The Factory of Death E-Book

Craig Harrigan

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

The Willows are a wealthy entrepreneurial family that have lived in Columbia, Maryland, for generations, having made a fortune out of manufacturing shoes. Its current patriarch, Owen, oversees the shoe making factory, Willow & Sons, which is blooming with sales. However, all's not sugary with the success of his factory. Content with caring for his family, its legacy, and the factory, Owen bludgeons his employees towards achieving his extreme goals of productivity, by being exploitative and abusive. Fed up with the antics of the 'feisty mouse' (as he is unpleasantly addressed by his employees), his employees, wishing him misfortune commensurate with theirs, pay a visit to a witch. And that's where things take a sudden twist in the lives of the Willows. At first, it is the home employee in charge of the control room, Julio, who gets into an accident that leaves him dead in the pool. Then, it is a strange visitor, who always brings death along. Being too careful is not enough for the Willows, especially as simple accidents begin to grow lethal. At the end of the day, Owen's devotion to upholding family legacy may not be enough to keep this new horror at bay. The Willows are a wealthy entrepreneurial family that have lived in Columbia, Maryland, for generations, having made a fortune out of manufacturing shoes. Its current patriarch, Owen, oversees the shoe making factory, Willow & Sons, which is blooming with sales. However, all's not sugary with the success of his factory. Content with caring for his family, its legacy, and the factory, Owen bludgeons his employees towards achieving his extreme goals of productivity, by being exploitative and abusive. Fed up with the antics of the 'feisty mouse' (as he is unpleasantly addressed by his employees), his employees, wishing him misfortune commensurate with theirs, pay a visit to a witch. And that's where things take a sudden twist in the lives of the Willows. At first, it is the home employee in charge of the control room, Julio, who gets into an accident that leaves him dead in the pool. Then, it is a strange visitor, who always brings death along. Being too careful is not enough for the Willows, especially as simple accidents begin to grow lethal. At the end of the day, Owen's devotion to upholding family legacy may not be enough to keep this new horror at bay.

Leseprobe

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Possessed Master

1

The Willows had lived in Columbia, for as long as anyone could remember. They were not the founders of the place, but generations and generations of them had through the service of shoe-making watched the place grow into a city. And with time, what was an averagely successful family thing, became Willow & Sons, the first shoe making industry in the city.

Like every family business, they took care to keep the money within the family, and so far, fate had smiled on them. There was always a child, or children, to pass the baton to.

Its current owner, and patriarch, Owen, took the diminutive stature of his mother, and the loudmouth of his father, earning him the moniker, ‘feisty mouse’ in the hearts, and covert gatherings of his employees.

Today, he was in a pale brown shirt, tucked into dark brown trousers that were held in place by suspenders. One of his hands were deep into his pocket, and the other held a Belicoso to his mouth. He stood at the gangway, watching his precious machines work, while his employees moved around operating the machines and helping them to bring out shoes.

“Hey, Maurice. The fuck are you doing?” he yelled.

The male employees cast confused glances at themselves, at a loss for who in particular the boss was addressing. To Owen, every male under his employ was either a Maurice, or a Jack. The females were all Janes.

“Saves a lot of the fucking time I’d waste stuffing names into my brain.” He’d replied an inquisitive friend once. “I know the machines, though.”

When the friend had given him an incredulous look he had laughed, and said:

“What? They make me more money.”

Today, Owen must have been touched by a benevolent spirit, and stayed up there on the gangway. Usually, he walked on the ground, through the shoe manufacturing units, observing up close, and hurling invectives.

“What’re you doing mate?” he yelled again.

This time his arm flew out his pocket, and pointed at someone among the units.

“You. Yes, you Maurice. That’s ten percent off your salary, period. If you fuckers don’t know how to do a good job, I can easily call up replacements.”

Characteristically, whenever Owen visited the shoe factory -- which was more often than his workers prayed for – he’d leave at 6.pm, which is two hours after the normal factory time for closure. Once when one of them had whined to him, that the closure time was actually 4.pm and not 6.pm, Owen had dubbed him a fat-faced bastard.

“I’m the owner of the company.” He’d said. “I make the rules, I can also remake them. Now you get me more shoes by 6.pm, or none of you are getting paid. I pay you to manufacture shoes, and not to observe time of closure.

Always, before leaving, he’d ensure that the machines have been put to a stop.

He drove off in his black BMW 328i, leaving a disgruntled staff in his taillights.

“That one sure is a machine pervert.” One of the workers said.

He was a tall man with a full brown moustache and a crew cut.

“You don’t say, Howard.” One of his colleagues said to him. “I’d pinky swear that he’d rather fuck one of these machines than fuck a human being. I wonder how he was able to net such a beautiful wife.”

“Have you seen the rest of his family?” Janet, a petite blonde said.

By now, the whole company of workers had come together, in a social gathering of sorts.

“We work for him, help him operate his bloody machines, fetch him the money he has, and all he does is pelt us with insults all day.” Howard said.

It seemed he held a higher position than the others, or he was just the most charismatic, because he seemed to command the better attention.

“The puny sonuvabitch didn’t pay me a full salary last month, because he found some mistake at the cutting and marking. And he makes us work extra hours for nothing. It’s like we’re pouring our essence to make him rise to the clouds.”

“He’s exploitative alright. I just don’t know how much of it I can take anymore.” Cruz, said. He was a Latino. With the amount of wrinkles on his face, and the streaks of gray on his hair, he was easily the oldest. Probably, in his fifties.

“He’s a god.” Someone said from among the crowd of workers.

Everyone went silent. It was like their voices had been stolen. Everyone turned back, towards the source of the voice. There was a skinny boy in slacks. Bruno. At the moment, he looked like a leaf among blades of grass.

“Excuse me, son. What did you say?” Cruz asked.

Bruno’s eyes scanned the entire group. He was the latest employee in the factory, and had been put in the logo unit. Only just recently, he’d been the subject of Owen’s diatribe. Bruno had been one breath away from being slapped by the boss that day.

“He’s a god.” Bruno said, with greater conviction this time.

“Cut the crap, kid.” Howard reprimanded. “We are aware of how much control he wields over us, but he’s just a man. A fucking man, with the power of an employer.”

“That’s it. Don’t you see?” Bruno said, with the effervescence of a street preacher. “He treats us the way he likes, like we’re rag dolls, and we can do nothing about it.”

“Woah, easy there. Not nothing. I can rough him up any day any time.” Howard declared.

“And then go without a job.” One of the workers chipped in.

“And you know how difficult it is to come by a new one. Even though he pays us far less than we devote in hours, and strength.” Janet commented.

Howard quietened. He very well knew the truth. So it’s a poor pay with a combo of vile insults and heartless exploitations, he thought.

“You religious, son?” Cruz asked, looking at Bruno.

“Obviously.” One of the workers scoffed.

“No, no, that’s not it.” Bruno quickly interjected. He looked at the group, trying to maintain their attention, then flicked his tongue over his lips. “What I’m trying to say, is that we can make sure the boss pays for what he does, by using something with power similar to the extent of his, or greater. And I’ve got someone who can do that. I know of a witch…”

“A witch?” one of the workers asked. His voice was heavy with incredulity.

A ripple of uneasiness went through the group.

“Yeah. She helped a friend of my mums with some really urgent stuff.”

“Witches are stuff for books.” Juliet said.

“No, I’m not kidding. She’s real, and she’s got powers. She can help us.” Bruno argued.

“There’s no way we’re going to a goddamn witch.” Howard stated.

“You got any better ideas?” Bruno asked, spreading his sight from Howard, who was the first contact, to the rest of the group. “Don’t y’all want to operate under favorable conditions, and see that the boss is punished for what he does? Or would you rather continue working under such depressing conditions?”

They all stood, submerged in thoughts.

“I think Bruno’s right.” One of them said, after a while. “I say we give it a try. We’ve got nothing to lose.”

The workers, like on many issues, agreed to visit a witch. There was nothing that bolstered unity like the defeat of a common enemy. And the workers of Willow & Sons had had more than enough servings from their common enemy.