← Redwood Bureau
Redwood Bureau
"BUILD IT BETTER" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0236
01:05:54
Something about the store felt wrong the moment they walked inside. By the time they realized why, it was already too late.
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- [00:00]
Narrator
This episode is sponsored by Shopify. It's a conspiracy the way setting up your own online store for success is so difficult or even mysterious. But here's a leak for you. Shopify is the secret to setting up your own cool and convenient store like Magic Spoon and Heinz. Nobody does selling better than Shopify. Home of the number one checkout on the planet. And the not so secret secret with Shop Pay that boosts conversions up to 50%, meaning way less carts going abandoned and way more sales. So if you're into growing your business, your commerce platform better be ready to sell wherever your customers are scrolling or strolling on the web, in your store, in their feed and everywhere in between. Businesses that sell more sell on Shopify. Shopify was the best choice for ericast when it came to selling our merchandise. Tending to customers and offering products has never been easier. Upgrade your business and get the same checkout Magic Spoon uses. Sign up for your $1 per month trial period at shopify.comredwood all lowercase go to shopify.com lower redwood to upgrade your selling today. Shopify.comredwood right now the Home Depot has.
- [01:32]
David Harbour
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- [01:36]
Narrator
If you're planning on cooking out this.
- [01:38]
David Harbour
Season, head to the Home Depot so.
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Narrator
You can fire up the grill with deals on charcoal.
- [01:43]
David Harbour
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Narrator
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- [01:55]
David Harbour
Subject to availability valid on select items only.
- [02:03]
Narrator
Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation.
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David Harbour
Their reckless procedures have led to countless innocent lives lost.
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Narrator
I am Agent Conroy. I work for the Redwood Bure. But I have escaped them to leak.
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David Harbour
Their reports to the unsuspecting public.
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Narrator
You have the right to know.
- [02:41]
David Harbour
There's something unsettling about places designed to feel too familiar. Chain stores. Identical restaurants. Franchised. Everything. You walk in and know exactly where things are, no matter what city you're in. Aisle 12 always has light bulbs. Customer service is always straight back to the left. Everyone smiles. Everyone follows the script. It's a comfort, maybe. But a manufactured kind. Like a movie set, built to resemble real life. And sometimes, if you look too closely at those shelves, at those identical employee uniforms or the people who seem a little too enthusiastic about restocking paint, you might notice something that doesn't belong. The Bureau has a term for that kind of place still. Zones. They're not always anomalous. Some are just eerie by coincidence. But when the reports start to stack up. Missing persons, break room footage that can't be traced to any staff member on file. Coworkers who disappear for weeks only to return different. Those are the ones that red flag the system. I remember an incident from early in my career. An assistant manager at a 24 hour convenience store in South Carolina who walked into the back cooler to restock energy drinks and never came out. The camera caught her walking in. The next 12 hours of footage showed nothing. Just a quiet hallway every staff member swore she hadn't come back through. There were no exits on the other side. No one ever found her. But the store reported normal inventory levels for weeks afterward and her employee profile stayed active until the Bureau manually terminated it. We never figured out why. Places like that don't scream for attention. They don't explode or devour entire towns. They sit quietly in plain sight, inviting people in one at a time. This case never got that far. The Bureau never moved in. Officially. It stayed quiet. On paper, nothing ever happened. But I've learned over the years to pay attention to the cases that never quite get progress processed. The ones that go missing mid transfer. The ones that agents joke about then stop joking about. The ones you only hear whispered before the field team debriefings. Like urban legends. That's what this place was. You won't find build it better on any Bureau report servers. Not anymore, but people still whisper about it. About a girl who vanished about a night when four people entered and only three came out. And about what might have been waiting for them at the far end of aisle 37. I don't know for certain the nature of what's behind the walls of that store. I just know that after we intercepted this case file, I'd never recommend walking into one again. Not even to grab batteries. This is what was recovered.
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Narrator
When we pulled into the parking lot. It was just an ordinary evening. The sun was just working its way below the horizon, making everything feel simultaneously right and lonely. It wouldn't be dark for another 20 or 30 minutes. I parked my car between two trucks. They looked like they belonged to contractors, filled with scrap pieces of material and tools. I shut off the engine and glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Mia and Jake laughing at something in the backseat. Liz was in the passenger seat next to me, laughing at something on her phone. Alright, let's keep this quick, jake said, stretching his arms above his head as he climbed out of the back. If we missed the start of the movie because you got distracted by power tools again, Mike? You're buying popcorn one time, Jake, I replied, grinning at him over the roof of the car. And you know that was an insane sale. The lot was unexpectedly crowded for a weekday evening. Shoppers filtered in and out through the wide sliding doors of Build It Better, one of those massive chain hardware superstores you find practically everywhere in America, with near endless aisles stacked two stories with anything you could imagine needing. It certainly wasn't our usual hangout, but Liz had recently moved into a new apartment and needed a few things for repairs and decoration. We stepped inside together, the automatic doors parting smoothly with a mechanical whoosh. Immediately I was hit with the familiar smell of lumber and a faint hint of industrial cleaner. Bright fluorescent lights lined the high ceilings, illuminated numbered rows of neatly stacked shelves. So, liz said, consulting a list on her phone. First things first. I need paint swatches and some picture hooks, a reasonably priced toolkit. Let's see what they have for drapes, then maybe a few plants if they have something decent. Lead the way, mia replied, looping her arm through Liz's with a bright, cheerful smile. Jake and I followed behind them, joking about watching Liz, trying to hang pictures straight. And even for the first few minutes we paid little attention to anything beyond our own conversations, moving down the wide central aisle toward the paint department. It wasn't until Liz stopped to examine a row of pastel colored paint swatches that I first noticed something odd. It wasn't anything glaringly out of place, no sudden chill, just a quiet, creeping awareness that something was a little strange. Across from us, an employee wearing a neat blue apron was meticulously stacking paint cans. He had a pleasant, forgettable face, his mouth curled into a friendly smile that didn't waver. At first I couldn't tell what it was that seemed unusual, but the more times I glanced at him, the more I realized he wasn't quite looking at the cans he was arranging. Instead, his gaze seemed fixed loosely in our direction. I shrugged it off. Employees stare sometimes. It's part of customer service, making sure shoppers don't need help. But then I caught sight of another staff member further down the aisle, a woman rearranging paintbrushes that seemed to have been tipped over, also staring in our direction, that same mild, pleasant smile fixed firmly on her face. Hey, is it just me, or is everyone here a little interested in us? Mia whispered softly, her voice curious but not yet alarmed. Liz, still holding a lavender paint swatch, glanced up and discreetly looked around. Huh? Yeah. Maybe they think we look like shoplifters or something. We laughed it off. But as we moved deeper into the store, I was now paying more attention to my surroundings. The store was busy enough. Other customers passed by regularly, some absorbed in their search for correct sizes of hardware and materials, others just wandering. But every so often we would pass an employee or another shop, or standing slightly apart, eyes tracking us longer than what felt strictly polite or normal. The smiles were ever present, uniform, faint, and artificial. We reached the hardware aisle to find hooks for Liz's picture frames. A middle aged couple was debating the merits of two nearly identical brands of screws Nearby, we exchanged friendly, silent nods with them. Their expressions were just as puzzled and mildly overwhelmed as our own must have been while searching the massive store. But at the end of the aisle stood another employee, neatly dressed, his posture perfectly straight. He was scanning barcodes with a small handheld device. As we approached, his head lifted slightly, eyes locking briefly with mine before shifting smoothly to Jake, then Mia, then Liz. The smile he wore was pleasant, well practiced, but undeniably hollow. A moment of quiet tension settled over us, a sense of discomfort shared between our group through unconscious body language. Jake broke the silence first. Okay, he whispered, leaning close so only we could hear. Is anyone else getting weird vibes in this place? Yeah, mia admitted, glancing nervously over her shoulder. They're all smiling exactly the same way. We paused for a moment, uncertain how to articulate what we felt. It wasn't fear exactly, more of an, oh, unease. Like something was missing or out of place. Liz forced a casual laugh, clearly trying to lighten the mood. People here are probably just bored. Or actually, isn't it a full moon tonight? Yeah, probably the moon, I agreed sarcastically, trying to downplay how creeped out I actually felt. Still, as we continued through the store, that und unease lingered, impossible to entirely shake off. Occasionally our eyes would meet those of another shopper, and in those brief shared glances, I swear they were looking at us, expecting that strange deadpan smile. We walked deeper into the store, moving toward the back aisles where the lighting seemed less consistent. The vibrant brightness of the main floor gradually faded, giving way to fewer fluorescent bulbs and concrete walls. The shelves back here were stacked with large, impervious rows of boxes and packaged items, creating the illusion of more narrow passageways that felt tighter and secluded. Our footsteps echoed softly against the polished concrete, mingling with the distant murmurs of other shoppers, though those sounds grew increasingly faint as we moved further from the entrance. What exactly are you looking for back here again, Liz? Jake asked. I thought we had everything on your list. Liz glanced down at her list again, squinting Slightly. I just need a new thingy for the toilet. Like on the inside. It won't flush and the handle just spins. Mia let out a gentle laugh, trying to lighten the mood that had inexplicably grown tense. Oh, you're a plumber now, huh? Where exactly do we find the toilet thingies? You'd be surprised, liz replied, stepping carefully around an abandoned shopping cart, partially blocking the aisle. The cart was filled haphazardly with items from all around the store. Toilet thingies happen to be my specialty. Just follow me. It was then we noticed an aisle further down had lost its overhead lighting entirely, casting it into deep shadow. The contrast to the rest of the brightly lit store was stark, creating a dark pocket that seemed almost unnaturally black compared to its surroundings. Mia paused, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. That's weird. Shouldn't someone fix that? Jake shrugged, forcing casual indifference despite the faint uncertainty creeping into his voice. Probably just a blown bulb. They all go sometime. Liz hesitated, glancing briefly down at her list before slipping her phone into her pocket. Let's just A sharp scraping sound suddenly echoed from within the darkened aisle, silencing her immediately. The noise was grating. Something metallic dragged harshly against the concrete floor. Instinctively, we all turned towards the source. There was nothing visible, just blackness, deep and impenetrable. Then, slowly, movement caught my attention, a shape shifting and unfurling near the aisle's far end. It was hard to make sense of what I was seeing. The form was large, that of a tall man, maybe. It stood mostly still, but seemed to twitch every few seconds. There was a moment when my eyes adjusted to the weak ambient light just enough to see its outline, a grotesque silhouette, impossibly thin, the shape of its body made up of sharp, segmented angles. My heart slammed against my ribs as the figure shifted again, and for a brief, horrifying instant the store's ambient noise fell away entirely. I could hear the wet, slick sound of its body adjusting an organic series of cracks and squelches. Its shape was covered in some darkly glistening substance that reflected the weak light. Long, spindly limbs reached downward, thin and angular, shifting in jerky movements. It looked like it was stepping onto something limp and hollow that lay crumpled on the floor. What the? Jake whispered, his voice strangled with shock. Before he could finish, the figure jerked violently, its movements suddenly alert and aware. In that brief second, the form turned slightly, as if looking back over its shoulder. Two pale orbs, large and luminous, met mine. An inexplicable terror surged through my veins, an instinctive, primal urge to run, overwhelming all logical Thoughts run. I choked out, the word hardly forming. Without waiting for further confirmation, I turned, hearing my friends do the same, our shoes squeaking against the floor as we bolted from the aisle. We raced back towards the front of the store, every shadow, every corner potentially hiding something horrific. As we sprinted, I became acutely aware of the other people around us. Many of the employees were simply frozen in place, eyes locked onto us, their unflinching simulated smiles still eerily plastered across their faces, their heads turned smoothly to track our desperate sprint. We passed a family in the paint aisle. The father stopped mid sentence, paint brush frozen in midair, his eyes wide with confusion and mild alarm as we rushed by. I was forcing air into my burning lungs by the time we finally reached the automatic doors, which slid open far too slowly, bursting into the cool night outside. We nearly stumbled over each other, our bodies trembling with adrenaline. We kept running until we reached my car, our breath coming in rapid bursts, our minds reeling. What was that? Mia gasped, gripping the side of the car for support. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and limbs trembling. I don't. I don't know, jake replied. He looked behind us, as if expecting the figure to follow. Where's Liz? I heard myself yell, panic rising anew as I looked around wildly, realizing she was nowhere around us. She was right behind me, mia said, her voice high and distraught. I swear I heard her right behind me. We stared at the store's brightly lit facade, its welcoming sign. Now anything but. The doors had closed smoothly behind us, and through the wide front windows I saw several employees still standing motionless, watching us through the glass. We have to go back in, I whispered, dread curling tightly in my stomach and worming its way through my veins. None of us moved, though. We just stood there in the parking lot's fading twilight, our breath visible in the crisp night air, eyes locked on the brightly lit store facade. The adrenaline that had surged through our veins moments before began to fade, replaced by a creeping lethargy that was only further weighing me down by the horrifying realization that Liz wasn't among us. We can't just leave her, mia finally said, breaking the silence with a shaky voice. She glanced at Jake and then at me, her expression desperate for reassurance. Maybe she just got separated. Maybe she's still inside, trying to find us. Jake shook his head slowly, eyes wide and fixed unblinkingly on the store. I don't know, Mia. What if. What if that thing. I swallowed hard, heart pounding uncomfortably in my chest. We have to go back and look. We can't just Leave her in there. Despite the overwhelming dread, we turned back toward the entrance. The automatic doors slid open again with that soft, mechanical hum, welcoming us into a space that now seems seemed jarringly menacing beneath its mundane exterior. Inside, employees stood quietly, maintaining their odd polite smiles, eyes calmly tracking us as we re entered. Other shoppers wandered by, casting curious and somewhat judgmental glances our way, clearly baffled by our previous frantic exit. Liz. Mia called out, her voice tentative and hopeful, though tinged with underlying anxiety. Her words seemed to hang in the air, swallowed by the oppressive ambiance of the store. Excuse me, I said to the nearest employee, a middle aged man who turned smoothly toward us as his smile fixed and unwavering. Have you seen our friend? She was with us a minute ago. He tilted his head slightly, seeming to process the question carefully. Your friend? His voice was friendly, polite, and unsettlingly calm. I'm sorry. Could you describe her? Mia quickly described Liz who her clothes, height, and hair color. As Jake and I scanned the store anxiously, the employee nodded along pleasantly, giving the impression of attentiveness without genuine concern. I don't recall seeing anyone matching that description, he said finally, his smile unchanged. Perhaps she's waiting outside for you. I shook my head, frustration and panic rising. No, we just came from outside. She wasn't there. Can you check the security footage or something? I'm afraid only the manager can access the cameras, he replied evenly, gesturing smoothly toward the service counter near the front. He might be able to assist you. Without another word, we rushed towards the service counter, drawing a few concerned glances from regular customers along the way. An older man, presumably the manager, stood behind the counter, ticking away one key at a time on the store computer. He raised his gaze slowly, offering that same uniform, unperturbed smile. Can I help you? He asked calmly. Our friend is missing, jake blurted out before I could speak. She was with us when we ran outside, but she never made it out. We need to see your security footage. The manager paused, expression unchanging, then nodded slightly. Certainly. Just give me a moment. He disappeared briefly into an adjacent room behind the counter, leaving us standing there anxiously. The minutes stretched painfully, our eyes darting to each passing customer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Liz among them. When the manager returned, his expression was calm and reassuring, perhaps too much so. I reviewed the footage. He stated plainly, your friend exited through our side entrance shortly before your group ran out the front doors. Perhaps she became confused as to why you were running. You might try contacting her. Jake pulled out his phone immediately, dialing Liz's number with shaking hands we waited anxiously as the call went straight to voicemail, adding to our growing dread. She's not picking up, jake said urgently. Can we see the footage ourselves? I'm sorry, the manager said politely, shaking his head gently. Company policy restricts video access to store employees only. Perhaps your friend already headed home. His calm dismissal of our concern sparked frustration in Mia, who stepped forward. That wouldn't make sense, she wrote. Here with us. The manager offered a sympathetic but firm look. If you're truly concerned, I suggest contacting the authorities. Realizing the futility of further argument, we stepped outside again, this time to make the call none of us had expected to make that evening.
- [26:41]
David Harbour
Warning Signal interruption detected.
- [26:46]
Narrator
This episode is brought to you by Chevy Silverado. When it's time for you to ditch the blacktop and head off road, do it in a truck that says no to nothing. The Chevy Silverado Trail Boss get the rugged capability of its Z71 suspension and 2 inch factory lift, plus impressive torque and towing capacity thanks to an available Duramax 3 liter turbo diesel engine where other trucks call it quits. You'll just be getting started. Visit chevy.com to learn more. Hey there, I'm David Harbour from Marvel Studios Thunderbolts. I don't mean to interrupt your favorite podcast. Well, actually, maybe I do just a little bit, but I have a good reason. My new film hits theaters Friday, May 2, and it's got everything. Action, suspense, humor, heart. And Bob. Who's Bob? Find out by getting tickets now. Okay, now back to the show or on to the next AD. 24 chefs 24 culinary showdowns for 24 hours straight which chef will out cook outpace, outlast the competition?
- [27:59]
David Harbour
No chef escapes the clock.
- [28:02]
Narrator
Season Premiere 24 and 24 Last Chef Standing Sunday, April 27th at 8 see you first on Food Network Stream Next day on Max Signal Connection restored. We stood huddled around Jake's phone as he spoke to the dispatcher, his voice strained and filled with urgency. The police arrived quickly, pulling into the lot with lights flashing, though without sirens. The lights quickly turned off as the cruiser parked and two officers stepped out and approached us calmly. You guys called, right? What's the problem here? One officer asked, jotting down notes as we recounted the bizarre sequence of events. We explained about the unsettling behavior of the store employees, the strange figure we'd glimpsed, and Liz's abrupt disappearance. The officers exchanged subtle glances, clearly skeptical of our story's stranger elements. One went inside to speak with the manager while the other continued taking our statements, maintaining a careful, neutral expression throughout. When the first officer returned. He shrugged slightly, looking apologetic. Manager says your friend walked out on her own and didn't seem distressed. Without evidence of a crime, there's not much we can do right now. Have you tried her family or checked at home? Mia's voice rose in desperation. You don't understand. She wouldn't just disappear like this. Her phone is off. She wrote here with us. The officer nodded sympathetically. Will make a note of it. If she doesn't turn up in the next 24 hours, call us back and fill out a missing persons report. The police left shortly afterward, leaving us standing helplessly in the parking lot, the store behind us ominous and mocking. What do we do now? Mia asked quietly, tears brimming in her eyes. I don't know, I admitted softly, my voice tight. Something isn't right here. Liz didn't just walk out some other door and leave. Jake stared silently at the brightly lit storefront where several of the store's smiling employees stood watching us through the glass, their expressions unchanged. Their unwavering gaze was somehow more unsettling now. That night, after the police had departed and we had exhausted all avenues of immediate search, we returned home under a heavy cloud. The hope that Liz might be waiting at her apartment faded quickly as we stood in her empty unit. Liz's parents were inconsolable when they first heard the news. Their frantic phone calls and tearful pleas for information haunted us, amplifying our guilt and helplessness. The situation became a feverish whirlwind of panic and activity. Social media posts, flyers hastily printed and taped around town, desperate conversations with anyone who might have seen or heard anything. I felt unsafe and vulnerable, the comfortable routine of my life shattered. Sleep was elusive. Nights were restless, and during the daylight hours I moved through my daily tasks without focus, constantly checking my phone for news, any hint or lead that would explain what had happened or bring our friend back. Then, abruptly, just two days after the incident, everything changed again. Liz's parents publicly announced on their social media accounts that Liz had been found. They expressed relief and gratitude for the community's support, calling it all a misunderstanding. Liz, they claimed, had simply gone to visit relatives out of state without informing anyone. A spur of the moment decision. The news stunned us all. We called repeatedly, desperate to speak with Liz or at least confirm her safety firsthand. But our calls went unanswered. The house appeared occupied. Lights glowed warmly in the windows at night, the car was parked neatly in the driveway. But knocks went unanswered, and the blinds remained drawn tightly shut, hiding any signs of activity within days stretched into weeks, and gradually, a silent rift formed within our friend group. Mia became withdrawn, increasingly quiet and distant. Jake, initially defiant, soon followed suit, refusing to discuss the incident. Conversations turned superficial, devoid of the warmth and connection we once shared. Messages in our group chat grew infrequent, eventually stopping altogether. It felt to me that acknowledging the reality of Liz's disappearance was too painful for them, too unsettling to face. Whatever this cover up was, life around town seemed to return to normal for everyone except me. Routine activities felt hollow. Social interactions, strenuous. Work was little more than a time lapse, days and nights merging into a monotonous cycle punctuated only by restless dreams and consuming questions. The dread gnawed at me and refused to let go. For me, moving on proved impossible. I couldn't erase the memory of that horrific figure in the store aisle, the unsettling gaze of the store employees. That place replayed relentlessly in my mind. Mia and Jake stopped taking my calls. They wanted normalcy and I wanted answers. I wanted the truth they pretended to ignore. Weeks turned into a month. I tried to force myself back into familiar routines, but the fear and doubt lingered, gnashing at my thoughts endlessly. Was Liz truly safe? If so, why had she cut off all contact? Why was her family refusing to see or speak with anyone? My anxiety festered into obsession. Eventually I found myself driving past Build It Better multiple times a day. At first it was just brief glances as I passed by. But soon I found myself parking in secluded spots, spending entire evenings quietly observing the building from a distance. I noted the strange stillness of employees, the particular emptiness in their expressions that never filled with anything human. One evening, as I sat quietly in my parked car, hidden among the rows of cars, a person from within the store walked straight towards me. My heart leapt into my throat, disbelief warring with hope and confusion. It was Liz, approaching me casually, her stride calm and unhurried, a faint, empty smile on her face. I stumbled out of my vehicle as she drew closer. Liz was all I managed to choke out as a hundred questions formed in my mind. She paused just a few feet away, her face partially illuminated by the dim glow of a nearby street lamp. Her expression was serene, unnaturally calm, eyes reflecting none of the warmth or familiarity of the person I had known so, so well. Mike, she said softly, her voice eerily pleasant and devoid of genuine emotion. What are you doing out here? I've been looking for you. We've all been so worried, I replied shakily, reaching out instinctively before pulling my hand back. Now starting to notice everything wrong with her. Liz tilted her head slightly, her smile widening just a fraction. There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine. Better than ever. Her words lacked everything that had once defined her personality. Why haven't you answered us? Your parents said it's all fine now. Mike, she interrupted smoothly, her tone soothing yet deeply unsettling. You really shouldn't keep sitting out here. It's not good for you. You should come inside. Everyone would be happy to see you. A chill raced down my spine, her invitation deceptively casual but laden with a hidden, sinister implication. What do you mean? Mean everyone? Liz, what's going on? Her smile widened further. You'll understand soon. Everything will make sense. Just come with me. You'll feel much better inside. Some small part of me, desperate for answers and closure, considered stepping forward, but my feet remained rooted firmly in place, instinct overriding curiosity. Liz regarded me silently for a moment, her eyes briefly betraying something cold and alien beneath the pleasant facade. Well, think about it. I'll be here, Mike. Whenever you're ready. With without another word, she turned and walked calmly back toward the brightly lit store, disappearing through the sliding doors. Behind the glass, several employees stood watching silently, their smiles matching the one Liz wore after she walked back into the store. I stood there for a long time, shivering beneath the street lamp, staring at the automatic doors as they slowly hissed shut behind her. I don't remember how long I stayed parked in that lot. Maybe an hour. Maybe more. There was something final in the way she disappeared. No hesitation, no backward glance. Just a quiet return to whatever the hell waited inside. I didn't go after her. I couldn't. I wanted to, but my body refused to. The next morning I tried to talk to my friends about it. I thought if anyone would care, it would be them. I called Jake first. He picked up on the second ring. I saw her, I said. What? Liz? I saw her. There was a pause. What are you talking about? Where? In the parking lot of the hardware store last night. She walked right up to me and talked to me. She looked Something's wrong with her. She said I should come inside. Another long silence. Then Jake sighed. Mike, I thought we agreed to stop with this. No, listen to me. She's home. Her parents said so. They posted again last week. You're spiraling, man. I hung up before he could say anything else. I knew he wouldn't listen, wouldn't help. I tried Mia next, but she didn't answer. She hadn't answered in over a week. I sent her a text. She read it and didn't respond. I tried Liz's parents again. A last ditch call, hoping to speak with anyone in that house. The phone rang a few times before it went to voicemail. I left a message. But like all the others I'd left, I knew it would go unanswered. Later that day I drove by their house. The car was still in the driveway. Lights were on inside, curtains drawn. No movement. It had become a stage set. Too consistent. It hadn't changed in weeks. No one seemed to care anymore. The search had ended weeks ago. According to the police, Liz had come home and spoken to them herself. Case closed. No one questioned why she wasn't at school, at work, or anywhere else. No one questioned why she hadn't spoken to any of us. I called the police again. Same result. They were polite, firm, and unbothered. She was fine, they said. Her family was fine. They had no reason to investigate further. The friend group we had built over years had collapsed entirely. I passed Jake in town and he looked the other way. People weren't just indifferent. They were actively pushing away anything to do with me. And. And that night I was alone with it now. Utterly. But I couldn't let it go. The more everyone else forgot, the more it ate at me. What I'd seen, what we'd all seen. It hadn't been a panic attack or a trick of the light or a misunderstanding. There had been something in that store, and it had something to do with Liz disappearing. And Liz. Liz wasn't Liz anymore. The thing I saw in the parking lot had her voice, her face. But there was something underneath it. After that night, I began watching the store again. Not just at night. I drove past in the mornings, parked down the road in the afternoons. I watched customers go in and out, watched workers move carts and check receipts. But now I was really starting to notice them. You could tell by how. Still they were not like people at rest, more like mannequins that remembered. You have to blink and smile to blend in. Their eyes would track people too long, and no matter the time of day, their smiles never changed, never faded. I tried forcing a smile on my face for just five minutes. You can't. They never leave the property. Liz had come out further than any other I saw. I waited, sometimes hours at a time. I never saw one of those people leave the parking lot on foot. Never saw them get into a car. Never saw them walk home. They just stayed. And sometimes, just as the automatic doors hissed shut, I'd swear one of them was looking right at me. I started preparing. If no one was going to believe me. If no one was going to help, I'd find the answers myself. I had to go back in alone.
- [44:36]
David Harbour
Warning Signal interruption detected.
- [44:41]
Narrator
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Sorry to interrupt your music. Great artist BT dubs, but wouldn't you rather be there to hear it live? With Priceline you can get out of your dreams and into your dream concert. They've got millions of travel deals to get you to that festival, gig, rave, sound bath or sonic experience you've been dreaming of. Download the Priceline app today and you can save up to 60% off hotels and up to 50% off flights. So don't just dream about that trip. Book it with Priceline. Go to your happy price. Priceline Signal connection restored. I waited until just before closing. From the dark edge of the parking lot, I sat in my car with the engine off and the lights out. From inside the store, the customers trickled out one by one. I recognized none of them, but they looked normal enough. Tired, bored. Some hauling bags of fertilizer, others pushing carts full of lumber boxes. All of them normal people as far as I could tell. Warm voice crackled over the PA system. Good evening shoppers. Our store will be closing in 15 minutes. Please proceed to checkout. Thank you. I watched the main entrance, my eyes flicking from the doors to the garden center on the side that was my way in. The garden center was surrounded by a 10 foot high chain link fence. When the last car rolled out of the lot and the doors slid closed for the final time, I made my move. I crossed the lot low and fast, staying in the shadows. I reached the fence, gloves on, and climbed. The metal rattled lightly under my weight. My boots hit the ground on the other side with hardly a sound. I crouched among stacks of empty plastic planters and winter shrubs, listening. The slider doors didn't open for me, not like they would in the daytime, but they didn't really lock either. I shoved my hands in the crack and forced it open with a grunt, slipping into the store just as the lights dimmed, the ambient music clicked off. Inside was complete silence. The overheads were down to half power, casting long shadows between the aisles. A few lights buzzed faintly, flickering near the front, but otherwise the massive store was sunk in dim yellow gloom. I stood there, just inside the door, letting my eyes adjust. And then I saw them. They were just standing there, all throughout the store, spaced intermittently like mannequins. Employees. Dozens, maybe more. Some stood in aisles, others near the checkout counters. One was posted at the exit with his hand resting lightly on the anti theft scanner. Their eyes were open, unmoving, glossy. Their expressions were not neutral or alert. They were just vacant. I crept forward, ducking behind an end cap stacked with boxed ceiling fans. One of the employees was 10ft away, facing a rack of gift cards. Her mouth was slightly open. Her arms hung limp at her sides. She didn't even blink. I held my breath and moved past her, staying low. Her head didn't turn. Her eyes didn't flick toward me. As I moved further into the store, I began to realize something else. Every employee was still inside. I'd watched the store all day. None of them had left it closing. Most of them had begun drifting toward the back. I followed the slow gravitational pull toward the employees only area, weaving between towering shelves. The air grew warmer as I moved. The industrial smell faded beneath something darker and sickly. I reached the heavy plastic flaps that marked the back corridor. Red light spilled from underneath, pooling on the linoleum like blood under a door. The air beyond was damp, humid, and thick. I pressed through. The temperature changed immediately. It was 10, maybe 15 degrees hotter in the back. The walls were slick, the tiles tacky beneath my boots. Red emergency bulbs flickered overhead, casting long strobe like shadows that made everything feel like it was moving. Another room separated by plastic flaps, though this one seemed to have a more stable blue light coming from within. I approached slowly, head turning left and right, searching for any sign of movement. As the heavy plastic parted to allow my entry, I suddenly regretted the decisions I'd made. The walls were lined with hooks and metal frames. Tables of industrial steel stood at irregular intervals, most stained dark. One long workbench held what looked like a human torso, skinned, faceless, carefully pinned open. Piles on the floor overflowed with organs and severed limbs. The stench was unbearable, metallic and pure, putrid, crawling into my nose and clinging to my throat. One wall was covered with human skins, hanging like butchered hides, stretched out with pins, drying under heat lamps. A few had been stitched, altered holes reshaped, imperfections trimmed away. I gagged and pressed a hand to my mouth, stumbling backward into a stack of flattened cardboard boxes, soaked through with something brown. Then I heard a soft chittering, fast, dry and low to the ground, followed by footsteps. Not boots or shoes, but something sharp and hard. I panicked. There was no other exit from this room. I dove into the nearest pile of discarded flesh and bone and skinless rotting meat. I shoved myself beneath it, covering my mouth and face. Bile rose up in my throat as the wet, sticky weight and godawful stench covered me. The pile squelched as I settled in. In between a rib cage and a thin, fleshy rope, I saw them enter. They walked upright, but their limbs were segmented and a glossy black. Small hairs covered their bodies, 1 to 3 inches long, flicking in unison every few seconds. Their faces were those large, luminous orbs and layered tissue stretched across wide open mouths that were pulled up in a mockery of a smile. On top of the ridged skull, holes opened and closed rhythmically like gills. One of them clacked its jaw sideways as it dragged in a man, still alive, limp, but blinking into the room. They laid him on a table and got to work. The first cut was fast, brutal. The man twitched reflexively but didn't seem able to move on his own. Tears streamed down his face as they peeled his skin off like a jacket. Working with horrifying precision, one creature folded the skin carefully, brushing out wrinkles with long, bony fingers. The other sorted the parts as it dismembered him. Good meat went on hooks. Discarded tissue went into a pile on the floor. The whole time, they chittered back and forth to one another. When they left what felt like hours later, I waited long past the sound of footsteps. My muscles ached. My lungs burned. When I was finally sure I was alone, I clawed my way out of the pile, gasping for clean air that didn't exist in this room of rotten and death. I pushed back through the rubber flaps, choking on the stench still clinging to me. My legs felt weak, like they wanted to give out, but I didn't stop moving. I just wanted out. I knew the way. Straight down the corridor back into the main store. From there, the garden center doors, the fence, my car, and I'd never set foot in this place again. But as soon as I stepped into the corridor, they were there. Waiting. Four of them lined up across the hallway in complete silence, blocking the path to the store like they'd been waiting for me to try and escape. One of them tilted its head, neck popping in slow increments, extended its arms outward in a slow, deliberate gesture, like it was offering an embrace. I backed up fast, heart pounding against my ribs. Then one of them took a step towards me. I turned and bolted, feet slapping against the concrete. I blew past the room I'd been hiding in. My breath came fast and ragged. I turned a corner, slamming into a metal concept apart, sending it crashing sideways as tools clattered across the floor. I pushed through another set of flaps, this one leading into a chamber I hadn't seen before. Steel walls lined with lockers, most left open. Inside them, clothing, shoes, wallets, purses, all of it arranged neatly. I kept moving, running into what looked like a laundry area. Bins of stained uniforms, hoses curled on the ground like snakes, A sink full of something that smelled worse than the room of dead people. A thick red trail led from the corner toward a large drain in the floor. I could hear them behind, behind me, all the while slowly and steadily clicking towards me. I cut left again into a hallway and then turned right into a dead end. Just like that. I ran out of options. It was a utility space, floor mops stacked in a corner, a closed metal maintenance door marked exit and faded red paint. Paint. I lunged for the handle, yanked. It was chained shut with no possibility of being opened without bolt cutters. I turned around, chest heaving. They stepped in one by one. Their movements were slow and fluid, the way a predator moves when its prey has no place left to go. One of them clicked softly, the sound like bones cracking and popping. I backed into the corner, fists clenched, too scared to cry out. They closed in. Then the pain started it.
- [59:07]
David Harbour
The final count, as far as I've dug up, is 18. 18 missing persons reports that were later connected to the Build It Better hardware store. None of them remain open. All were marked Resolve. Not because the missing came home, but because they were seen and talked to again at the store. In each case, the individuals were witnessed by family members, friends, co workers working as employees behind the counter, sweeping floors, loading inventory. Their voices were the same, their faces matched, and they smiled. Families were confused, even alarmed. Some followed them Inside tried to speak with them. Others tried to file police reports again insisting that something was wrong, that it wasn't really them. But the reports were dropped. If someone's working a register and talking to you, they're no longer missing. Case closed. None of them ever left the premises. Not once. Every so called sighting happened inside or within the close boundary of the parking lot. None were recorded on exterior cameras leaving the property. None were seen anywhere else. Most of the families eventually stopped asking questions. Some who couldn't leave it alone walked into the store and never left. The rest just let it go. Maybe because denial was easier. Or maybe because they knew deep down that whoever or whatever was wearing their loved one's face wasn't going to walk back into their lives. It's not every location. That much we know. There are thousands of retail chain stores across the country. This one, as far as the Bureau can determine, is unique. One location, one structure, one epicenter. And even then, it's not constant. Weeks have gone by without incident. There's no information on how it formed. Some believe it's a tear in the fabric of stable space, A soft perimeter event. Others think it's parasitic. Something that found a place to root and replicate, using the rhythm of human routine as camouflage. But whatever these creatures are, they're bound to the property they've seemingly never left. Close proximity to the store. That's the only reason the Bureau didn't destroy it. They see potential in the anomaly. An active phenomenon with natural containment parameters. So instead of leveling the site, they took it. The store was closed under the guise of renovation. Contractors were turned away, Permits were sealed. Black tarps went up over the windows. And now the building sits a hollowed husk in a quiet commercial zone. But inside, it's alive. The Bureau now uses the location as a field research node. They run tests, behavioral mapping, cross section studies. They monitor how the creatures respond to stimuli, how long they remain dormant, and to what extents their mimicry works. They're still trying to understand how the skin fits, Whether it's simply worn or grown into and assimilated. As far as my research leads, there are no answers yet. But the Bureau is patient, if nothing else, to anyone passing by. It's just another failed retail experiment. Another hardware store shuttered in a downturn. No caution tape, no guards. Just a padlocked front entrance and some sun bleached posters still advertising spring mulch sales. But something's still inside.