Why do the barrels keep rearranging themselves? What causes the temperature to drop in certain corners? How do the shadows move between the crates? Why do the night watchmen hear bubbling when the stills are off? What secrets lie in the sealed room?
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At the end of your story, you get down to the purity of it all. It’s like distilling something.
― Jeff Phillips, Whiskey Pike: A Bedtime Story for the Drinking Mankind
Welcome to this Warehouse wit an Illegal Distillery in the basement!
As the manager of this old warehouse, I turned a blind eye to the illegal moonshining operation running out of the basement - for a price. But something dark has taken hold down there. Strange smells and noises emerge at night.
One of the cooks went missing. I went to investigate and found the still room splattered with gore. Scrawled on the wall, a warped message: “He will rise.”
That night, screams split the air as something dragged bodies into the bowels of the distillery. I barrcaded the doors but those things were inside - deformed monstrosities crawling the rafters, once human faces now grinning fleshless skulls.
They fell upon my men with demonic strength, tearing them apart while cacophonous laughter echoed. I ran through the maze of rusting machinery and shattered glass, pursued by sloshing footsteps.
Beyond reason, the spirits of this place had turned, awakened by some eldritch force in the fumes and flames. This warehouse had become a temple of madness, its denizens now hell-twisted aberrations seeking only to sacrifice warm flesh to their dark god of fermentation rising from the depths. There would be no escape from this living nightmare spawned from the bile of man’s wickedness.
