Everything about it reeks of conformity- the concrete, grey flooring; the shelves stacked impossibly high; the darkness; and the crowded corridors. It’s a dark, dead, grimy warehouse for bargain hunters and sofa fetishists.
My parents, however, do not see it this way. For them, it’s just a cheap place to buy a lamp- and they insist on dragging me there. Usually, I just do my own thing. Head into the cafeteria, buy myself some Swedish meatballs and chips, and wait for them to return, tacky goods in hand.
But today, Tuesday 12th of February, the canteen was closed.
“Kitchen problems” explained the janitor, mopping his way past me as if that explained things.
So with nowhere to sit, I went for a walk. I wasn’t really doing anything, just mindlessly wandering and looking at desks, bored out of my mind, when I found myself in a warehouse.
It was far quieter, and filled with 10 metre metal shelves and white overhead lights. From one corner of the room, muffled shouts sounded in the distance.
“Why don’t you just... tell us... give...don’t play...”
I strained to hear, and walked silently towards them.
BAM! A metallic clang suddenly rang throughout the warehouse, followed by a groan, and loud footsteps, running away.
At that point, curiosity and fear overcame me- and I started to sprint.
As I turned the corner, I glimpsed two men, fleeing the scene.
But then something else...
Twisted, and lying against the wall, was a woman. Closed eyes, a cut on her face, and blood across her arms- one look and I knew. She was dead.
To tell you the truth, I have always hated IKEA.
Oh and if you liked this, check out some of my other stories!