The Floor creaked as she walked along the deserted hall. Small puffs of dust forming with each step. The last rays of afternoon sunlight filtered through the dirty, cracked windows allowing the girl to see just how badly the building had suffered through the years of neglect.
Mold was creeping down the wall from a leaky ceiling staining the wallpaper dark green and cobwebs were in the corners of office doorways. The girl stopped to peek in the last office. An old chair still sat behind the big wooden desk, holes clearly visible from where mice had nested in the cushion. A sign on the desk read "Company President."
Curious, the girl walked in running her fingers along the top of the desk, leaving a smear in the dust. The desk had three drawers. Two opened easily revealing an old candy bar and some change. The third drawer was locked. Her curiosity ever growing the girl carefully pulled a bobby pin out of her ponytail and stuck it in the lock. A couple of minutes later a click resounded through the office. Cautiously the girl opened the third drawer.
On top of a pile of papers sat a small black book. Gently picking up the obviously old book, the girl opened the cover. "Property of Robert E. Eosh" could clearly be seen written in blue ink on the inside. Flipping to the first page the girl began to read.
January 15, 1951
It is with much happiness that I begin this journal documenting the start of my new shoe company. It has taken me many years to get the money and partners needed to fulfill my dream. There were times when I almost lost hope, but now my hopes are high as the factory comes together before my eyes.
Robert D. Eosh
The next several entries were more like progress reports and reminders of things that needed to be done. Flipping pages the girl suddenly stopped.
April 25, 1951
A terrible accident has occurred. A worker was leaning on a conveyor belt that had been stopped due to a broken chain when suddenly it began to move! Startled the worker fell backwards onto the belt. His arm which had been stretched behind him entered the machine used to cut plastic for the bottoms of the shoes. Other workers frantically tried to stop the machine or pull the fallen man off but were too late. Never again will that poor man be right-handed. No one can figure out how the machine was turned on. There were no people by the button and when looked at by the mechanic the machine should not have been able to work without a new chain. The workers are spooked claiming there must be a ghost haunting the factory. Such nonsense! But I do hope there are no more unfortunate accidents.
Robert D. Eosh
His hope did not come true. Every entry after that had some sort of accident. People lost fingers, broke legs, machines malfunctioned or broke down. The list went on, steadily getting worse each time. The girl only had one entry left to read. Her stomach churned with nervousness and expectation. She turned to the last entry.
July 10, 1951
The worst has happened. Accidents have occurred almost regularly since the first worker lost his hand. Despite this I have stubbornly kept the factory open and the company going. I can no longer justify continuing after this. Three days ago my partner and best friend of many years died. He surprised me coming into my office at noon declaring I was to stop working and have lunch with him. The lunch was excellent and exactly what I needed to relieve some of the stress and worry that plagued me. Upon our return, we toured the factory floor, greeting the workers and listening to their complaints on what needed to be fixed. The machine that took the very first worker's hand was being lifted out to be taken to the dump. It had caused so many problems and broken down so many times that it was no longer worth keeping. Unknowingly, I had walked under it as I went to cross the floor in response to a worker calling my name. There was a loud snap and a shout of "Robert!" I looked up to see the machine falling towards me. Frozen I felt a shove on my back and stumbled forward out of the path of the machine. I heard a sickening thud as the machine hit the floor. Slowly I turned to face behind me. A hand was all that could be seen of the body, but I knew who it was. There is only one person who would willingly give his life for me. The funeral is this Sunday. Friday is the last time the doors of the factory will open to workers. Had I not had a my best friend with me I would be the one in the coffin this Sunday. Whether it be a ghost or simply an evil presence there is something that haunts this factory and it will kill to get what it wants. I am leaving this journal here in the hope that should someone ever want to build here they will find it and think twice. To all who read this be careful as you walk this factory and good luck. You'll need it.
