It was a small shed. Small enough you can probably only fit a double size bed inside but not small enough to fit a toilet inside. Why'd I think of that comparison? Because I badly needed to go. My name is Harrison and I work in the country, very very far from the city. I don't live in the country though, I actually live in the city so everyday I drive around 3 hours to work and of course, 3 hours back at the end of the day. You must be thinking why do I do this? I like the serenity out here, the peacefulness, how you can see the stars out here at night when in the city it disappears, draped in a blanket of darkness and suffocated with the city lights. Also I can't get any other job. Ever since I've lost my job at a big firm as an accountant the economy was in ruins and I just opted for well...this.
Anyways back to the shed I found located in the absolute middle of nowhere as I was driving home from work. I got out of my car and didn't bother locking it after all there was not a soul out here. All I could see was dirt and maybe another shed up ahead? All this place had was a long never ending road and next to either sides was dirt and soil, also never ending. That's the best description I can give you because that's all there is. This area was completely isolated with the nearest town around 2 hours away.
I walked up to the shed and was immediately hit with a strong smell, but I managed to quickly get accommodated to it. The shed's wooden door was already flaking and starting to rot a bit, must've been here a long time and needs some patching I think to myself. I opened the door carefully as I was worried it'd snap off. I don't even know why I thought there was going to be a bathroom inside, maybe I was just desperate. What was awaiting inside was far off from that stall I needed. Instead I was met with blinding redness, rotting blackness and a sickening brown. How should I describe this...the walls were drenched with bright red blood, I assume it's fresh from the looks of it. Beneath the fresh coat which reflected death was old blood that has dried up and turned black. It really was a magnificent art piece if you ask me, that transition from blood red to black. All the walls were like that except the very back one, the one you directly faced when you first open the door. That wall had a display of what appears to be intestines, hung up like Christmas lights that is on the front of a house. The intestines looked abnormally big and as I walked up to them, it seemed that someone had injected some sort of gel inside to plump them up. Only three were hung up nicely, resting on thin nails hammered into the wall. Those three appeared to be the freshest so I guess it makes sense to prop them up as the centrepiece display. The others were thrown onto the canvas like tinsel thrown on a Christmas tree. There was a table beneath this gruesome display which had multiple brushes, all of different sizes and shapes. The artist must spend a lot of time perfecting the look of this shed.
Something hit me though, if all the insides of the spectacular human body was displayed here, where did all the carving and cutting occur? And where is the rest of the human? Would they be in the other sheds I occasionally drive past? Mind me this is the first time I've had to stop to go to the bathroom since usually I could pee in a bottle but I didn't have one with me today. This was the very first time I've stopped and gone into one of these sheds. I realised I didn't have the urge to go anymore and when I looked down I had wet my jeans.
"Shit," I cursed to myself.
It had also dripped onto the floor, which was surprisingly clean, the wood polished to almost brand new. It appeared to have some sort of coating over it to prevent the blood from seeping into the wood. Now I felt horrible, like whoever owned this clearly wanted things to be perfect and the way they desired it to be, not a thing out of place and not definitely not a puddle of my urine.
I shut the door behind me and ran back to my car. Slightly horrified by my experience and I was sweating bullets now. I opened my boot and grabbed a new pair of pants to change in and added my wet pants to a pile of clothing I had to wash when I get back home where my lovely wife and daughter were waiting patiently. I always bring extra clothes with me since my job can be hard labour and I don't want to return home smelling like sweat and death. I also tend to be very lazy and not wash any of my clothes until there's close to no room left in my boot. I considered calling the police, but there was other unexplored sheds and I really shouldn't mess up something as artistic as this for someone who has put so much effort into his work. I decided to head back home since I've already finished work for the day and I was famished. I can always explore the other sheds later really. As I entered my driveway I could see the lights were all off in my house, the white exterior was the only thing that allowed me to see where my house even was as it was already close to midnight. I felt so restricted in this house, like someone hugging you too tight and it's difficult to even breathe. I let out a heavy sigh and opened the door to my home. Turning on the lights I see our old Christmas tree my wife has been nagging me to dispose of in which it has been over a year and I still need to do so.
"Honey I'm home," I yelled out.
I got nothing in response but the quietness and serenity that I mentioned I love. Toys were scattered all over the floor in the living room and in the kitchen and on the staircase. The only sound in this dead house was the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the creaks of the floorboard underneath my feet. I walked up to the second floor entered my wife and I's bedroom, my heart and soul filled with delight as I saw my most treasured piece of art. My wife was sitting in an armchair near the window that looked out onto our driveway with my daughter, 7 years young, in her lap. Both were drenched in pure redness, magnificent blackness and a disgusting rotting maroon. I sighed, restricted with the art I have here. I hate coming home every night to the same old pieces of art, hated seeing them decompose and turn into waste, but I also didn't have the guts to bring them to my sheds and start the process of preserving good art. I despised people who didn't appreciate good art, I despised them so much that in order to prove them wrong, I would turn them into art.
Submitted November 11, 2016 at 05:21PM by astorytotell123 https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/5ce3qd/sheds/?ref=search_posts&utm_source=ifttt nosleep
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