The warehouse on the corner of 5th and Main bears a sign that reads, "Caution: No Trespassing." It seems like an unnecessary sign. A slice of the warehouse was scooped away by the tornado of '56, exposing the rotten guts of the building. No one bothered to clean up after the storm, and the city lacked the proper funding for repairs or even just demolition. Generally, people ignore this eyesore. You would think that no one dares to trespass; no one bothers.
Except for the town historian.
He was not elected or nominated for the position. He volunteered, like many of the failing city's officials. He thought a glimpse into the city's past would revitalize the city's future. So one day while walking past the warehouse, instead of looking away, he looked up. It was like he noticed the warehouse for the first time--and realized its potential value for the city.
Here was history preserved. The warehouse was a symbol for the city and its ailments: a prosperous city, torn apart by trouble and left to rot, but still standing. Maybe he could arrange to clean up the warehouse to represent the possibilities for the city.
With buckets of hope and a flashlight, he entered the warehouse one windy night to see what story the building told. He walked in with confidence. He never walked out. The warehouse ate him and left no trace. To be more accurate, it was the fall into the deep basement that killed him. The floors had long before caved in, and his broken body landed in a pile of other bodies that the warehouse had claimed over the years, almost 200 of them. In fact, the warehouse was not a symbol of the city's downfall; it was the cause. It's hard to run a city of skeletons.
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