Where Nothing is Known to Thrive

Tim buys into a pit of despair

Tim knew there was not much chance to get out unscathed; his goal at exactly evening was just to get out with his sanity intact. And the likelihood of that outcome was decreasing by the minute.

"I don't like it here," he muttered to himself. "I didn't want to come here, I can't--"

He heard a cackle far off to his left and cringed, knowing if he turned to look for the source, no good would come of it. In fact, it might urge his nerves that much closer to the edge. God only knew what horrible visage awaited.

He weaved through shelves stacked with junk and needless clutter, dimly lit and played with foreign smells. I ball rolled past with no one to chase it.

"I. Do not. Like it. Here!" he muttered again as a shaggy form pushed past him with a grunt. But he knew where he was, at least. If he could hold on just a few minutes longer...

And there-- At last! Tim emerged into coil fresh night air and breathed deeply, calming his nerves and clearing his mind. But he didn't linger; he moved at a brisk walk toward where he thought he had left his car, relieved to have made it out of their clutches... Until next time...

Tim looked back over his shoulder and saw the baleful lights in the windows, and the hideous placard mounted with sinister smugness above them, and he shuddered that he had been in that place at all.

The sign sneered:

WAL-MART