The Warehouse Amityville Events Novels & Stories

A pit formed in my stomach. “Excuse me,” I muttered, rising from the table and walking to the far corner of the room. “Alejandro, this better be... ” “Bad,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Very bad. Four warehouses. Gone. Blown to hell within an hour.” My grip tightened on the phone, the words crashing into me like a freight train. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded. “Exactly what it sounds like boss,” Alejandro snapped. “I suspect a coordinated attack. The Fires. Explosions consumed Millions in goods. We are still trying to find the source”

The 15 year old clone raised her hand, and the heavy iron beams supporting the roof of the warehouse began to scream. As the warehouse roof begins to collapse, a different notification appears on every phone in the world, including the broken one on Arthur Vance’s workbench: 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘: 𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗥 𝟬𝟭 & 𝟬𝟮. 𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: 𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗. 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗢𝗖𝗢𝗟: 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗦𝗧. 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗧𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗢 𝗥𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗬𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧.

SECRET WAREHOUSE CABIN ~ “Do you feel comfortable here, dear?” Amelia asked gently, pulling the thin blanket higher over Vivian’s chest. The dim light in the warehouse flickered, casting long shadows across the metal walls. Vivian nodded weakly, her voice faint. “Yes… I feel much more comfortable here. At least no one knows I’m in this place except you. Promise me, Amelia, don’t tell Damien anything about my location.” Amelia adjusted the IV line beside her and nodded. “I promise. You’re safe here. No one will find you.”

No— “LET GO!” The overwhelming surge of emotions consumed me as my steps abruptly ceased, and a powerful arm enveloped my trembling body. The familiar surroundings of my room instantly dissolved before my eyes, replaced by the chilling and blood-soaked atmosphere of that merciless warehouse. The lifeless corpses strewn about, evidence of the horrors that had unfolded within those grim walls.

We go to our locker rooms to change, but this was not the way it was all supposed to happen. Walking out of the locker rooms Bram is waiting in the hall, he turns and gives a half man hug and says, “Man, bro, thanks for helping my sister. She looked really freaked out. I do not even know what is going to happen now. Can you believe the Amory is dead?” I will not tell him yet, but his sister is my mate. I feel like her and I need to talk first, especially after she seems not to recognize me as her mate.

“I’m going to bring her home.” The walk to Warehouse Fourteen felt endless, gravel crunching under her shoes, the distant cry of gulls the only sound behind her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. A single door was slightly ajar at the building’s side entrance, exactly as the final message had instructed. Amelia stepped inside. The warehouse’s interior swallowed the daylight almost entirely, rows of shipping containers stacked in towering columns, a single work light burning somewhere near the center of the space. . Amelia moved toward it, every instinct screaming at her to run and every ounce of her determination refusing to let her.

Left with no choice, I have to call Jo. “Jo, inform my wife that I will be late for the dinner party. The party should go on without Rick and I”. I deliberately said my wife instead of calling her name. “Noted Don”. Jo replied. “And Jo?”. “Yes Don?” “Don’t forget who she is!”. “I won’t Don”. He answered. And with that, I cut the call off and walked to my car. “ Denver to the Amatta warehouse!” I instructed my driver once I entered the car. The Amatta warehouse is one of our many warehouses here in New York. It’s located at the outskirts of the state towards the southern part.

Ridge’s Pov The car rolled into the warehouse lot like the opening scene of a damn mafia movie with the moonlight catching on the hood, tires crunching over gravel, the air thick with the kind of silence that comes right before something goes terribly wrong or terribly right. In this case, it was leaning hard toward wrong, because I should be back at the pack house talking about the mating ceremony with my mate to be, or working in my office right now. I turned off the ignition and sat there for a beat, staring at the building that had been flagged on my security logs a hundred times for temperature fluctuations, shipment delays, and even a fox that somehow got stuck inside once and set off

“Something bad is happening, really bad you need to see these monsters, like nothing I’ve ever seen, almost impossible to kill they act on impulse like they are robots on command to kill, women, men, and children they spared none their souls reflecting like the color of their dark eyes” “Do you have any idea who they might be?” “Not one but Angel everything happened in a flash” Exactly the way Aitch was opening the paper in my hand with the symbol ‘3’ “Where did you find that?” Ride asks. “In the warehouse, Aitch was killed” I say sniffling. Struggling underneath me he pulls to me view the same paper (its dull yellow color and striped texture) The number ‘2’ on it. What the hell did this mea

The living room of the Erickson home in Asheville had always smelled of vanilla candles and expensive floor wax,the scent of a life meticulously curated by Morgan Erickson. On the night of January 2, 2025, the room was bathed in the flickering glow of a local news report, the anchor’s voice rising in a pitch of controlled panic as reports of atmospheric anomalies over the North Ridge began to pour in.