I’ve wasted a lot of time trying to figure out a good way to approach this, so I’ve decided that I should just start typing. Just get a bunch of words onto the page and maybe when I read them back, something will finally click and I’ll be able to begin making sense of things. Might be wishful thinking but it’s still worth trying. I’m not sure what else I can do. So my husband, Oliver, went missing last week. Of course, it’s been a really difficult thing to try and process. Especially given how bizarre the details are. Details that seem to get more bizarre the more I think about them. On some level, it doesn’t even feel real. Best way I can describe it is like I’ve become trapped inside some fucked up television show and I’m just desperately waiting for everybody around me to drop the act so that I can snap back to reality. Waiting for Oliver to appear at our front door again and tell me that he’s fine and that everything’s alright. That this had all just been some elaborate prank. But I know that’s not going to happen. I know that if I want any real answers, I’m going to need to find them myself, look for clues wherever I can. Because the police sure as hell aren’t being very helpful. Call me paranoid, but I swear they’re actively avoiding me. Whenever I call them, I get put on hold until the line drops off. Whenever I show up to the station looking for some kind of update on the case, they just tell me that they’ll “keep me in the loop”. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. But let me slow down a bit, go back to when I think this all really started. Which was the very beginning of summer. We were struggling then. Things were bad. I had just been laid off from my job at the advertising agency I’d spent nearly a decade of my professional career at, and the whole thing had left an extremely bitter taste in my mouth that I still haven’t been able to wash out. My managers there were constantly making a big show about how “human-forward” they were and how they’d rather shut the company down before they ever allowed a single person to be replaced by AI. I won’t bother going into the details, but I’m sure you can guess what happened. At the same time, the construction company Oliver worked at was going through a massive downturn of activity. He suddenly went from fifty hours a week to forty. Which then turned into twenty-five. Soon they weren’t giving him anything at all and he decided it was better to leave, start looking for work elsewhere. We spent around a month sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on our tiny bed in our cramped studio, furiously sending out applications while our savings slowly dwindled. To say that we were stressed out would’ve been a gross understatement. We were drowning, no light at the end of the tunnel, constantly battling this immeasurable sense of dread. But right as eviction started to become a very real possibility, the world finally tossed us a bone. One of Oliver’s old managers gave him a call, told him that the company had picked up a massive project that was going to keep them busy for at least two months and that they really needed him back. Something about renovating a dead mall in an attempt to get it back up and running. I could’ve cried right then. Then he told me the new rate they were offering him and I nearly passed out. It was more than twice what he’d been making before. In retrospect, the relief we felt had really been clouding our judgement. There were a lot of things that we should’ve questioned a lot more. But of course, we didn’t. We were so happy that we decided to put on our rose-colored glasses and went out and celebrated with some steak frites and decent wine. The next morning, I found Oliver smoking a cigarette out on the balcony, this really worried expression on his face. I asked him what was wrong but he just smiled, told me it was nothing. That I didn’t need to worry. I just took him at his word. Mostly because I didn’t want to believe otherwise. He went back to work just a few days later and for the first couple of weeks, I could’ve been convinced that everything would turn out alright. Oliver would come home tired, but happy. And the money he was bringing in was almost unbelievable. I actually had to pinch myself. I was so proud of him but at the same time, I felt so guilty. I continued applying for jobs day in and day out, but it just wasn’t happening for me. I started to feel like a burden. I tried to do my best to make up for it by cooking nice meals and keeping our apartment clean, but in comparison to the ten hour shifts he was putting in, it just felt like I wasn’t doing enough. But not once did he ever complain about it. Not once did he ever try and make me feel bad about the arrangement we’d fallen into. We got drunk one night and I decided to ask him straight up if he felt any resentment about it. He told me no, he didn’t. That there wasn’t an ounce of resentment in his body because this was the easiest job he’s ever had. That the paycheques he was getting were grossly disproportionate to the amount of effort he was actually putting in. “It almost feels like I’m robbing them,” he’d said to me, before laughing. “Like there’s something else going on that they’re not telling us about. But look, whatever it is, I don’t think I want to know.” The statement had come out so casually that I’d just taken it as a joke. If only I’d known how serious he’d actually been. About a week later, I finally managed to land a job myself. Not the highest-paying, but it wasn’t terribly demanding either. At the very least, it was extra money for us. We were going out for brunch on the weekends, slinging back overpriced cocktails during date nights, attending concerts, not having to look at the price tags whenever we went shopping for groceries. It was the happiest I think we’d ever been. But then one night, Oliver came home a few hours earlier than I’d expected him to. His skin was ghost white and it was clear that something had really rattled him. I immediately assumed the worst—that he’d been let go. But he assured me that wasn’t the case. That there had been an incident on the job site and he was just a bit shaken up about it. But that it had nothing to do with him. I asked him if anybody had gotten hurt. He shook his head and told me he wasn’t sure. That there was no way for him to know. I decided not to pry any further since it was pretty clear he wasn’t in the mood to divulge anything more. Which was alright with me. I figured I’d give him some space, let him come talk to me whenever he was ready. But he never did. I got back home from work a few evenings later and found Oliver sitting on the couch, holding this eerie, glazed-over expression. It almost seemed like he was in some kind of trance. He actually flinched when I tapped him on the shoulder. I asked him what had happened. What was wrong. But once again, he just told me that I didn’t need to worry. He was smiling, but I could see the fear behind his eyes. I woke up at around three AM that night and I could hear him sobbing beside me. It broke my heart, but I didn’t even know how to comfort him because I didn’t know what he was actually dealing with. He wouldn’t tell me. Oliver started to become really closed off after that. No longer his usual, jovial, upbeat self. No more jokes. No more banter, no more laughing. Whenever I’d ask him how work was, he’d shrug, give me a really vague, non-committal answer before quickly changing the subject. Bags started to develop under his eyes and he was constantly biting his nails until the tips of his fingers began to bleed. I tried emphasizing that I was there for him if he ever wanted to talk. About literally anything at all. That there was obviously something bothering him, but he didn’t have to deal with it himself. But I just couldn’t get through to him, no matter how hard I tried. Even so, I regret not trying harder. Because one night, he never came home at all. I think I called him around thirty times between midnight and three AM. When morning came, I went and filed a missing persons report. The response I got from the police was less than stellar. It actually just pissed me off. They seemed to be implying that Oliver had simply gone out drinking and that his phone had died. That I should wait a few more days and if he still hadn’t returned, I could come back and they’d start looking into it. Yeah. A few more fucking days. I couldn’t believe it. I was confused and livid at the same time. I wanted to crash out right there in the station, but I had a feeling that would only make things worse. There were some other strange things that I flagged about the interaction. Things that gave me the impression they knew far more than what they were letting on and were actively trying to steer me away from finding out more. They just seemed far too lackadaisical about the whole thing. It sort of felt like they were reading from a script. It was also clear that they were becoming progressively more annoyed at the fact that I wouldn’t leave them alone. I was going down to the station every day and every time, they’d treat me with more overt hostility. So obviously, I couldn’t rely on them. It made me realize that I needed to take matters into my own hands. But it was hard figuring out where to start because I never actually knew where he worked. I mean, I knew the name of the company he was employed by. But not the actual, physical location he was going off to every day. And before you jump down my throat about that, it’s not like I’d never asked him. Of course I had. I thought it might be pertinent information for his wife to know. But he never did tell me, citing some sort of clause in his contract that prevented him from revealing that information. For what reason? He said he had no idea. “Just the way things are,” according to him. Yeah, I know. There were so many things that I can’t believe I’d missed. Which is so easy to say in hindsight. I started investigating on my own. I was able to log into his email (he keeps all his passwords on a sticky note in the bathroom drawer) and what I found was pretty damn strange. It looked like he’d deleted every single message he’d either sent or received from the company. Save for the last one. This is what it read: Good morning Oliver, We understand how you feel. We’re taking your concerns very seriously. But like we told you, it’s just an ongoing psychological experiment that they’re currently running. It has nothing to do with the job. and you don’t need to be worried about it. If you feel like you need to take a few days off or if you can’t continue with the project, we understand. Just let us know the next time we see you. We can negotiate, try and come to an agreement. Have a great weekend. Management. The message had been sent to him from an email address that was no longer in use. I knew this because I tried responding and got one of those “message not delivered” notifications. Creepy as shit, but not a whole lot for me to work with. The only real lead I had was going to involve a lot of heavy lifting on my end. “Dead mall”. Those were the exact words he’d used and I remember them clearly. He was going to be part of a team that was going to be renovating a dead mall. I started scanning the internet for reports about malls in the area that had closed down in the past few years and then drove out to every single location that was mentioned. But there wasn’t much to find. I must’ve spent hours just walking around these places, but they truly were dead. Not a sign of life to be found. So I expanded my search, looking for malls that had closed in the last five or so years. And then the last ten. I went to all of them. Some were completely boarded up with absolutely no way to access them. Some had already been renovated and turned into something else. Others were just empty, a completely hollow shell. But I kept searching and eventually I found this place on the outskirts of the city. Well, not even the outskirts. It was actually beyond the city limits, an isolated place that I didn’t even know existed. The mall itself was huge and I couldn’t fathom how I’d never come across it before. How I’d never even seen it. But then I realized that it was mostly concealed by a small stretch of dense woods. If you were to drive by it on the highway, there’s a good chance you’d just never notice it. According to the reports I’d read, the place had closed down all the way back in 2010. Which was close enough to an eternity at this point. I started having some doubts here, thinking that this couldn’t have been the right place. Because why the hell would anybody want to renovate a place that had shut down almost two decades prior? Still, I decided to give the place a shot. I was pretty desperate at this point. I drove over and parked in the wide, mostly empty lot. But the fact that it wasn’t completely empty was odd. There were about a dozen other cars there with me, all scattered throughout the vast stretch of pavement. Every mall I’d investigated up until this point was either completely devoid of any activity or, like I said, repurposed into something else. But this place seemed like it was still active. Which was a reality I had a hard time wrapping my head around given how old its exterior seemed. How dated it looked. Though it was also clear that some work had been done on it. Like it was actually in the process of being renovated. I must’ve stood in the parking lot for about a half hour just looking up at the building, not really sure what to make of it. Unsure what to think. Eventually somebody walked out through one of the front entrances. I started moving towards them, hoping to ask them about the place, what they’d been doing in there. This person took a quick glance over at me before pretending like I didn’t exist. They started walking faster towards their car, but I wasn’t able to catch them before they practically dove into their front seat, the screech of their tires against pavement echoing through the air as they peeled away. I remember cursing at them, the anger and frustration starting to overtake everything else. Because what the actual fuck was going on? I went back to my own car and grabbed the pocket knife I kept in my glove compartment. Not that I was itching to stab anybody. I just didn’t know what I was heading into. I walked over to the front doors and pushed through them, immediately getting hit by the scent of mothballs and a light, flower-ish fragrance. Which was a nauseating combo. Looking around the place, I was shocked to see that the paint looked fresh and most of the storefronts were lit up. There was even pop music playing through the speakers above. But these elements were contrasted by the fact that there was absolutely nobody else inside. No employees, no customers, a complete ghost town. There was also a weird sort of energy in there. One that I can only describe as vaguely threatening. Like the place was actively trying to fight my presence. After a while, my focus settled on a familiar-looking store. An Aritzia. At least that’s what I thought it was at first. But looking at it a bit longer, I realized that the details didn’t quite match. The colors were similar; the logo looked nearly the same. But it wasn’t the same. It was close enough to be passable if you weren’t paying attention. But if you were, you’d notice that the letters actually spelled out “Artizitia.” I walked further into the mall, trying to move very cautiously, though I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to be afraid of. Things only got weirder. I found a few legitimate-looking stores (Foot Locker, Pottery Barn) mixed in with the strange ones (Undre Armore, Nezzcafe?). Scattered amongst them were a few storefronts that seemed like they were still under construction but had been since abandoned. There were ladders leaning against the walls, tools scattered across the floor, signs that were halfway finished. I walked on for a few more minutes before this horrific scream suddenly ripped through the air, making my heart leap before petrifying me in place. And then it kept going. I couldn’t tell how far away they were. Couldn’t make out most of the words being shouted besides variations of “let me go!” It was an adult voice with the urgency of a terrified child. I didn’t love the idea of abandoning somebody who might be in danger, but I also wasn’t remotely mentally prepared to deal with whatever this was. I turned, starting to retrace my steps. Just walking at first but as the fear grew, so did my pace. By the time I could see the doors I’d originally come in through, my lungs were burning. I stopped, taking a moment to catch my breath before looking behind me to make sure that I wasn’t being followed. It didn’t seem like it was. I started breathing a bit easier, but then I noticed some movement at the edge of my vision. I followed it, over towards what looked like a young woman walking towards me. My mind didn’t immediately register her as a threat at first, so I tried calling out to her, asking if she’d heard the screaming and if she knew what was going on. To which she said nothing and just continued to march at me. As she got closer, I could see that she was baring this wide grin. But not a happy one. If you get what I mean. The moment I started backing away from her, she sped up. When I turned and started running for the doors, I could hear her beginning to sprint, the sounds of her footsteps indicating that she was closing the distance between us at a very alarming rate. With my heart pounding, I bolted through the exit and refused to stop running until I’d reached my car, vaulting myself into the driver’s seat and immediately locking the doors. I shoved my keys into the ignition, fully ready to run this psycho over had she followed me out. But she hadn’t. She was nowhere to be seen and the parking lot remained as desolate as it’d been when I’d first arrived. I didn’t spend any time questioning what had happened. I just drove away. During the long trip home, I kept looking into the rearview mirror, my mind unable to stop conjuring up images of the woman speeding towards me on the highway on foot, still hanging onto that terrible grin. It’s been a few days since then and only recently have my nerves settled into a manageable state. Last night, I was able to gather up enough courage to head down to the station and tell them everything I’d seen. I told them about the mall, the screaming, the woman, all the other weird shit. I also stated fairly bluntly that I was certain Oliver’s disappearance had something to do with that place. Problem was, I had no proof. I couldn’t even really articulate what I thought the connection was. I was basically begging them to just trust me. Begging them to take this seriously. The officer working the desk had just stared at me blankly before telling me in this cold, corporate tone that they’d begin looking into it. That I should go home and try not to think about it too much and they’d handle everything. That they’d give me a call. And that’s where I am now. And after reading this all back, I don’t think I’m any closer to putting the pieces together. I’m terrified. I don’t know what to do next. If anybody has any ideas, I’m willing to listen. submitted by /u/Mr_Outlaw_ [link] [comments]
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