FICTION BY JEFF PRESTO
Jeff Presto is an author from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He is a fan of all things horror and enjoys mountain biking in his spare time. His favorite authors include Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, and Clive Barker.
You can find Jeff at these social media sites:
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THE GREENWELL PROJECT
by Jeff Presto
From beneath the many layers of safety gear, I can’t help but feel like an alien.
I’ve never worn an N95 mask before and have no idea what any of the letters or numbers stand for. The all-white protective jumpsuit I have on resembles a costume I’d find in a Halloween store, and the goggles strapped to my face feel bulky and awkward. My background is in accounting, not restoration service, but that didn’t stop Greenwell Energy Services from placing a call to Friedman International for additional help.
Greenwell pitched the job as a data recovery project, but that was only to make the hire look legitimate on paper. The files I was being sent to retrieve were not housed inside of a collection of old servers or financial ledgers, but rather inside of a flooded storage facility located on Greenwell’s corporate campus in northern Pennsylvania. Freidman didn’t seem to care about any of this, but it was always obvious to me as to why Greenwell would choose to call a financial talent agency rather than a professional contractor. From a budgeting standpoint, recent college graduates could be hired at a fraction of the cost of a licensed professional.
They view me as nothing more than a disposable asset. To them, I’m no different than any other piece of equipment that they have in storage. I remind myself of this as I finish suiting up.
I exit the field office through a set of double doors that lead me to the campus parking lot. A soft breeze passes over me as I step out into the light of the cold gray morning and glance around. I see the building that is flooded, evident by a thin layer of grime that coats the lower portion of the exterior walls.
Standing outside the damaged warehouse is Kimberly Maddox, one of Greenwell’s regional managers. She smiles and waves as I approach, but I’m not in the mood to return the gesture.
“Rowan!” she exclaims loudly. “How are you? Are you ready to get started?”
“I’m good,” I reply casually. I don’t even bother lying about my excitement level. From beneath my mask, everything sounds like one long unenthusiastic mumble.
“Great,” she says without missing a beat. “I’ll give you a quick rundown on things, and then I’ll leave you to it.”
I nod my head.
“So, Friedman probably already explained, but the building in front of us flooded in the rainstorm last week. You’ll work with another one of our employees, David Clark, to transport the wet documents back into the main building. There’s a room near the field office with a bunch of fans set up for you where you can peel apart the pages and let them dry. They are very valuable, so you need to do your best to save them.”
“Sure. That sounds easy enough.”
“Perfect. Don’t be afraid to ask Dave for help while you’re in there. He’s been in there for an hour or so already.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and Rowan?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t hurt yourself. If something seems dangerous, then please don’t do it.”
I hesitated. “How could I hurt myself?”
“Well, you know…everything is wet.”
I have no idea what she is talking about but I nod again as she hands me a flashlight. Her smile is no less reassuring, but she did just give me the green light to do as much or as little work as I’d like.
My resentment for her begins to fade as she walks off and waves goodbye, but I’m quickly reminded of my place as she returns to a building that’s fully operational while I’m left standing beside the one in ruins. I pull the hood of my jumpsuit up over my head and turn to face the entrance of the flooded warehouse. After a few deep breaths, I walk forward and get to work.
The smell is the first thing I notice as I step inside. Even through my mask, the stale and rotten stench of moldy paper makes me want to gag. The lobby of the building is nothing more than a small foyer that connects to a perpendicular hallway. The property isn’t large, but the shadowy corners and walkways make it seem more spacious than it really is.
I power on my flashlight and examine the empty hall. Stretches of it appear endless. I can’t even see from one end to the other without shining my light through the darkened corridor.
Shallow pockets of water splash beneath my work boots with every step I take.
“Dave?” I shout into the darkness. “You in here?”
Rows of offices line either side of the hall, and their doors have all been pulled shut. I angle my flashlight down towards the foot of the nearest doorway and spot several patches of discoloration from where the wood has begun to warp. I don’t even bother trying to open them. Instead, I make my way to the stairwell at the end of the hall and peer down into the basement. If there are any files that still need to be moved from down there, I’d rather handle the more difficult retrievals first and leave the easier ones for later.
“Dave!” I shout again, louder than before.
No answer.
The silence doesn’t feel right. I peer down into the basement and listen for the sound of footsteps or splashing water, but there’s nothing. I don’t adjust the hood of my suit, but I’m certain that my hearing must be muffled. That, or Dave is out on break. My flashlight traces the foot of the stairs as my hand grasps the thin metal railing, and I begin my descent.
A pool of ankle-deep water sends a chill up my leg as I step out onto the work floor of the basement. I survey the room as my surroundings reveal themselves to me, one pass of a flashlight beam at a time.
Several rows of cubicles are visible in the distance, and in their partially submerged state they’re more reminiscent of a cabin one would find inside of a sunken ship than corporate office bullpen. Stacks of binders and dead monitors remain perched along the dingy work desks, and a thin layer of sediment clings to their damp gray walls.
I trudge ahead, walking past several waterlogged appliances and overturned office chairs, in search of the filing cabinets. With each step I take, the creek water ripples around me. I feel the waves crash softly against my ankles, but after a few steps, I inadvertently make contact with something solid.
A pair of safety goggles are floating in front of me.
I reach down to pick them up, but stop myself just shy of touching them. A thin, translucent film clings to the lens. From beneath the gaze of the flashlight, it looks thicker and frothier than the water around me. Visually, it reminds me of mucus, but I’m sure that it’s just dirt or bacteria that got dragged inside from the soil. Wherever the safety equipment is stored down here, the water has obviously gotten to it. The thought means nothing to me, though. I’m only here for the files. Friedman isn’t paying me enough money to clean up the entire building.
The goggles drift away from me as I round the corner row of cubicles. I begin to call out for Dave as my flashlight scans the abandoned workspace, but I never finish my sentence.
It now becomes clear to me why no one’s been responding.
The man in front of me, slumped over and unresponsive on the floor, is also dressed in an all-white polyurethane suit, minus the safety googles. He’s seated with his back propped up against the back wall of the basement office. My light passes over his shoulders and hovers uncomfortably over his head and neck.
His face is crawling with worms—brownish-pink earthworms, all squirming over each other.
It’s hard to tell how many of them there are, but I’m unable to look away. For all I know, his entire body could be infested. The man’s face is bloody and bruised, and patches of skin wiggle and twist in place like a stringy rubber mask. Worms slither in and out of sight as they burrow between wounds and orifices.
My hand begins to tremble and I nearly drop my flashlight into the water as I feel something brush up against my leg. Whether it’s a ripple from the water or a worm swimming near me, I’m not waiting around to find out. A jolt of panic shoots through me, and I sprint back towards the stairwell.
I’m too scared to consider if I’m launching anything else up into the air as I stomp my way over to the stairs. I reach for the small metal railing running along the sidewall and hoist myself up as drops of water rain down from off my suit. The sickening crackle of the droplets colliding with metal conjure up the image of tiny jaws gnashing at my feet.
The urge to scream grows more intense as I race across the ground floor. I want to flail my arms wildly in every direction, catapulting any stray worms that might be clinging to my suit, and burn everything that I’m wearing. It takes everything in me to keep myself restrained. I’m careful to avoid bumping into any of the doors or walls that I pass. I don’t know what they might be covered in or what might be living inside them; I just need to get out of here.
The entranceway is just ahead, and I want nothing more than to be back on dry land. I barrel my way through the shadowy entranceway and don’t stop until my shoulders connect with the exit doors. Stumbling out into the parking lot, I claw away at my safety gear.
My gloved hands yank at the zipper to my suit as I wiggle my way out of it and kick it off. The rest of my safety gear gets hurled over in the same direction. I don’t want to walk around in anything that’s been down in the basement. I pat myself down, but the black undershirt and pair of Nike athletic shorts I have on feel dry. More importantly, they don’t feel like they have anything solid living in them.
I jog, shoeless, across the parking lot and back into the field office. All I want is my cell phone and my car keys. After that, I’m speeding away from here and never looking back.
I burst into the office and tear through the wall locker that contains my belongings. I barely have time to notice the shocked look on a nearby office worker’s face as I clear it out.
“Listen to me,” I turn towards him and gasp. “You can’t send anyone else down to that building.”
The man in front of me, dressed in a navy-blue long-sleeved shirt and neon green work vest, stares back at me in what looks like a muted panic. His eyebrows raise in confusion as he seems to search for something to say. Instead, he just watches me as I continue to plead.
“Are you listening to me?” I yell, waving my arms in the air. “The basement isn’t safe. Someone’s dead! It’s flooded and there’re worms down there. They’re eating him! They’re–”
“Okay,” he stammers, and I know he does not fully comprehend what I’m saying. “Calm down and let me call someone. We’ll get this figured out in no time.”
I begin lacing up my shoes as he picks up the receiver to a small black office phone mounted on one of the sidewalls. I’m barely listening to him as he talks. Nothing anyone says is going to calm me down and I can’t waste any more time. I stand up to leave and glance over at the man as he hangs up the phone. He looks no less anxious than he did when I entered.
“Kim’s on her way down here now,” he nervously explains. “Whatever is going on, she can help get everything figured out.”
I stare at him in disbelief, not because of anything he’s said but because of the thick bulge running down the side of his face. What I once believed was a throbbing vein now fills me with fear. Veins don’t migrate from one side of someone’s face to the other. I watch as the lump travels down the side of the man’s temple, somehow unbeknownst to him, and slithers towards his neck.
“Hey,” the worker calls out to me. “Are you okay? Did you hear what I just said?”
A strangled cry dies in my lungs as I take off running. The man makes no attempt to stop me as I rush out into the parking lot and unlock the door to my car. All I can do is pray that I get away without getting bit. My tires squeal as I speed off the property and peel out onto the highway. The campus slowly fades away in my rearview mirror.
My cell phone begins to ring, but I don’t answer it. My heart is pounding too hard to have any form of rational conversation. All I want to do is get home, throw away my work clothes, and shower.
I can’t help but laugh as an involuntary smile stretches across my face. A warm tingle set in over my cheeks as the corners of my mouth unnaturally contort. There’s no use in trying to fight it. It’s already too late.
My eyes drift up towards the rearview mirror, but I force myself to not look at my reflection.
I’m too afraid of what I might see.