A Scary Story I Need to Finish.

While I was on vacation, I published 2 videos I had made ahead and produced one video on my little Acer 2-1 with some Win 10 free video editing app and Audacity. I had a memorable scary dream that made me think I should write a story and it goes like...

It seemed like a good idea at the time. A 3D printer / maker shop. I have a lot of interests and hobbies involving various microprocessors, and some fond memories like that MiniKame toy robot whose parts I designed and 3D printed to my own spec. Or that time I sent a camera up in a rocket with 3D printed parts. To some degree, the shop has had some success. You know, a few dedicated customers that stop by regularly to exorcise some burning hobby obsession. Occasionally, curious newcomers pop in. Some make a purchase, some don’t. The various online storefronts I have set up bring in a little bit of cash flow. Science fairs, school projects, Christmas, birthdays, graduation all spike things along throughout the year. 

The shop is made up of several workbenches arranged evenly in the center of a standard single shop space. When there is a big product reveal, we have build parties. There are benches across the front window with 3D printers constantly in action, filling customer orders or just printing some demo to draw people’s attention as they walk by. The bottom shelves of the workbenches have various supplies that are used commonly in most projects.  

Wire rack shelving is arranged around the perimeter of the space. Eye level shelves have new stock in boxes with some signs to direct the customers to various areas for specific items of interest. The top shelves have plain boxes of small stock items. Black magic marker scrawled on the sides bely the contents of each. The bottom shelves have bins of odds and ends, cables, adapters, etc.  

The back room has a sturdy locked door. This is where I keep the stock of bigger ticket items to back up those that are on display. The floors are bare concrete. Smooth but not slippery. There is lots of bright light everywhere. This is needed for working on tiny projects. I got a decent deal on the lease and the monthly expenses are reasonable. 

To be honest maybe I’m just tired. Maybe things are better than I feel they are. I have cycles of depression usually driven by fatigue and a generally poor capacity for taking care of myself. It has been several years since I have taken a vacation. I occasionally take some of the slower holiday weekends off. That’s about it for rest and recreation. My wife to her credit is supportive. Friends and family also help in various ways. But lately I feel like this is just not going to work. I’m not going broke, but I’m not gaining enough headway to feel like this is the success I thought it would be. 

Today is particularly slow, somehow it is between any of those seasonal events that drive those spikes. Too much coffee and no current obsession to spark my own imagination have left me hoping the clock would move quicker. I’ve stocked and straightened the shelves, dusted, swept, etc. The empty boxes are all broken down and ready to go out to the dumpster when I leave for the day. The only thing missing is business. 

I check my email to see if there are any orders from the website. Soon I’m distracted by the news of the day on Bing, clicking from one trending story to the next. I’m almost startled when I hear the familiar creak of the door hinges. Two figures enter, indiscernible at first as they are backlit by the Sun. As they make their way into the shop the interior lights wash away the shadow. I can see these are new customers and I offer a friendly greeting. 

This is an odd-looking pair of gentlemen. One extremely tall, very slender, bald, but otherwise nondescript. The other is short, swarthy. He is not unkempt. But with bulging hairy arms, a head full of hair that probably cannot be tamed, a beard and mustache. He is almost frightening in a troll-like manner. They both acknowledge my greeting with an odd chin forward sort of nod, almost a challenge. At least that’s how I take it. 

They continue to quietly converse quietly amongst themselves and they make their way around the store. It is hard for me to even make out if they are speaking English. They pause first at the 3D printers up front, whirring and spitting out little layers of plastic as the spools slowly unrolled more. It is something that most people find fascinating, at least until they realize that it is going to take a long time for anything to take shape or become a finished piece. I am so accustomed to the printers I just watch to make sure the first layer sticks to the bed, then I ignore them until they stop, or something traumatic happens. 

The gentlemen continued their tour, thoroughly taking in the whole stock. Never touching anything, only looking briefly. Then the swarthy guy clears his throat and spoke loudly such that I know he is addressing me. 

“Good day. Interesting shop you have. Sort of a niche thing for a town this size, no?” 

I cannot detect any sort of accent, though I expected one based on the strange appearance of this pair of men. Don’t ask me why. I’m just tired at this point. My mind is sort of washed over with this subtle fatigue, pushing down my usual keen eye for detail. 

I answered, “I do OK. Internet sales help and there are local devotees, serious hobbyists. Special occasions help too. Is there anything you see that I can help you with?” 

Swarthy guy answers, “Well I don’t quite see what we are looking for. Is it possible we can order specific items to be shipped here? We will pay you in advance and certainly provide a margin on top that makes it worth your while.” 

“I see. May I ask why you don’t just take delivery yourselves?” 

“We travel a lot, and we do not have much space in our accommodations. So, we need a reliable place to receive deliveries and perhaps to assemble some items. I see you also even have a storeroom in the back. This arrangement would be very ideal for us. Would you consider our proposal?” 

By now I just want to take the boxes out to the dumpster and make my way home. I’m way more tired than I would anticipate, as if I’m coming down with a cold or something. But I have no other symptoms. Just a cloudy fog of fatigue.  

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” I ask sheepishly.  

They look at each other and nod sharply. These guys know each other well it seems. As remarkably different as they are in appearance, they are almost synchronized in their mannerisms. The closer I look at them though, the less I can make out of them. It’s almost like they are backlit by the Sun again. But they are quite near the back of the main space, hovering near the storeroom door. It almost seems like they are sizing it up and calculating how much space remains behind the door. Abruptly, they stride past me and make their way to the front door.  

“Good day” 

“Good day”, I reply. 

My knees almost buckle as a wave of sleepiness washes over me. It’s only 6pm. Not quite my bedtime. Then suddenly, I relish the notion of a double whiskey on the rocks and perk up a bit. Soon, I am switching off the lights and towing a stack of folded boxes out the door, towards the dumpster on the far end of the parking lot.  

My house is maybe a quarter of a mile away, so I walk to work. It helps with everything that goes south when you get older.  Soon I turn the corner onto my street. My wife’s face illuminates my thoughts now. I’m looking forward to seeing her. She is truly my better half. In my darker moments, I try not to think about her without me or vice versa. I pray we leave this life together, because I can’t imagine one without the other. Some parts of my emotional development are stunted. I have known my whole life what my limitations are. Talent, intellect, quick witted sense of humor, no sweat. But traumatic, life changing personal moments are not my strong point. I’m there, but don’t expect me to take the lead. 

“Hello, hello my friend!” 

My cheery neighbors are almost jumping up and down with glee to greet me as I come up to their walkway, just next to mine. These folks are so cheery it is hard to picture them any other way. They are like frosting on a cake, so sweet it is hard to picture them cursing or fretting over some misfortune. It is good to have such nice neighbors. I smile and wave. 

“Good to see you. How is it going?”, I ask. 

“Good to see you too!” they call out, waving frantically. “Have a nice evening!” 

Ah, finally home! My lovely wife is there to offer a kiss and that two and two of whiskey. The night goes so quickly that I find myself in bed before I know it. The week is almost over, so I’m looking forward to Friday, a short day on Saturday and that one day off, Sunday.  

Do you notice that the more tired you are, the worse sleep you get? I remember nothing, just not sleeping well, too hot, sweaty, that trip to the bathroom and that fight for the last couple of hours of sleep. No dreams, just more fatigue and stress, a layer on top of the day to day layer of stress I try to shovel my way out from under on a daily basis. Soon enough, it’s a cup of coffee, the morning regimen and back to work.  

This is supposed to be the alternative to working for someone. But I find myself working for me. I’m a merciless and impatient boss. So, I long for the comfortable hiding place of being a cog in the wheel of some bigger enterprise. 

“Damn!” I suddenly remember the tall guy and the swarthy guy. 

“Shit, shit, fuck, god damn!” 

I’m already halfway to work, walking under the cover of the early light. These guys said they were coming back, or at least that is the foggy recollection I have of the previous day’s encounter. I’m praying this was a bad memory, they forget, or maybe they change their mind. I can’t just ghost for the day. Friday is usually a day that the regulars come in to stock up for their weekend adventures. 

The day goes by quickly, pretty good traffic, interesting folks, decent revenue. I almost forget. But as things started to peter out, it’s now after 4pm. That door creaks and this wave of fatigue comes over me eerily. It is tall guy and swarthy guy again. I know I am going to fold here. I don’t want to be part of a conflict with these strangers. It’s as if I’m already sold and they are just here to close the deal. This is very awkward. There are some background questions being muttered mutedly in my mind.  

“This isn’t me; I’m very set in my ways. I’m the hard sell. If it is not my idea, I don’t budge. So why am I even entertaining…” 

“Good day.” Swarthy guy chirps almost melodically. This is a totally different voice than I recall from the day before. He seems less troll-like, almost pleasant, not intimidating. He and tall guy make direct eye contact with me. I sense my agreement register in their gaze. We have not even spoken, and the deal is done. They have a case with cash and a list.  

You know how it is. I have always said that it is human nature to be able to get accustomed to anything. Even the direst circumstance becomes routine. Tall guy and swarthy guy stop by somewhere between 2 and 4 times a week. Somehow, they always look the same. Same clothes, same mannerisms. They hang out while I order their list and hand me cash, or they are touring the store, checking the inventory.  

They are all over the board. Ordering from vendors I know, and then some I don’t know. Being a hobbyist, stuff from China is usually OK for my purpose. They have everything. It is cheap. Heck, China even has warehouses in the states! Tack on free shipping and you have an unbeatable offer. But the real motive behind this is power. Cheap and quantity meet low product quality. But maintaining an advantage in trading is invaluable.  

Then there is the other side of the coin. High-end US vendors, high end parts, some I don’t even understand what they are. The arrangement with the odd couple has been going on for a few weeks. It has never come to the point where have to I open the storeroom door. At least not up to now. Now it is Friday morning, maybe 15 minutes after I have opened, a large freight hauling truck is backing up into the parking lot.  

“Beep, beep, beep” grabs my attention as the truck pulls just up to my door. I step out onto the sunny walkway as the driver hops down with a clipboard in hand. He hands me a bill of lading and begins opening the lift gate. This is some serious development as I watch him maneuvering a pallet jack around inside the back of the truck. 

Soon, both of us are removing the plastic wrap from two pallets worth of boxes and cutting the heavy straps. Fortunately, he offers the use of his hand truck to move the boxes into the store. I have no room on the main floor to place this shipment. So, I unlock the door to the storeroom. The driver kindly wheels in stack after stack as I arrange the boxes in a way that doesn’t not block access to my regular stock. I am breaking a sweat now, sort of aerobic breathing. This is a workout. 

The label on the boxes start to catch my attention. These are heavy objects. Transformers, capacitors, big ones. Then it dawns on me. I didn’t order these items. It’s like I’m snapped out of a daze. This isn’t part of the agreement. At least that is how I understand it. The muted questions that try to grab my attention every time I am in the presence of the odd couple are elbowing their way into the forefront of my thoughts.  

“What am I doing? What are all these parts for?” It’s as if the aerobic workout has got my blood flowing and I am thinking like my usual self. I am wracking my brain based on the shopping list that I am aware of and this shipment of parts that I did not order.