The
Beast of Warehouse 9
Hillary
Lyon
It was
so quiet Cooper could
hear his own heartbeat. The lights in the hallway extending before him
flickered and winked out. He clicked on his flash light before continuing his
patrol down the cluttered corridor, careful not to bump into anything, not to
tread too heavily.
This
business about an alien
beast loose in the ship’s level 9 warehouse was nonsense. The officers denied
any such cargo being stored on board, the logs listed no such thing for
transport. He’d scanned the logs himself, and found nothing.
The rumor
probably originated
with the warehouse crew. Somebody thought they saw a glistening something
slither into the shadows, someone else swore they heard a guttural growling
emanating from behind a stack of crates, and yet another person claimed they
felt cold, foul breath on the back of their neck as they checked inventory
forms.
Cooper
scoffed. Probably cold
current from the air-conditioning touching the back of the neck. As for that
glistening something, most likely a trick of the light. People were
prone to seeing ill-defined things in their peripheral vision, especially when
working alone. And as for the groaning behind the crates—come on, Cooper
said to himself, everyone knows about the hook-ups between the Kim and Merle.
Long hauls made for curious couplings, at least on this ship, with this crew.
At the
end of the hallway, he
tapped the glowing green button on the wall, and the warehouse doors hissed
open. The electricity isn’t out, Cooper noted, the overhead
lights are just being wonky. Probably a loose wire, or dirty connection.
He’d report this to maintenance.
Cooper
heard a rustling in the
dark, several yards ahead. A rat, maybe? Vermin were occasionally found on
ships. They made nests in old-style wooden crates, which were then carried
aboard. They’d chew their way out and run wild in the warehouse, eating
whatever they could stomach (including electrical wiring), leaving droppings everywhere.
But metal crates were almost all anyone used in transport anymore, so—
A sound
like a stream of pebbles
cascading down a long tube interrupted his thoughts. The faint noise reminded
him of rain.
Impossible!
Either I imagined
that, Cooper told himself,
or cargo shifted and spilled inside a crate. That’s all.
Holding
his breath, he listened.
Nothing but silence. Cooper swung his head around for a quick scan of the
immediate area. Neat rows of stacked crates, each plastered with a large white
label detailing contents, listing specifications for storage. He leaned close
to the nearest crate to read its label: terracotta pots, various sizes and
colors. Origin: Earth. Store This Side Up. Manufacturer: Bezos & Compa—
Out of
the corner of his eye,
Cooper saw a sinuous glistening something swaying back and forth, about
six feet away. He snapped his head towards it, and—
Of course
it was gone.
Power
of suggestion, Cooper chided himself. That’s
all. I’ve heard too many panicked stories from the warehouse crew, saw the fear
shining in their eyes. The downside to being human, I suppose, is strong
emotions are contagious. Especially here in the isolation of deep space.
He waited
for the growling,
groaning sound that had to come next, but it didn’t. Cooper moved further into
the warehouse’s interior.
This
is stupid, he groused. I get these lame
assignments because I’m new. This is nothing but... hazing, he
rationalized, laughing aloud. Because my co-workers see me as the gullible
rookie. Okay, I’ll play along, I’ll tell my boss I blasted this beast to
kingdom come, and that—
A sour,
frigid breath caressed
the nape of his neck, his ear, his cheek. He froze in place. It was so quiet in
Warehouse 9, the beast could hear Cooper’s heartbeat.
