repeated to myself. Where exactly was I, surely not where I started? Trying to let it all soak in, I asked, “What do you mean your world to mine, where am I and how can we stop this thing?”

“Well, we aren’t exactly sure. We do have some ideas though. You have to overpower him by injecting mercury into his heart.” he spoke doubtfully. “We exist in a different world than you, our world is of the dead. We are not able to have any affect on this creature,” the soldier stated.

“I will try,” realizing I had just dug my grave. “We honor you for your bravery” they praised. Reaching in his coat he handed me a syringe with the deadly liquid metal inside. “Good luck and may God be with you,” the soldiers saluted me.

He turned the knobs and levers, steam crept through the cracks and the little porthole opened. Looking into the darkness I saw nothing. It had a foul smell and was damp. There was a lot more room inside than what it had appeared to be on the outside. The most hideous noise rang through the air as it sliced into my arm. My eyes, just adjusting to the light, could barely make out an outline of the creature, and that was enough for me. Pain stabbed into my legs. I had to move and defend myself.

I scrambled trying to inject the mercury. I lunged forward and stabbed it with the long needle. It let out a scream and was gone, everything was gone. When I opened my eyes an EMT was examining the gashes on my body. The room was back to normal. “How did you get these cuts?” she questioned, noticing I was awake.

“I don’t know,” I answered. Surely I could have told her the story but who would believe it?

Later that month I went back to Holley-Mason. The writing no longer appeared on the walls and they had no record of any military personnel in the building when I had done my investigation. Hopefully the thing has died or at least weakened. No one knows my story, for I don’t know what exactly happened that day.