The Parking Lot

I had just moved to a new neighbourhood, and transferred into another school, AGAIN. This was my 17th school in my 15 years of life. I was not an army brat, or anything, I just had a difficult mother, who was a big fan of running from her problems or mistakes, most of which happened to be in the form of men.

I made friends fast of course, because everyone is VERY interested in talking to the new girl, even if that girl just wants to be left alone because, let’s face it, she’s going to be moving again in less than a year. Keep in mind that this was a time before social media or cell phones. In fact, I think AOL was just starting to be a big thing, but we were young and no one I knew my age had a computer for themselves, and only a couple had a family computer handy, so keeping in touch wasn’t an option for my young bitter self.

So as I started my new life, I was jostled around from group to group until I was placed into one that I fit. I don’t know how middle schools work now, but back then they were very clique-y. I didn’t worry; I always ended up in the popular group. I’m not trying to brag. It’s just where I always ended up. I appeared outgoing, and was pretty cute, but not too cute to be threatening to the other girls. And I spent most of my time hoping to play Pokemon Red instead of putting on makeup.

But I digress. Since I was jostled around a bit I got to hear the local gossip from each group and their different takes on it. And one thing they were all fascinated with was my address. Apparently the apartment building I had just moved into had been a part of a murder investigation. Now, kids talk, so I don’t know how much of this is actually true.

I heard two separate stories. One was about a boy who disappeared, he was last seen riding a white bike, and this bike was later found thrown at the bottom of a stairwell that led down into underground parking. And I also heard that a body was found in the underground parking, a butcher’s knife, and the words “You’re next” presumably painted in blood on the wall.

There are 5 apartment buildings on this side of the school, all with above ground parking and below ground, but my building was the only one whose below ground building was sealed off with cinder blocks. Weird… Maybe these stories were true? I also found the stairwell on the other side that leads down. It was taped off…. And a white bike covered in mud lay at the bottom.

Looking back now I wish I could shake my younger self and say “police don’t leave evidence silly”, but I didn’t think about that… I just thought about how creepy it was. I also found police tape on the fence poles at the entrance of the blocked off underground parking exit. It wasn’t just hanging tape. It was only the small bit that was around the pole, the rest of it long since pulled down. I tried to convince my mom to move, but it was a new place and she was dating a new guy, so I had to hold tight for the 6 months or so.

Fast forward 9 months. The rumors had spiraled out of control to include a killer clown for about a month after I had moved in. But then after that, the rumors died down and the stories were soon forgotten. People (I assume vagrants) had even broken open the door in the stairwell that used to be taped off, and us kids would dare each other to go into it.

I’m not sure what I did, but I know I pissed off the queen bee Gemma something fierce, and determined to “ruin my life” and make me “piss my pants”, she dared me to go down there at night. I actually fancied myself as kind of smart, so logically I knew there weren’t ghosts and killer clowns hanging out underground, and said sure, I’d do it (I was actually scared shitless. I’m a firm believer in spooky shit, but I tried to talk to myself logically). I was so focused on my conviction that I’d be fine because nothing supernatural was going on, that I failed to take into consideration the vagrants.

Descending the stairs at night was the last thing I said I remembered. I saw some really demonic and scary shit. I assume my brain just playing tricks on me and I didn’t want to tell anyone what I saw, or what I thought I saw.

I did piss my pants, but Gemma and the others never laughed. I guess that’s the trade off when you get stabbed twice.

We moved away within the week.