Beneath the Boards

There was only one rule: don't open the door.

So what did I do as soon as my new boss left? I opened the door. I was drawn to it, like I had no choice.

I stared at shelves full of cleaning supplies and random junk. A dusty abandoned closet. The stench of mothballs tickled my nose.

Staring intently at each shelf, I tried to decide why I wasn't supposed to open the door when the phone rang, startling me. I swung it shut, the "Do Not Enter" sign clattering against the old wood as I walked away.

As my night shift progressed, the weird closet was the last thing on my mind. I hadn't seen a single customer. The phone rang several times, but only one call wasn't silence. The office light flickered often, and I could swear someone was pacing above me.

I checked the thermostat again. The heat was running, yet I was still cold.

In a desperate attempt to warm up, I started pacing and found myself once again face to face with the door. It was ajar, though I could've sworn I'd shut it. Shrugging it off, I pulled it all the way open and stepped into the small closet.

I knew something was wrong when I heard the cracking, but there was no time. One foot after another went straight through the floor. My hands reached out in desperate attempts to grab anything to hold onto, but nothing stable was within reach.

I thought I cried out to no one.

Bottles, towels, shelves fell with me into oblivion. Souls enveloped me.

The next morning.

The manager walked in and immediately noticed the open closet door. He hung his head and sighed at the broken planks.

"Not another one."