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I got a job right out of
college and had to find a new place

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at short notice. Using my socials, I got in contact with the landlord

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through a mutual contact. They had
a spare apartment that was just made available.

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The previous tenant had been evicted a
couple of weeks prior because of unpaid

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rent, so the apartment hadn't even
been advertised yet. The apartment was nice

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enough, but all my attention was
on my new job. I pretty much

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just brought a bed and a desktop
computer, leaving two of my three rooms

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empty for the time being. I
wasn't certain if I was going to stay

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there long term or not, but
I figured time would decide. I ended

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up staying there several years. I
settled into my job, furnished the place

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up, and made it into a
proper home. Those first few stress weeks

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became nothing but a distant memory.
About three years after moving in, I

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had to stash some furniture. I
contacted my landlord to see if there was

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some storage space I could use.
He reminded me that there was storage on

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the bottom floor that I hadn't used. I didn't even know it was there.

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Not that surprising, seeing as I
was really stressed out when I first

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moved in. Apparently the space had
been used by the previous tenant, who

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might have left some items there.
I hadn't had any use for such a

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space before, so I hadn't thought
about asking. So imagine my surprise when

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I get to the storage only to
see a crash test dummy. Using a

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key I got from the landlord,
I unlocked the padlock and got a close

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lock. It was a white,
a life sized crash test dummy with a

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hastily scribbled mister Mayhem written on the
back of its head with a black sharpie.

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The dummy was scoffed and worn,
but still had a plastic smile on

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his face. Its eyes with these
little painted black dots, it looked like

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it had been through hell and a
half. I asked the landlord about it.

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Turns out the previous tenant and used
it as a sort of mascot.

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They brought it out for fun for
parties, pranks, that kind of thing,

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the sort of music that Cheeta carpool
Lane once and landlord shared it was

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just this funny thing he'd gotten from
his job. When they upgraded to newer

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dummies. It was probably more than
forty years old. I cleaned out the

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storage and stashed away my furniture.
I thought about what to do with mister

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Mayhem, then figured it'd be a
fun piece for my upcoming Halloween party.

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Dress it up and something and keep
it by the entrance. It'll be the

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talk of the town. Still,
there was something unnerving about it, the

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way its joints creaked and cracked,
had frozen painted on grin, the sloppy

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joints rattling haphazardly with every little movement. My early Halloween party, it is

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nothing extravagant. I get a couple
of friends together and we dress up.

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Then we hit one of the local
clubs for a costume party. It's like

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a pre party, only with about
eighteen people or so. I dressed up

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mister Mayhem in a cheap pirate costume
and had his stand by the door with

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a tray of snacks. I went
as the Penguin, but everyone mistook me

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for the Monopoly man. People came
around at around seven. Mister Mayhem was

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a big hits, just something about
dummies and dolls that rub people the wrong

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way. It's the Uncanny Valley thing
of it. I guess it was the

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centerpiece for a lot of selfies that
night. As the punch bowl got emptier

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and the night got darker, we
all left for the club, leaving mister

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Mayhem by the door. I had
a lot of fun, a few drinks

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too many. There was a bit
of drama with two friends of mine having

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an argument, but all in all
it was a good night. An acquaintance

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of mine won the costume contest with
a sort of bioluminescent fish thing. It

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was insane. If you got a
costume that you got a charge batches for,

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you've taken it to another level.
In the moment, I couldn't tell

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anything was wrong, but if I'd
listened a little closer, I would have

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heard a thing or two. Cracking
creaking heard from the alley out back,

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and something moved a bound to mention
the guy dressed as a crash test ummy

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a dark silhouette just outside the frosted
glass of the bathroom window. By the

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end of the night, I made
my way home and slid the keys into

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my door, only to notice that
it was already unlocked. I could a

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sworn I locked it, but figured
I must have missed it in all the

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commotion. I did a drunken half
check around the apartment to see that nothing

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was stolen. There wasn't. I
didn't even think about checking for miss Mayhem.

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If I had, I would have
noticed there was nothing standing by the

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door waiting for me with snacks.
I would have noticed the bowl having rolled

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off to the side, spilling wrapped
toffees and butted caramels across the carpet.

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Oh my face planted into my bed
and waited for another day. It wasn't

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until the next morning that I noticed
it was missing. I sent a couple

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of texts to the others of the
party asking if they did something to it.

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All I got was a resounding no
in response. If anything, they

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just thought it had been a fun
prop. I checked all over the apartment

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and the storage. I even asked
my next door neighbor if they'd seen anything.

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Nothing. Mister Mayhem was just gone. It wasn't a big loss or

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anything, but I didn't like the
idea of someone being in my apartment for

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no good reason. Things just don't
disappear for nothing. If someone wanted a

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crash test dummy, I could have
sold it for a quick hundred or so.

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Instead, I found myself running back
back and forth, growing increasingly anxious

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about someone being in my space.
I even called the landlord about having the

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locks changed. The following Monday,
mister Mayhem was still missing. While I

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was still on my mind, I
had a hundred more pressing matters at hand.

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It had started raining, and absent
mindedly wandered across the parking lot.

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I was almost at the front door, and something in the back of my

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mind asked me to stop, like
a sudden feeling of unease. It's hard

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to explain the challenge. To look
a little closer, so I did.

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Turning around and looking up, I
could see mister Mayhem, who was on

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the roof of my apartment building with
his head a line straight forward. Someone

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must have dragged it up there as
a joke. It looked like someone about

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to jump off a building. I
was going to have to bring it down.

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I didn't want anyone to be accidentally
traumatized. I headed straight for the

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door to the stairwell, covering my
head with a file folder. The rain

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was relentless. Something smashed into the
pavement right in front of me, loud

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plastic bang. As mister Mayhem hit
the ground A couple of feet further and

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i'd have been crushed. I just
stood there for a moment, hearing the

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rain tapping against my file folder on
my head. Mister Mayhem was intact,

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but the body was just mangled.
Every single extremity bent at an unnatural angle.

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But that didn't hamper that eerie painted
on smile. I was a bit

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hesitant to touch it was raising.
That thing was heavy, and it had

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fallen far enough to do some serious
damage had it hit me, which it

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almost did. I dragged it back
down into the basement storage. I had

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to shuffle around some furniture, and
they ended up tossing it on top of

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an old sofa. I locked the
storage to the padlock, turned off the

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lights, and closed the door behind
me, and I'd get rid of that

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thing soon enough. I went to
bed early that night. I kept getting

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shakes and twitches, as if my
body was still recoiling from having mister Mayhem

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crashed into the pavement right in front
of me. I felt twitchy, as

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if I hadn't slowed down yet.
I was stuck in high gear, and

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it carried over into the next morning. I stress cleaned my kitchen and bedroom

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before I even got breakfast, as
I was cleaning in and around the fridge.

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I scooped out what looked like an
old, fainted note. I posed

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it that must have been stuck to
the fridge by the previous tenant. Don't

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let it out. I stood there
staring at the note for a good few

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minutes, letting my paranoia run rampant. I tried to explain it away,

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with every thought came circling back around
to one point. There must have been

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a reason for mister Mayhem being left
behind and what happened to the previous tenant.

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Over the next few days, I
considered how to get rid of it.

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I thought about just driving it to
the garbage dump and dropping it off

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somewhere, but I didn't like the
idea of it being let out. I

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could burn it, but I had
to get a good space to do it.

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I could just of course, that
didn't feel responsible either. I was

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running out of patience and ideas,
so I finally decided on sawing it up

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and dropping it into the river.
I prepped it backpack with a saw,

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duct tape, a hammer, and
garbage bags. The following night I got

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to work, I dragged mister Mayhem
out to my car and stuffed it into

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the trunk. I didn't want to
do it in the daylight, as the

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thing still looked like a person,
and I didn't want to have to explain

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myself. I was going to drive
down to a clear spot near the river

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and get to work. It wasn't
far, but I had to cross the

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highway. It was a short drive, but it was tense. It felt

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like I was doing something wrong,
like mister Mayhem was a person rather than

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a dummy. As I closed the
trunk and got behind the wheel, I

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steeled myself. The moment I put
the keys in, I got this strange

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impulse that I should have duct taped
its hands and feet. Then again,

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why should I It was just a
dummy. I got stuck waiting at two

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separate left turns. Each time I
just sat there, listening to the hum

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of the engine, expecting to hear
a thumping or smacking something coming from the

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trunk. I was expecting the thing
to do something. It was an irrational

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thing to listen for, but I
couldn't help it, and yet nothing came.

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I crossed the highway, made my
way down the river and found a

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spot by a clearing where I wouldn't
bother any one. I parked my car,

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got out and held my breath as
I opened the trunk frist the second

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I could imagine someone lying there,
a living person, screaming, pleading for

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help. I blinked it away as
the trunk revealed mister Mayhem in awe his

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inanimate splendor. There was nothing here
to fear. Still, just chopping up

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something with the shape of a person
was going to be uncomfortable. I dragged

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it out to the bank of the
river, laid out my tools, and

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took a good look at it.
I reached for the hammer first, to

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break the joints that would make it
easier to saw. The thing was made

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to withstand serious punishment. Breaking it
wouldn't be easy. I started with the

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left hand. There's a sort of
test run. I whacked out the joints

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and brought out the saw, but
I got this sick feeling in my stomach

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with every crack. I never heard
bone breaking, but I imagine that was

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it. I felt like a butcher. And those eyes, those plain looking

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painted on eyes, just little dots, but I felt them boring into my

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mind. The cheap human imitation,
but human nonetheless. I skipped ahead a

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few steps and named the hammer directly
at its face. I brought the hammer

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down smack after smack after smack,
until the dummy cracked. The nose buckled

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inwards, and the cheeks split into
butterfly shaped shards. I picked out pieces

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with my nails. I shuddered.
There was some sort of padding on the

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inside that just made my skin crawl. There was something about the textture.

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I paused. There was a small
white growth the tooth. I stepped back,

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looking down at the broken dummy.
Just beneath the crack surface. Embedded

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inside was a dead man, mummified
and dried within the confines of the plastic

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shell. I couldn't breathe. It
had been there all along, hidden in

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plain sight. There were so many
things to do that I couldn't begin to

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form a coherent thought. Who do
I call? What do I do?

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Could I possibly be liable for some
kind of damage? Who was the person

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inside? Were they missing? I
stepped back, dropping the hammer. I

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covered my mouth and took these little
microbreaths, repeating Oh my God to myself

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over and over, as if the
rocking motion would somehow dislodge a good idea

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from the back of my mind.
I decided I'd get back to my car

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and call the police. I hurried
back, got into the driver's seat,

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and closed the door. I took
at my cellphone, darled the emergency services,

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and then heard a click. I
looked to the left. Something fast

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moved my way, and then the
world turned upside down. In a sudden

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shock of pain, I drifted in
and out of consciousness. Our sun were

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dark and cramped. It must have
taken me at least ten minutes just to

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realize I was in the trunk of
my car and the car was moving.

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I could hear the radio, albeit
turned down. I had a swelling over

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my nose and my left eye,
and I could feel my sense of balance

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being shaky at best. I reached
for my cell phone, but it was

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still in the passenger seat. I
never managed to call the emergency surfaces.

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At some point the car came to
a stop. I heard the door on

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the driver's side open and close,
and the sound of some one walking away.

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There was a slight echo to it, suggesting we were parked somewhere inside,

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possibly a large space. I didn't
waste any time. Instead of trying

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to open the trunk, I wriggled
and crawled my way into the back seat.

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From there, I contorted myself into
the driver's seat, lopped the doors,

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and fumbled around for my cell phone. Looking up intermittently, I could

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see that I was in some kind
of storage facility. He was hard to

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tell the lights were off. As
soon as I felt the cold metal of

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the phone, I picked it up, unlocked it, and dialed the emergency

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surfaces. He didn't take long for
a voice to come in on the other

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end. I've I've been kidnapped,
I stuttered. I don't know where I

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am. But if I hadn't talked
so loud, I might have heard the

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footsteps coming back. If I'd been
more attentive, I could have seen it

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in the rear view mirror. But
I was both loud and inattentive, and

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it came at a great cost,
because as the operator asked me about my

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name and location, the driver's side
window was shattered into a thousand pieces.

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Something grabbed me by the neck and
shoulder. The second later, I was

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flung through the window and out on
to the cold pavement about eight feet or

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so. The cell phone tumbled to
the ground as a white plastic foot crushed

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it. Looking up, I saw
it in full view mister Mayhem, now

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revealing a death's head grin. I
ran, I got to my feet and

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just took off. I could hear
thumping plastic noises behind me as mister Mayhem

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followed. I ran straight through an
abandoned workshop and a lunch room. Finally,

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I slammed the door open to an
unmarked space, hoping against hope it

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would be something useful. A small
room packed to the brim with crash test

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dummies, at least fifty standing shoulder
to shoulder, all those painted smiles and

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dart like eyes or walking my way. I didn't have time to see if

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they were like mister Mayhem or not, So instead of turning back, which

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would be a certain end, I
pressed forward. I pushed my way past

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plastic arms, hands, and torsos. Most were just empty shells ready to

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be filled and used. Others were
fully functional. I could have sworn a

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couple of heads turned my way,
but I didn't stop to check. I

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could hear the footsteps that followed me
slow, and as I turned around,

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I realized I had no idea where
it had went, just the sea of

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white, featureless creatures, and one
of them it was something else I was

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afraid to move. I could be
brushing up against that thing without even knowing.

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It was a sharp noise, and
there's what sounded like broken glass being

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shoveled around on the floor, one
clear sound of a shard being lifted.

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I tried to make my way to
the back of the room so I could

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circle back. Every now and then
i'd look at the dummies, only to

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notice more of them with scribbles on
the back of the head Miss Waters,

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mister Callown, all made with hasty
scribbles. A stray thought crossed my mind.

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Maybe it wasn't mister Mayhem, but
mister Mayhew. It had been kind

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of hard to tell. I had
yet to run into it. As it

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began. Circling the dark corners of
the room, making my way back the

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way I came, I heard the
sound of glass scraping against plastic as something

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was coming closer. I had to
keep myself from panicking. There was no

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telling what would happen if I were
to stumble in there. Instead, I

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kept a steady pace, trying to
count my breaths one two. Brushing off

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against another dummy, I stopped.
Something was strange. It didn't have a

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left hand. It slowly turned my
way, revealing a dead man's face.

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Mister Mayhem and impromptu glass shanks sliced
at me, scraping the edge of my

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jacket and shattering against the wall.
A handless left arm reached for me,

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but I pushed it aside. I
bowled over the lifeless dummies and headed straight

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for the door, reaching it and
leaving the dummies behind me, I slammed

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the door shut. I hastily looked
to see if there was a lock,

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but there wasn't. Before I could
make a plan, the door came off

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its hinges and tumbled to the ground
like a cracked bowling pin. Mayhem twitched

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forward, every movement sudden and painful. Making my way back to the workshop,

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I realized that there was no way
I could outrun it. Mister Mayhem

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was both faster and more resilient.
I was grasping at straws. There had

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to be something, anything. My
daughter's chain coming down from the ceiling and

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kept going towards the back. Only
the stop that chain, I could use

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it. It was connected to a
winch in the middle of the factory floor,

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probably used to hoist and move equipment. It would have to do the

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timing had to be perfect. If
I went too soon or too late,

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I'd be done for. I saw
mister Mayhem approaching, step by step,

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blinking painted eyes replaced with hollow sockets. Then I pulled at the winch as

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hard as I could, hoping against
hope the effect was immediate. I hadn't

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seen the hook at the end and
shot straight up and paling mister Mayhem's lower

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jaw. The chain was still slack, and it was getting closer, but

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it couldn't quite get to me anymore. Instead, I kept pulling and pulling

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and pulling every rattle on the chain, bringing it higher and higher into the

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air, like hoisting a flag.
As the chain cliaked into a lock,

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mister Mayhem was dangling fifteen feet or
so in the air. It stopped moving,

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even though it couldn't move its face. I could feel it looking at

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me. This wasn't going to be
the end of it. I made my

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way back to the car, calling
the emergency surfaces as I wiped the broken

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glass from the driver's seat. As
I was asked for a location, I

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noticed something on the fire walls,
A series of overalls hanging at the edge

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of the door. Three to be
exact one for Patty Waters and another for

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John Callown, and the finer one
for Samson Mayhew. Eventually the police came.

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I'd gone outside and collapsed against the
wall, crushing a handful of overgrown

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wildflowers on my way down. I
just sat there, picking the petals of

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a blue sunflower. When the officers
came around to ask me questions. I

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tried to explain that been kidnapped and
assaulted, but there was no way for

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me to tell them that the crash
test stummy had done it. Instead,

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I had a lie for my teeth. I had to say that my mystery

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attacker had hoisted that dommy up into
the air, and it didn't take long

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for the police to find not one
with three bodies, three workers at the

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abandoned factory, all presumed dead and
missing, stuffed within the framing of the

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crash test dummies they themselves had made
decades ago. This was about two years

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ago, somewhere in that ballpark.
I haven't seen or heard anything about those

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dummies since. I think they cleared
out the storage, and I think they

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had some kind of forensic specialist on
site, but there was no public announcement

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or accusation I was only called in
once to make a basic statement, but

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there was no follow up. I've
been imagining those three dummies sitting locked up

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in some storage, just biding their
time, their dead face waiting to look

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my way again. Now the reason
why I write this is because of something

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I read the other month. There
was an article about a break in at

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the County evidenced locker, resulting in
one wounded officer and a handful of pieces

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of evidence going missing. These sailants
were described as two men and a woman.

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They were described as bald and wearing
plain white clothes. If I was

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a betting man, I'd say there
isn't much time before we start seeing more

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than three of these misters and misses. I hadn't gotten out of there.

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I'm pretty sure there was an empty
casing there would in time have my name

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on it, and maybe there still
is