Parking
Certain workdays feel like they’ve been plucked straight from the depths of hell, and today happened to be one of those. It dragged on endlessly, sapping every ounce of my energy, and by the time I left, hunger gnawed at my insides. The rain, intensifying as I drove through the dark evening, made visibility a challenge. So, I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to pause for a quick bite. A swift search on my map app led me to a small dine-in place adjacent to a parking lot, and I decided to head there.
As I approached the parking lot, its sign, its neon light flickering erratically, struck me as oddly run-down for the location. The lot itself, as I pulled in, seemed nearly abandoned, with just a few cars haphazardly scattered about, casting eerie shadows in the dimly lit expanse. It had an undeniably sketchy feel to it, but the relentless rain convinced me to prioritize convenience over caution.
I selected a parking space close to the entrance and stepped out of my vehicle. The ticket booth was manned by a pale and dispassionate man who seemed utterly disinterested as I approached.
“Hello,” I greeted him. “What’s the rate for an hour?”
In reply, the man simply gestured toward a sign, upon which was inscribed, “Contribute what you can. No reimbursements. No grievances.”
The unusual policy struck me as odd, but I shrugged it off. Maybe he was having a bad day. Retrieving my wallet, I handed him a ten-dollar bill.
“Keep the change,” I offered with a faint attempt at friendliness.
The man accepted the money in silence, his gaze still fixed on the wall behind me. He handed me a ticket in return, never once making eye contact. An unsettling chill ran down my spine as I walked back to my car.
I couldn’t determine whether it was just in my head, but the parking lot seemed to have grown even darker, and the rain had intensified.
I also realized, with a growing unease, that there were no other exits except for the one through which I had entered.
Nervously, I settled into my car, locked the doors, and surveyed my surroundings. After a brief internal debate, my survival instinct prevailed, urging me to leave. I started the engine and inched toward the exit. I might have moved a few feet when I saw something move in the shadows. A monstrous, indistinct creature with writhing tentacles and multiple eyes slithered menacingly toward the car, blocking my escape.
In sheer panic, I reacted, jamming my foot on the brake pedal and blaring my car horn, but the creature stood its ground, refusing to yield even an inch. Its numerous eyes remained fixated on me, as if anticipating something.
My gaze fell to the ticket I had received earlier, now clutched tightly in my trembling hand. In bold red ink, it read: “Welcome to the parking lot of madness. You have paid for an hour of horror. Enjoy your stay.”