The Lost Files of Kiki's Kindles

Chapter one: The first Disappearance

1993

"Alright, so like, I'm supposed to be cleaning out this storage facility or something, paying me fifteen an hour so I might just stay here for a few hours," the voice chuckled. "I'm recording my time here to pass time so I can just get paid more so, this is me walking there, it's kinda secluded which makes it scary, def' wouldn't want to be here at night," the man paused the camera and its recording and continued walking. Leaves and twigs snapped under his footsteps along the path. The sky was a lovely blue color and the day was clear. Birds sang their songs and all was good. The facility he was cleaning was used to store extra parts and different things, it was super messy and the guys who owned it simply didn't want to bother with it. "Looks like I'm here," the man said, continuing the recording. "This place looks sketchy but oh well, the uh guys that own it said the door was going to be locked so they gave me a key," the man pulled the silver key out of his pocket and jingled it into the lock before the door opened. As he stepped inside he was greeted by an overwhelming musty scent. "Dear God, has this place not been opened in years or something?" It was dark in the sorta large building so the man began to feel against the wall to find some sort of light switch. He switched a flashlight on and looked around the room he was in, however it didn't seem like there even was a light switch giving the place an even more scary vibe. As he scanned his eyes around the room he noticed a bunch of robotic pieces and promotional signs for some kind of business. They were all covered in dust and some things were rusty, there was stray metal everywhere on the floor which made walking difficult. "This place looks like the start of a horror movie, cleaning this place is going to take weeks" the man laughed but the laugh was more of a panicked laugh. He continued to look around the signs and jagged metal and found a door; upon opening it he discovered a pile of parts that looked like they were once some kind of robot.

The back of the room was completely dark, except for two dim lights in the far back. "Dude that's creepy as hell, this place is borderline abandoned and there are lights on? The guys said they hadn't touched this building in years," one of the lights turned off, feeling a sense of dread fall over him he quickly left the room and shut the door. His heart began to race, but he didn't know why. Nothing was even happening, yet it felt like his chest was going to pop from how loud and fast his heartbeat was. Controlling his breathing was out of the question at this point. "I don't think I can do this job," the guy said, breathing heavily to the edge of hyperventilating, what could have caused this. "I'm leaving this," the man headed to the front door before it dramatically shut in front of his eyes. He began to frantically bang on the heavy metal door in hopes someone was just playing with him. "Open this door! This isn't funny!" his bangs became faster and more panicked, the metallic sound echoing in the room. The flashlight began to flicker. He kept recording regardless, just in case something happened. Eventually the flashlight died, the recording stopped and the man slid his back against the door until he was sitting. Something scraped against his back making him let out a small cry in pain. It was dark, he couldn't see anything, the door was locked and he knew this is where he'd die. He began to softly cry and thought about his girlfriend and how she'd most likely never know what happened to him, he'd be lost in these woods, and no one knew where he was at.

Suddenly he heard things fall, however, it wasn't from the room where he saw the lights. It was a different room. Warm tears fell against his cheeks as he heard a banging noise from the room he hadn't looked at yet. However, he began to feel relief as the loud metal noises stopped. It was quiet. Peaceful. He let out a sigh of relief and began to try to pry open the front door. He felt stupid for believing there was something in here, he had just gotten a little spooked that's all. The cold metal door still wouldn't budge no matter how much he tried, it wouldn't open. He sat down again as that was all he could do. He tried to formulate a plan. Then, he heard the most awful noise he could imagine. A door slowly screeched open in the darkness, he didn't know which one it was, the sound of the door scraping on the floor filled him with dread. Surely there couldn't be something in here, it had been locked for who knows how long. No human could survive here for longer than a few days. Perhaps the door never liked staying shut and maybe something had just fallen and pushed it open. The man tried to come up with ideas to make himself feel calmer but the more ideas he came up with, it just led to something being in there with him. Finally, the door stopped again. It was quiet, yet too quiet.

Then he finally heard it, he knew his fate now, it was over. Something was shuffling about in the scrap metal lying on the floor. He brought his legs to his chest to make himself smaller. He slowed his breathing and tried not to make noise. If this was a thing in here with him his best bet was to act like he wasn't there. It was dark enough that whatever it was couldn't see him so maybe he just needed to wait it out. A few minutes had passed and whatever it was was still moving but it appeared to not know he was in there. Then it stopped. He released himself and wasn't as tense but it wouldn't last long.

He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, as if metal claws began to dig into his arm slowly going deeper and deeper, he could begin to feel the warm blood ooze out of his arm. He felt it slowly drip down his bare skin and in between his fingers. He let out a scream in pain but it was cut short before another metal claw stabbed him in his throat. It was cut in such a way the blood wouldn't come out fast, this would be a slow and torturous death. He tried to scream again but he couldn't, blood filled his throat and his vocal cords had been severed. He felt the claw in his throat slowly rip out of him, and it hurt more than when it first penetrated him. He tried to breathe the air he could manage as the blood dripped down his chest and seeped into his shirt making the already horrid experience worse as it felt warm and sticky. Finally, he felt the claw jab his stomach and he jolted his body, making the pain in his shoulder worse. The blood gargled in what was left of his throat. He tried to see what was doing this to him but it was no use. He would die without knowing what even killed him. The thick red liquid came out of his mouth and he closed his eyes as the claw seeped deeper and deeper into his stomach. It felt like a thousand fires engulfing his body, every muscle hurt and ached.

Why couldn't this be over faster? He had thought. He couldn't even scream or talk without drowning in his own blood. Anytime he breathed it felt like more blood came up, he didn't even know he had this much blood in his own body. More importantly, he didn't know why this was happening to him. His entire chest had become drenched in warm blood. He could feel his skin and bones begin to tear and break under the pressure of the metal claws digging into him. Eventually, the claw popped through his lung, more blood pooled out and he died, a slow, and agonizing death. The last thoughts were his girlfriend and their child they had on the way. He thought about how she would never know what happened to him and he thought about how his child would grow up without knowing their own father. If only he didn't take the job, if only he didn't come here. Would they even find his body? Would they ever know what happened? Would they ever find what killed him? With those last thoughts, he let death take over. He heard whatever it was laugh as he slipped into nothingness.

Georgetown Wyoming, 1994

"Mr. Calton?" a woman's voice called out. My vision is blurry, I can hear voices but I can't move, my body won't let me.

"He won't wake up," it was a different voice this time.

"We have to have some kind of hope, he's the only one we've found," it was two women having a conversation, most likely about me. I'm awake, I'm alive, I can hear you.

"We need to do everything we can to preserve him and wake him up, he is the only evidence we have for this case,"

"Yeah, I know, we are trying our best, however, even if he does wake up, who's to say he remembers anything? Most of the time in acoma cases when they wake up they have no memory of what happened and there's no way to revive their memory unless they go through the same memory," I remember, my names... My name, what's my name? this isn't real, I know who I am, it's all a nightmare and I'll wake up in my home. Home? Where is my home?

"It's best to let him continue to rest, we are doing the best we can to wake him up, on the bright side he does not appear to have any substantial injuries, which is always a good sign,"

"Alright, thank you, tell me when he wakes up,"

"You will be the first to know," please don't go, dammit why can't you hear me, why am I stuck here, who am I? Please just wake up.