The Auction

The first time I saw it I was trying to sell a dead woman’s clothes. 

It was all legal of course. Her storage unit was full of them. She had died in a nursing home with no next of kin, and that meant nobody was paying her bill. Rather than let her abandoned wardrobe hang around for free, it was standard practice in self-storage to wait until her balance was 36 days past due before sending it to auction. When it came time to auction off a unit there was a straightforward list to follow. 

Cut the lock

Open the unit

Take photos of the contents

Write down what we see

Close the unit

Seal it with an auction tag

Upload everything online. 

At the time I had just been transferred to a new facility, but I had been working in storage for several years. As an assistant manager I was already used to bouncing around and filling in where help was needed. I bought into the idea if I did whatever I was told eventually that would lead to a raise or a promotion. It barely led to the first and never seemed to lead to the latter. The site manager, Dwayne, was a solemn middle-aged man who always seemed tired and never had much affinity for small talk. The long periods of silence were tough, but I did my best to stay busy by attending to customers or cleaning the facility. 

On the day we were scheduled to cut locks, I found Dwayne the most talkative I had ever seen him. He was adamant that we adhered to every step of the list as if it were holy scripture. The grinding saw had to be fully charged, with a new saw blade fastened on. Every piece of paperwork and safety equipment needed to be on our persons before we could even set foot out of the office to begin the task at hand. I’ll admit I was a bit annoyed that when Dwayne finally decided to  talk it was only to bark orders and lecture me about a process I had already been through fifty times. I remember the last thing he demanded before we locked up the office. 

“Make sure you do whatever I tell you to when we cut this lock”

It was such an out of place statement. I understood there was a legal process that we needed to follow, but Dwayne was taking it way too seriously for what they were paying us. Prepping a unit for auction required two employees to be present. The company tells you it’s for legal purposes, as you’re not allowed to touch anything or enter the unit at all. Having two people present helps promote accountability, or so they claimed. This was a lie. 

Normally you split the prep tasks however you both see fit. Dwayne’s job was to cut the lock, while I would document what I saw inside the unit. Mrs.Abernathy, our dearly deceased tenant, had moved in only six months prior. I remembered showing her the unit, while she explained to me that all she had were clothes that she couldn’t bear to get rid of. This wasn’t rare, in fact it was common for people to store things they’d never use again and pay several times their worth for the pleasure of doing so. I had already written down ‘clothes’ as Dwayne cut the lock. Orange sparks lit up the long, unremarkable hall of identical units as the saw cut through the steel padlock. I still recall the metallic thunk the severed lock made as it smacked into the concrete floor. Dwayne pulled open the metal roll-up door, and there it was. 

It stood at least seven feet tall, I almost mistook it for a piece of art at first. It was made of what appeared to be thin strips of the same sheet metal used to make the door Dwayne had opened. The strips were layered and twisted into long coils that formed rough equivalents of a torso and limbs, giving it a simulated humanoid shape. There were small gaps in the sheet metal where the metal bent and wrapped, each stuffed with torn clothes, children’s toys, and what can only be described as chunks of viscera. It’s head was no more than a slightly thicker coil of metal, but I saw what I prayed was doll hair pouring out over several strips. Inside a nearby gap a small eye stared at us, but I could not tell if it belonged to a doll’s head or something worse. 

“Don’t move!” shouted Dwayne. I obeyed. My confusion was quickly replaced with terror, as I realized whatever we were staring at was alive. I could see the slight sway in its stance, and I could hear the light clatter of metal as its entwined pieces loosely collided. 

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, my instincts telling me to disobey Dwayne’s command. I wanted to run. I wanted to get away. 

“DO NOT MOVE” Dwayne repeated, the creature did not seem to react to either of our voices. 

Dwayne spoke with an authority that told me I needed to listen. I stood still for what seemed like ages, though I doubt it was more than a few moments before what came next. The creature began to shake, it was little more than a tremble at first. The metallic sound of the metal strips clattering grew with intensity. Soon the entirety of the creature was shaking with such force I thought it might uncoil completely. The narrow halls made of concrete and metal bounced the horrible sound in an echoing loop. It was then Dwayne leapt, grabbing the handle of the door and slamming it down to the floor, separating us from the creature with only the thin layer of sheet metal. The sound stopped almost immediately. 

When Dwayne finally convinced me the threat had passed, I had far more questions than he had answers. The previous owner of the facility had been with him the first time Dwayne had seen it, which was over six years ago. Having sold the facility to my company, the outgoing owner felt he had to prepare the new incoming manager. ‘Prepare’ might be overstating it, as Dwayne had learned the rules but never the reasons why. He finally shared them with me, convinced that I would never have believed him had he tried to warn me ahead of time. 

The Rules

Always use two people when prepping units for auction. No exceptions. 

Once the lock is cut, open the door all the way. Do not attempt to peek under while the door is partially open. 

If it is inside the unit, do not move. This includes turning your head or averting your gaze.

Wait until the creature begins to shake violently. Do NOT attempt to move before then.

Move ONLY to shut the door immediately. 

You can return in 1 hour to finish documenting the contents of the unit. 

My initial reaction was just to leave and never return, even if Dwayne insisted we were perfectly safe if we just followed the rules. They had worked for him for the last six years, without fail. I would have laughed in his face if I hadn’t been so terrified. I told him in a profanity filled rant that I was in no way being paid enough to go anywhere near that thing again. I was halfway out the door when he told me that Corporate knew about the creature, and if I stayed they would double my pay. You would think my life would have been worth more to me than that, but anyone living paycheck to paycheck can tell you it’s not always that simple. That was three years ago.

The following two years continued much as they had prior to my learning the truth. I was terrified of lock cutting day, but over time my new paycheck somewhat softened the dread. The creature appeared as often as it did not and, like Dwayne had said, following the rules always saw us safely through the process. Eventually the repetitive nature of our work lead me to regard the creature like I would any other dangerous power tool. I was wary of it, but no longer worried that my safety was outside of my control. 

It was last year that I learned Dwayne was going through a divorce. I didn’t even realize he was married, but in a rare moment of transparency he admitted he had stopped wearing the ring long before the separation was finalized. I didn’t even know how to respond to these revelations, we had spoken so little to one another while working together that he might as well have been a stranger. I half-heartedly told him to let me know if he needed anything. He only nodded, and just like that we returned to the familiar silence that defined our working relationship. Thinking back, I do remember how tired he looked after that, his sunken eyes glazed over and tinted yellow as he went through the daily motions on near auto-pilot. He was nearly fifteen years my elder, so any advice I could give felt inappropriate and out of place considering we were acquaintances at best. 

Dwayne’s spiral lasted ten months, before I believe he just reached a breaking point. It was lock cutting day, and we prepared for the task like we had many times before. We were three units in when it happened. Dwayne cut the lock, set down the grinder, and opened the unit almost eagerly. There it stood, silent save for the metallic creak of its unsteady sway. We stood still, which was second nature at this juncture. It was then that Dwayne turned his head to face me. I dared not move an inch, but my extreme surprise must have been evident on my face. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all he offered, before walking directly towards the creature. He took two steps forward before long metallic tendrils shot out from the being, a screech of grinding metal drowning out my screams. The flood of aluminum tentacles engulfed Dwayne in a violent cocoon before pulling him inside the unit. I leapt forward, reaching for the door handle as the tendrils turned their attention to me. I slammed down the door, but a handful of the metal strips had made it back out from underneath. They lashed around for me, the sharp whip cut through the air in a desperate search. A single strip caught me just as I bolted the unit shut, slicing into my arm with the jagged edge of torn metal. I cried out in pain, jumping back before falling just out of reach. I held my bloody arm, waiting for the tsunami of metal limbs to slide out from beneath the door to deliver me the same fate they had Dwayne. Yet nothing ever emerged from that unit. 

I don’t know what drove Dwayne to such an end, I try to focus on not being bitter about the fact that he almost took me with him. Naturally, the position of Facility Manager along with another raise was offered my way soon after the incident. I now have my own assistant, and we carry a similar silent understanding of what waits inside of these units. I never found a trace of Dwayne, not even when it came time to return to the very same unit and finish the auction process. 

I don’t know what summoned this creature. Perhaps something happens when you fill a building full of memories. You’re not just storing toys, clothes, or furniture, but also the emotions chaining these items to their owners. Whether it’s the nostalgia for better days, the loss of what they once had, or just the fear moving forward, these emotions are stacked floor to ceiling, marinating in a dangerous attachment to the past. Maybe the result is some horrid thing, built of metal and fear. 

I don’t know, I’m just the facility manager.

But I do know that it’s waiting. 

And I know that it never lets go.  

Credit: Jameson Curnick