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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/adorabletapeworm on 2024-10-05 14:22:45+00:00.
Because of potential legal issues, I can't say the name of the place where we had our most recent call, but once I describe it, I’m sure yinz’ll know exactly where I’m talking about.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
It's a store known for its maze-like floorplan full of showrooms painstakingly decorated with their affordable assemble-it-yourself furniture. That's probably more of a giveaway than a hint, but keep in mind that I'm but a humble pest control specialist, not a mind game mastermind.
Anyways, with the nature of how that store is, I'm honestly surprised we haven't been called there sooner. I could easily see some poor Housekeepers being very confused by it, among other atypical household pests.
But before I get into that case, here's a brief update on how everyone at Orion is doing after the shit storm we dealt with last week.
To start, I’m fine. I didn't need surgery to fix the internal bleeding, thankfully, and the concussion went away after some rest and NSAIDs. Sure, I felt like shit for days after the hag incident, but better to feel terrible than to feel nothing, right?
Something that I’m convinced accelerated my recovery was that Deirdre had stayed by my side the whole time. More on that later.
As far as my coworkers go, they're all fine, too. Victor was back to his usual, grouchy self two days after the incident. Wes fixed himself pretty quickly, so there's no concern about him, either. Thankfully, neither Cerri or Reyna got anything other than some emotional scarring.
So there you have it: everyone at Orion is alive and well. We're back to business as usual. This is starting to become more normal for us, but I’m not sure if that's a good thing.
When the store’s manager called us, I initially thought the infestation was, in fact, because of a confused Housekeeper. But the more she told me, the more certain I became that I would be dealing with another pest entirely.
“So, it started with our showrooms getting rearranged,” The manager began, her voice low as if afraid someone would overhear. “It was little things, at first, like a Vattenkrasse going missing or a Häckpoppel being broken, you know?”
I had no idea what either of those things were, but I pretended like I did just for time's sake.
The manager kept going, “At first, I thought it was just one of my team members bumping into things and not telling anyone, you know, something normal. But then the other night, I was the last one to leave and I heard…”
She got quiet. When she spoke again, she sounded doubtful, “Let's just say, I heard a voice that I shouldn't have been able to hear. It wanted me to follow it.”
Definitely not a Housekeeper.
First, I asked the most important question, “You didn't follow it, did you?”
The store manager quickly said, “No! God, no! Who would be stupid enough to follow a creepy voice into a storeroom?!”
My answer may have been a little too honest, “Ma'am, you'd be amazed.”
She went on to tell me that other employees have heard the voices of people they know, calling to them when working at night, trying to convince them to investigate a certain corner of their massive storeroom. Since then, they'd all been too scared to go near the area. Meanwhile, none of the day shift had reported hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary.
Where it went from creepy to horrific was when the pest decided to add its own ‘furniture piece’ to one of the showrooms.
An extremely unfortunate customer had been made into a chair. His limbs served as the chair's legs, his torso the back piece. His head was left on the nearby table as a centerpiece. The pest had even given a name to its grotesque addition, written in what looked like a marker that had been stolen from another display: Köttstol.
Naturally, they called the police. The cops checked the security footage and told her that Orion would be able to handle the situation better than they could.
I told her that I’d be there once the store was close to shutting down for the day, thinking it would be best to search for the pest afterhours so that there’d be less chance of a bystander being harmed. I also advised her to have everyone travel in groups. If the culprit of this infestation was what I thought it was, it would be less likely to try to collect one of them if they weren't alone.
Before locking me in for the night, the manager hurriedly told me that their kitchen had set aside some meatballs in case I got hungry. Since I'd never been to this furniture store before, I was confused and a bit suspicious. What kind of furniture store sells meatballs? But according to the internet, I guess this is a regular practice.
Call it force of habit, but I didn't eat them. The employees all seemed human, at least from the brief time I spent with them, but with the position I'm in, I can't be too careful. A certain Huntsman has used humans to get to me before, after all.
When it comes to exploring the furniture store, it's a surreal experience, especially when the lights go out. The displays are set up like someone's living space with walls separating each one, complete with fake food and family photos. The gap between the tops of the walls and the warehouse ceiling is where the fantasy of each pristinely decorated interior ends.
It's a strange, strange store and I'm not entirely convinced it was created by humans.
At first, there were no voices or traces of anything unusual. Just display after display of furnishings with names I would embarrass myself trying to pronounce correctly.
Hours had passed. I still hadn't made it to the other side of the store. And at that point, no signs of an infestation. The pest was probably apprehensive, since I made no effort to hide Ratcatcher at my hip. It was most likely waiting for an opportunity to catch me off guard.
Given what the manager had told me, its nest was in the storeroom. It wouldn't be at its nest until the sun rose. It was most likely nearby; I just had to inspire it to show itself.
I found a showroom that was supposed to look like a sporty kid’s bedroom and took a seat on the mattress, starting to grow bored from the lack of activity. I knew it was there, hidden amongst the maze of furniture. It was just taking its sweet time.
At least, that's what I thought until I saw it peeking over the wall at me.
Its eyes reflected the light of my flashlight like a cat's, little sparse hairs on the top of its egg-shaped head swirling upwards. It had to be at least twelve feet tall, with how easily it could peer over the wall at me.
A Gray Man.
Gray Men are artists, in a sense. Unfortunately, they appear to find living beings to be the best tools for their macabre art installations. Sometimes they use flayed skin as canvases or fabric, other times, it uses entire cadavers to create sculptures, like the man-chair.
It must've found the store's showrooms and build-it-yourself furniture to be inspirational.
The Gray Man whispered to me in my mother's voice, “Let me help you.”
It was a poor imitation. It had a strange edge to it, like a recording of my mom that had been played out of an old, tinny speaker.
“Won't you let me?” The Gray Man asked, tilting its misshapen head. “Let me transform you? Give you a purpose?”
What kind doesn't grow up dreaming to become a chair?
I rose slowly from the bed, hand on Ratcatcher's hilt. As I did so, its face lowered behind the wall, the slaps of its bare feet circling around to the entrance of the storeroom I'd picked to sit down in. It was going to try to box me in.
Once its footsteps drew nearer, I slashed at it. As previously mentioned, we ordinarily try to resolve infestations non-lethally, but there are some pests out there that can't simply be caught and relocated. Gray Men are one of them.
My first cut missed. Its laugh was a perversion of my mother's; there was no warmth in it, and it was far too slow, as if the Gray Man was trying out that particular form of vocalization for the first time and couldn't quite figure it out.
I ducked under its arm as it reached for me with its long, needle-sharp fingers, then dragged the sword along the Gray Man’s side. Hearing Mom’s voice scream like that, even while knowing it wasn't her, made me tear up instantly. Ignoring the Gray Man’s manipulations, I struck again, cutting into the skin of its back. Black blood spilled onto the white tiles below our feet.
After all that I’d encountered over the past few weeks, dealing the Gray Man felt much easier than it had in the past. While those sharp fingers are deadly, the pest is relatively slow compared to other Neighbors out there. It primarily relies on using fear or manipulation to capture its prey, not appearing to know how to handle itself against someone that is able to fight back.
Right before I could finish it off, the Gray Man turned and scurried away, as much as a tall thing like it can scurry. It was quick, its fingers clicking noisily against the floor as it retreated. I gave chase, narrowly avoiding slipping in its blood at a few points.
It wasn't hard to guess where it was going.
I had lost sight of the pest itself, resorting to following the trail of blood to locate the stockroom. When I came across the sign pointing out the direction...
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