Welcome, Detective Paul

Ian stepped out of the brown car and paused, heart pounding as he stared at the warehouse. Something about that place just felt wrong — cold and off, like it was trying to push him away. The bit of moonlight wasn’t helping. It only made the warehouse appear larger. The shadows twisted it into something menacing.

Paul groaned, stretching until his joints popped. “God, that feels so good! I swear, these old bones can’t handle long rides like they used to.”

Ian shot him a glare. “Maybe if you got off your ass instead of sitting around all day, you’d be in better shape.”

“Are you still sore I got myself put on the case?” Paul shut the door behind him and patted down his coat, making sure everything was where it should be. “You should feel honored to have my expertise at your disposal.”

Ian shook his head. “Honored my ass.”

He ignored Paul’s response and reached back into the car — grabbing his utility belt with his flashlight, gun, badge, and extra magazines. The young detective slammed the door and leaned his head against the cold glass. I have a strange sense of déjà vu every time I glance at the warehouse. It felt similar to the dream he had earlier… ev

He took a deep breath. First, focus on finding evidence; he could be scared later.

An arm wrapped around his neck. Instinctively, Ian drove his elbow, and Paul quickly let go. “Whoa, chill out, Rock. Stop being all tense before we get inside.”

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” Ian said, turning to the entrance of the building. The longer we stand here, the greater the urge is to shoot you.”

“Don’t blame me for you being a scary little bitch,” Paul muttered and followed suit.

Ian ignored the comment and marched forward. His old mentor had parked at the end of the long driveway in case anyone was watching them.

They arrived at the warehouse doors. Up close, the glass panels appeared weak and easy to break with a few hits. A layer of dust and grime caked the area. The right half of the door was brick and resembled a normal abandoned building.

Paul’s heavy steps echoed behind him. “Just going to eye the door, Rook, or are we going to get inside?”

Ian stood to the right of the door and leaned against the wall. “Quiet down! We need to secure the perimeter first before—”

“Ugh, I taught you better than that! Stop being such a pansy. It’s an empty ‌warehouse; just get the fuck inside.” Paul smiled and walked past Ian.

“We don’t know if people are around! Let’s search first before doing anything stupid.”

“Nah, too much work!” Paul lifted his leg and slammed his foot into the door. The force shattered the rusted hinges; the object crashed against the concrete floor. “Look at that, suddenly the door opened up! I think that gives us the right to go inside and investigate.” He reached into his leather jacket, withdrew his gun, and went inside first.

Ian breathed heavily through his nose. He pulled out his gun, took the safety off, and followed closely behind his mentor. Paul crouched, then went left. After scanning the area, Ian crouched and went right, venturing into the darkness.

He peeked behind a desk littered with papers but found nothing legible. A closed door behind it caught his attention. Turning the handle, he was met with the old hinges that screeched loudly. With no moonlight reaching this far, the room was covered in darkness, giving it an eerie feeling.

Ian whipped out his flashlight and flicked it on. He held his gun in his left hand, pointing it at both objects in front of him as he stepped inside.

The smell of decay filled his lungs, causing him to gag. Cobwebs dangled from the ceilings and flies buzzed around. Broken chairs and desks littered the floors next to dried red specks. The smell grew worse the deeper he went. Dried specks of blood became more common as he neared the back of the office.

A message was scrawled on the wall in what appeared to be red paint. Ian stopped back and brightened up the wall with his flashlight.

The message read: Welcome, Detective Paul. We’ve been expecting you.

A wet ripping sound came from his left. Ian nearly dropped his flashlight as his heart pounded in his chest. A corpse lay in the corner with rats feasting on its remains. The body convulsed and fell to the floor, scaring the rats. They scattered, brushing ‌against Ian’s leg.

Ian grimaced. He hurried out of the room to find Paul and show him the message. An icy chill went down his spine as his breath came out in a small fog while exiting the room, heading toward the main entrance.

In his rush, he didn’t notice the eyes of the body open and turn to watch him leave.

***

Paul stared at the message on the wall. His head didn’t blink, as if he were in a trance.

Ian holstered his gun and held his flashlight with his mouth. From his pocket, he took out a pair of rubber gloves. Grabbing the light, he approached the nearby desk and shuffled through the blood-stained papers. He found a black-and-white photo of Paul sitting on a beach. Red liquid smeared the rest of the image. It was dated October 1st of this year.

“Ah, Paul, I need you to take a look at this,” Ian said, pointing the light at him.

Paul nodded and moved beside him. He looked at the photo, then picked it up with a trembling hand. “I remember this day. I was just meeting up with Mark.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Skinhead Mark I met earlier?”

“Yeah, him. He told me some guy was following and came to me for help. I told him he was being paranoid, that nothing was going to happen.”

Ian didn’t get to respond. A heavy object slammed into his chest and knocked the air out of him. His back landed on the ground hard, dislodging the flashlight from his hand. He struggled ‌to keep the half-rotten thing from biting him.

Maggots from the corpse’s mouth dripped down his shirt — its jaw hanging broken. He pushed with all of his might, but the corpse was unnaturally strong. The zombie suddenly brought his head back, then slammed it into his face.

Fuck, I think that broke my nose!