Dark Town

• William McClatchie, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2018

The year was 1932. A cool breeze blew across the stark, industrial town. Broken street lights were flickering. A shadow passed a shady bar, popular with the town folk for its low prices on strong alcohol, the shadow walked with purpose down the footpath toward an abandoned factory. The doors rolled open automatically and the figure disappeared inside.
Across town, Agent Jones and his overzealous, red headed colleague, Pepper, sat outside Chief Novak’s office. A marble header above his doorway read ‘Simon. B. Novak, Chief of Super-Natural Investigations’. They were called in to be briefed on a case. Chief Novak stood at the end of his grand desk, he addressed them, “Jones, Pepper. Suspicious happenings have occurred at the factory behind the bar on Fifth Street,” he paused. “There have been reports of missing civilians and odd behaviour in the area. Investigate and report back to me.” He waved his hand at the door, motioning for them to leave.
Jones and Pepper were staking out the bar in the standard issue, sleek, black automobile, keeping their eyes peeled. Pepper had been extremely excited about the case and had been difficult to quieten. A man of stout stature walked with purpose out of the warehouse and into the bar. As he passed them Pepper stirred. The man’s dapper suit and tie contrasted deeply with his ragged hair and scuffed top hat. They saw the man yelling fiercely at the bartender through the dirty window, moments later he stormed out, stopped and stared menacingly at them. Pepper waved him away silently while giving him a quick nod. The man’s demeanour suddenly changed and he walked compliantly towards the factory. Seeing Jones’ puzzled face Pepper briskly shrugged her shoulders, “Just the power of suggestion I guess.”
Standing outside the factory’s towering door, Jones grabbed the handle and heaved it open. Pepper was the first to step inside. After stepping into the factory Jones was horrified to see a group of scientists in lab coats operating on someone. He ducked behind an abandoned crate as he watched. A scientist was holding a clinical jar with something inside, the patient had an incision on his upper forearm. The scientist twisted the top off the jar and poured a long millipede-like creature into the wound, before stitching it together. Confused by what he saw Jones turned to find Pepper behind him holding a primed syringe. He stopped and whispered, “Pepper?...”
Jones suddenly snapped awake. He was sitting in the automobile. The taste of chemical was fresh in his mouth. He turned to Pepper sitting next to him, she joked, “Can’t keep your eyes open,” she chuckled. “You were muttering about scientists.” His recollection was hazy like he had consumed large amounts of alcohol. They stepped out of the automobile together. As Jones lifted himself up he felt a sting on his forearm. He rubbed his arm and felt the bump of stitches. He turned to Pepper. “Time to go inside,” she said with a manic grin.