Factory 3 “The Car Wash”

“It was just one more stop on my way home. I went into the gas station, just looking to top off my tank. As I finished filling, I went to finish the payment and accidentally selected a car wash along with the purchase of gas. At first I was going to ignore it, but I decided to say the hell with it and went ahead with it.

It was my first time ever taking my car into a car wash.

I pulled up and got it all set up. It was a dark night, so it took me a few seconds to get the car set up right. I selected regular wash and quickly closed the window as the process started. Instantly there was a sort of surge of endorphins as I got a feeling of nostalgia for my childhood, and a sort of achievement as an adult person.

“You have unlocked CARWASH.”
As I reached the central portion, the sweeping of the long ribbons ran along my car. I have always found that part to be a bit eerie, like writhing things undulating against the car, the wet sweeping motion almost mesmerizing. It felt good somehow, and I took my car out of park as I readied myself to finish the wash and get my car rinsed and dried. But when I took the car out of park, it didn't move.

I checked again, but the was out of gear and was set to drive. I looked about, worried that I was stuck and the belt would damage my tires somehow. I put the car back in park as the panic rose up in me.

I didn't have money for new tires. I didn't know at the time that car washes don't really have the means to damage tires.

I put it back in drive, but it still wouldn't move.

Then something tried to open the door.

The movement of the long cloth and the water obscured most of it, but I heard the rattling of the handle as something again and again tried to open the door. I pushed on the gas, trying desperately to get out. I was gunning it, my car a SUV built to tow things. Nothing short of 6,000 pounds should be able to stop it from moving at all.

I was screaming, and I reached for my phone to call the police. Then, just as quickly as it started, the noise stopped and my car lurched forward. Quickly I finished up and made it outside, racing my way through the parking lot and nearly hitting another car. I looked in my rear view mirror, and I swear I saw a wet, dark thing standing under the water as I sped away and back onto the main road.

As soon as I was far enough away I pulled into a well lit lot and checked my car for damage. There was a bit of scratching along the handle, but the tires were fine and there was no further issues. Satisfied, I took a second to catch my breath, and went to the trunk to grab a flashlight to check the undercarriage. But when I opened the door I saw that the trunk space was doused in water.

It was only then that I remembered that the lock to the back window was broken.”

The above account came to me by way of my dad. He said that a fellow from work shared it with him.

At least he is trying to talk to me. I'll take it as a good sign.

This week has been surprisingly normal, considering the strange occurrences that have been going on. Things are quiet, which isn't something that should feel unusual, but after so many months of whatever and anything getting thrown my way, it certainly feels suspicious lol.

The Artist is back at work and has been helping me sort files and put together folders. It seems like the WSHS has been so reactive as opposed to proactive. Things go bottoms up, and it seems like the people most in the position to make sense of it are unable or unwilling to do so. At least, that is how things have been.

I'm going to change that.

I have to really.

With all the things that have been going on, I am desperate to bring some measure of control back to the proceedings. It may not do much, but it certainly makes things easier on me if I am able to put all of things together into a tangible thing that one can look at and discuss.

Strangely enough, Eric has taken The Artists place as the sick person on campus. He says that the surgeries and the like aren't holding like he would like them to, that there has been a lot of swelling. Maybe that is true, but when I saw him only a few days ago he looked fine. I know it is maybe a little paranoid, but I have a thing about men in my life keeping shit from me.

He hasn't shared much with me since we last talked about his dream involving The Glow, and though he does what I ask him to do at work, he doesn't seem to want to communicate or even simply touch base at all. If he is having dreams again, I wish he would tell me. It is the sort of thing that for any other place would be odd to record, but Wellington Street isn't just any other place.

Of course I want to help him, but I also want to get to the bottom of all of this, and I want the Wellington Street Historical Society to seem a little more put together. When I first started taking over duties as The Curator, I had this impression that the WSHS was this organized, if hands off sort of place. We collected together the history of this place, and that was that.

But the more I work on all of this, the more I pull bits and pieces together to make files of similar events and ideas, I can't help but feel like there is just no way things could be this disorganized. Any museum would formulate collections to represent various similar concepts, but it feels like if anything there has been an active effort to do the opposite.

Part of me worries that maybe I am right, and that maybe they are keeping something from me. But that can't be right.

Why put me in charge if you were going to keep things from me?