Sounds in the Warehouse

“BAM!”

Tim Vandes jumped out of his stupor. What was that sound? Was someone in the warehouse?

“Boom! Bash! Bang!”

“Gunfire,” Tim concluded. Quickly, he leapt up, grabbing his pistol and a flashlight from his desk. Carefully, he slipped into the warehouse.

All was silent.

Squeesh!

There was something sticky and spongy on the floor. Tim shined his flashlight at the floor. Looking down, he realized he stood in a large puddle of glue. The barrel it had been in lay off to the side, the top off.

Tim sighed, glad that the noise hadn’t been gunfire after all, and placed his pistol in the gun holder at his waist.

“Bam! Bang!”

“Aaaah!” Tim screamed, jumping out of the way of two more falling barrels. He put his hand on his thumping heart as he caught his breath.

“Wait a second!” He said, coming to a sudden realization. “Someone must be here, after all!”

In his six years of being a security guard at the Bayside Warehouse, the barrels had never fallen. In fact, nothing unusual had ever happened. Someone or something had caused the barrels to fall.

“I’m too old for this,” Tim sighed, as he began to cautiously explore, weaving through the tall stacks of tin crates and barrels.

Turning a corner, Tim’s flashlight caught the glow of to large green eyes.

He dropped his light in fear. “Who… who’s there?”

“Meoooooooooooooooooooow!”

Tim picked up his flashlight, shining it in the direction of the howl.

A bright-eyed orange cat sat on top of a small stack of boxes.
Tim smiled as his breath returned again. A cat, that was all. Nothing to worry about. It wasn’t even full grown.

The kitten leapt off the crate and trotted over to Tim. It sat there, waiting for Tim to pet it.

“Aww,” Tim said, as he rubbed the kitten behind its ears. “You look just like my old cat, Muffin.”

The cat began to purr loudly.

“Let’s see who you belong to…” Tim lifted the little gold tag on the jet black collar, and moved close to read it:


Muffin
If found, please return to:
Tim Vandes,
204 Bright Ave,
Peterville, PA


Tim immediately dropped the tag and backed up, staring wide-eyed at the kitten.

Muffin had been hit by a car a year ago. Yet here she was, staring at him, looking not a day older than she had that day. Exactly a year ago, it dawned on Tim. To the hour, even.

Nervously, Tim reached down and petted Muffin. She sure felt alive.
DING! The clock chimed. Midnight.

“Meoooooooooooooooooooow!” said Muffin, telling Tim goodbye. She turned away, beginning to walk down the aisle.

“Wait!” Tim called.

The cat turned back for a second, eyes glowing, an apologetic look on her face, before she vanished into the shadows.

“Muffin?” Tim shined his flashlight down the aisle, but there was no sign of the kitten, not even footprints in the layer of dust that covered the warehouse floor.