THE WASHING MACHINE KEPT MAKING NOISES FOR THREE NIGHTS AFTER MY WIFE VANISHED. WHEN I OPENED THE BOTTOM PANEL, MY BLOOD TURNED TO ICE

cracked pavement. The old sign above the entrance hung crooked, tapping softly in the wind.

Tap.

Tap.

The exact same sound as the washing machine.

I parked beside the loading dock.

My phone buzzed.

“Inside.”

I stepped in holding the flash drive.

The air smelled like rust, mildew, and old rainwater.

“Emily!” I shouted.

My voice echoed through the empty building.continue reading …