Entry 9: 

Elsewhere…The Area of Port Morris in the Bronx is defined by its never-being-what-it-seems quality. Primarily an industrial neighborhood geographically located in the southwest of the Borough by the Major Deegan Expressway. It has been home to all manner of people, or things that were not. First, people experiencing poverty, then the working class; while it has become the spearhead of Bronx gentrification, it still has a mysterious charm. Characterized by its many abandoned properties, Port Morris is hip, cheap, and can get you into Manhattan in less than twenty minutes. The downside, of course, is it's filled with ghosts.

Traveling there leaves you with a heightened awareness; you're being watched. Chills run down the spine with every cautious step along its wide, dead streets. At night, this feeling is only exacerbated—a word to the wise for those who choose to come down this way. When one hears the howling winds off the water, run when the clicking starts. 

Five minutes from the entrance of the closest bridge stood an abandoned circuit center. It was located at the entrance to Port Morris and had its own parking lot. The store was one of many failed attempts to bring industry to an area trapped between labor yards and trendy real estate gimmicks. Looking at it from the end of the lot, the three-story dilapidated building didn't resemble a store at all. In fact, it looked more like a decaying face, skin peeling from the skull. The building's entrance was more like an open mouth, leaking a ghostly breath that blanketed the ground outside with a stench of bile and rot.

 Slanted to its left and on the verge of collapse, the concrete undead husk showed signs of life—flickering walls from within. The interior was black at all times of the day. An abyss you couldn't see past. Walls draped in sap that hardened into a blackened film coating everything in darkness. Light could only break through the front door and the edges of the busted windows. When the sun had finally set, two darkened figures emerged from its gaping maw. This coincided with echoing clicks from deep within the building's belly, growing ever louder as the beasts readied for war. Two shadows disappeared into the mist, their hunt underway. For the poor soul, they sought to meet that night; there would be no place to run.