The Scraping in Unit B-16

Audio Log Recovered From a Closed Storage Facility After the Night Shift Vanished Story

I'm recording this because the office phone keeps ringing, and it shouldn't. It's 2:17 a.m.,

the kind of dead hour where the air hums and every sound feels personal. I'm alone in Unit

B, sitting at a folding desk that smells faintly of dust and old cardboard,

listening to the fluorescent lights click on and off like they're thinking about it.

I work nights at a storage facility off the bypass. Nothing dramatic ever happens here.

People forget their codes, raccoons knock over trash cans, and once a year

someone cries because they sold the wrong couch. Tonight started the same.