This one almost made me call the police. We’ve heard some strange tales, but they have always involved denizens of the place itself. But are the people in this story trapped within Monfeld? Should I report this to somebody?
As always if you have any questions please post below, and I’ll try and find some answers.
Oh man, it is easy to forget what a big deal DVD shops were. I know it is not hot gossip to point out discs are defunct, but come on, this is a whole economy that has vanished into landfill.
The DVD shop was such a huge part of what made Monfeld special. An incredible shopping space that ran hundreds of square feet wide across two floors with a dedicated internal escalator. A few shelves offered posters and tech, but in general your choice was DVDs and CDs all the way round. You would spend twenty quid on a film you had never heard of, which turned out to be rubbish, and still have a brilliant day.
When you visit Monfeld now, the shop waits for you, and does not hide its intentions. On the other side of those big wide doors are stacks and stacks of DVDs and books. Absolute towers of them, higher than your head. Nothing stops you. You can just walk in.
Disorientation is your watchword from the start. Once you enter the stacks it is black and translucent towers forming passage with no clear agenda . You follow one path to begin with, but soon you are forced to choose between different forks. Enough left to rights, and you will soon lose any concept of direction or location. I guess you could theoretically smash through the piles of DVDs, but this would be a very bad idea.
I do not understand how they all fit into the space. Even after fifteen minutes, and still the passages continued. The smell was odd, like damp clothes left in the wash basket. After twenty five minutes the first snakes of panic rose up my arms.
Weird flotsam littered the floor. too. Ripped up posters. A faded cut out of Brad Pitt in Fight Club. Then it got weirder. A broken pair of scissors. A rusted typewriter. A bracelet made of what looked like human teeth.
The other people turned up shortly after.
I guess you would call them thin. But it was more than that. Their skin was so pale. Their hair like an old dolls. One touched me, and her hands were clammy dishrags.
The skeletons in the next corridor were too hard to cope with.
Thank God I turned right. The escalator into the lower floors of Monfeld appeared, and I escaped through the broken fire door. One left turn, and I might still be in there.
Here is the lesson. In the past, we wanted too many discs. Don’t let your physical media pile up, or you will end up within those corridors.
