Warehouse of Former Doom

        I dreamed I was in the city, the dream city that seems to be one of a few consistent locations in my night life. I had been called to investigate a warehouse that had suddenly appeared on a street where it had not been seen before.

        I walked along the street and found a narrow yellow/orange building in what was previously and empty alley way. I stepped up onto the porch, and the world shifted slightly. The warehouse was nearly a half a block long, and sat adjacent to another old broken down looking warehouse. The alley was on the other side of the building. There was a strong space compression field at work here; I wondered how it kept people from piling up on the street out front.

        I opened the door and entered the building. The warehouse was full of shelves, rows upon rows of shelves. I could see a set of offices up some stairs in the back, the windows dark and covered in dust. Everything inside was covered in a layer of dust as well. The interior walls, though dusty, were once a very cheery yellow. There were old incandescent lamps hanging from 15 foot wires spaced evenly about the warehouse.

I found a large knife switch. I blew out as much dust as I could and waited for the cloud to settle out before throwing it. The lamps burst to life, some sputtering and a couple going dark with a loud popping noise. Still, there was now plenty of light. I walked along the rows of shelves, each full of wooden boxes, each box carefully labeled with a number and a short description of the contents.

“Anomaly, WWII, Lyons,” a date, unreadable due to the dust and a description “Skeletal Remains.”

I rolled the box out of its place and lifted the lid. There was a human sized skeleton, only it had a tail and the shape of the skull was completely wrong. There were nodules of bone just above the temples. I covered the box and rolled it back into place.

I walked down the row, there were lots of skeletal remains, I randomly opened the boxes. Some of the skeletons were of younger people, most had the nodules of bone and the tail, a few actually had curved bone horns. All of them had a narrow face and a long extended brain case behind the horns. A few of the skeletons showed signs of having bones broken or scarred with some sort of edged weapon.

Another row, and this one from a town a didn’t recognize, the boxes contained smooth ovals of metallic materials, they shimmered, even beneath a light coating of dust. There were warnings on the crate, so I didn’t touch them, but I could feel the energies in them, looking for some sort of release. I searched for the catalog, and found it locked up in the office. The metallic orbs had been found inside nearly every skeleton, low in the area of the hips, they varied in size very little and weighed far more than seemed reasonable for their volume. The cautions were related to the original team who’d been assigned to recover them. Many of the team had come home to the States, and immediately tried to get surgeons to implant the objects in their abdomens. The DOD intervened and confiscated all of the devices, as they called them. Many of the team had to be institutionalized for their own safety, one had even tried to do the surgery themselves, insisting that the orb would heal the wound.

I counted the orbs in the catalog, and the orbs in the warehouse. They were all there, a sign of either immense government restraint, or incompetence, I couldn’t really tell. Nothing I found in the place made me think anyone knew it was here. I found a set of shelves dedicated to “Foo Fighters” and found that it was full of aircraft parts, all of which had odd oval depressions in them, or strange fractal like burn marks. The metals were brittle, and on closer inspection the damaged edges looked crystallized in some fashion. At the end of the row, nearest the wall, was a crate that contained the remains of an actual craft.

The entire craft was about the size of a child’s wading pool, no more than 5 foot across. It was made of a crystalline substance, and there were caution stickers all over the crate and the packing materials. The craft had been opened, and stored in two crates. Inside was a form fitting couch, with a place for a tail. I understood why these things were all together, now. There was another crate or two with foo fighter parts, but it looked more like piles of crystal debris. Apparently the scientists of the day had not made any progress, and had suffered a number of injuries and illnesses from handling the remains.

I searched a little bit more, and discovered a crate that contained the remains of a foo fighter pilot. The remains had been preserved in a glass case, and the alien nature of the being could not have been more obvious. It had grayish brown skin, and large eyes, horn stubs protruded from its head. It was slender, and its tail was a narrow bony appendage with a sharp looking spike on the end. The very classic image of an imp or devil.

I surveyed more of the warehouse, but could find nothing that indicated that there was any interest or activity in the place. It was remarkably free from insects, birds or rodents. I could feel the force keeping them out, but it didn’t seem to apply to me. In fact, there seemed to be an expectation or sorts involving me. I went back to the crates full of carefully packed orbs, and then I knew that was what I was there for, to recover the orbs, and eventually deliver them.

There were a few dozen of the orbs, when I finally got them all in a single crate on a dolly, the weight was well over my own. I decided to bring my car around to make moving them easier. I wasn’t sure how I was going to lift them into the back, but figured I would deal with that once I had the car in the warehouse.

Ad astra per technica,

FF