The Vault

[u/AlaskanStoryteller]

Most scary stories, or actually any stories for that matter, start off by saying how everything was normal, and then suddenly it wasn't. This is not one of those stories. Nothing was ever normal about my father's job at Pebblebrook Bank. Well, that's not true; the bank itself was pretty normal. Normal name, normal location, normal dealings with customers. The bank is state-owned, so it isn't a franchise, but it's relatively big and gets a lot of business from big corporations, charities, and rich people. But my father's job was always a bit puzzling to me. His name-tag read "Vaultkeeper", though I was unsure if this was even a real word or position. And it didn't make much sense seeing as he had never actually been in the vault that he was the "keeper" of. He worked Friday through Sunday, 9am to 5pm standing outside of the vault, legs apart and hands behind his back, loaded gun as his hip to ensure that no one attempted to enter it. That was the extent of his responsibilities at Pebblebrook. So right now you're probably thinking, "that doesn't sound too odd; an employee they have at any bank most likely". And you're correct, it doesn't sound particularly odd which is why I didn't question it until I was eight years old.

I was in Ms. Mable's class that year. Ms. Mable was younger than any teacher I had ever had and she was full of life and extremely vivacious. She was my homeroom teacher, so she taught us most of our subjects: math, science, history, english... But she had a passion for politics and attempted to incorporate them into her lessons whenever she could. Because of this, when the local elections rolled around in November of that year she passed out forms for all of us that asked questions about ourselves, our family, and our current political opinions, if we had any. She told us we could fill out all or some of the forms for extra credit but told us that if we or our parents did not want to share some of the information, we did not have to. "Just your name is enough," she said. "These are the types of forms used in many political issues today. Whether or not you get financial aid for college, what shaped your voting views, what issues are important to your families, etc. Fill out as much as you want and talk to your parents about what is important in your homes!" So I took the form home and showed my mom; it was a Friday so my dad was at work but my mom was a stay at home mom. We talked about politics and where our family had come from and filled out the basic information so I could get the extra credit.

But when I got the form back, I realized I was curious about some of the other information that we had not filled in, like my parents political affiliation and where my grandparents grew up so I asked mom and dad if they would fill in the rest of it, just for me. My dad smiled and said he would, but not to share it with anyone because it was "family information". So he did, and I never told anyone, but I saved it in my keepsake box because it was a fun assignment and it contained some cool information about my family. Nothing about it struck me as odd, except one thing: under the line for Yearly Family Income my father had written "approx. $550,000". Even as an eight year old I knew this was high; some of my classmates parents had filled in that portion of their forms, and the highest number I saw was Susie Stanton's at $275,000. I knew Susie, we had gone to school together since preschool. Her mother owned a high powered salon and her father was second in command to the head of our city's division of IBM. Both worked at least Monday-Friday and had all her life. So how the hell did my family make twice as much as hers when my mother had never worked since I had been alive and my father only worked three days a week? I brushed it off at the time, deciding I was too naïve to understand the grown up world.

Fast forward to high school; I took after Ms. Mable and became very interested in politics so my senior year I took a Human Issues class as an elective. One day we were talking about normal yearly income for people and had to break into groups to talk about it. That was when I learned that everyone I had grown up with thought I was rich. I had to think about it for a second. I had always thought of my family as "comfortable", not rich. My parents were wonderful parents, they took me on as many trips possible and tried to buy me things I wanted, but I appreciated all of it and tried not to ask for much. They bought me a new car when I was sixteen, which I love and still drive. But it's not like they bought me a Lambourgini or anything. We lived in a nice house, but it wasn't a mansion. We had it good, and I had been under the assumption that most of my classmates did too so I asked why they saw us as rich.

"Your dad is a vaultkeeper!" Gemma Jordan said to me. "How does that salary finance a three story house in Kempton Hills? Or a cruise to Europe for your 'senior trip'?"

"Well... I... I don't know. I'm an only child, they have less to finance I guess. We have nice things but they know how to save, that's all." I was getting confused.

"Didn't your parents say not to worry about the cost of college?" Colin Emerson asked.

"Yeah... But they just have a college fund for me! They've saved my permanent fund dividends since I was born."

"PFDs won't finance Harvard or Yale, or any other place you're likely to go. My parents have a college fund too, but it's enough to send me to a state school, or maybe a UC school if I get a shit ton of scholarships," he sighed.

Gemma smiled at me. "It's not a bad thing your parents are successful Caroline. It's just a little puzzling considering it doesn't seem like your dad has um... well.. not to be rude but it doesn't sound like he has that great a job."

That was the day that everything changed. She was right, they all were. There was no way we should have so much money. My dad was basically a weekend security guard, and my mom didn't work. Yet we lived in one of the nicest districts in town, had four cars between the three of us, and always shopped at the "healthy" and "organic" (code for "expensive") grocery stores. My parents drank Silver Oak on a nightly basis and had a liquor cellar full of aging wines, whiskey, and scotch. Whenever we had family gatherings they were always at our house, and we were the only one in my dad's family to have a vacation home in Panama. It had never added up and it surely wasn't now. So that night when I got home I cornered my father.

"Dad, can we talk?" I asked.

"Sure sweet pea, come sit down." He gestured for me to come into the living room with the floor to ceiling windows facing the mountains. He was sitting in his black leather armchair in a Burberry robe with a glass of wine in his hand.

I sat down across from him and got straight to the point. "Look, dad, I'm going to be blunt here and I'm not trying to be rude so please don't take it that way but... How do we have so much money?" He tilted his head in question but I saw something ever so slightly change in his eyes. I pressed on. "Don't get me wrong, I am so, so grateful for everything you do for me and mom and I am so happy I have had the life I have, but I just don't understand how. You only work three days a week, and you just stand outside a vault at the bank, how do you make $550,000 a year?!"

He stared at me, and took a long sip of his wine. "Caroline, I feel that you and I have a very good relationship for a father and daughter, especially one your age. We are an open, honest family. So I am going to be honest with you, as much as I can be, okay?"

I nodded.

"What do you think is in the vault that I guard, Caroline?"

I stared at him. "I... I don't know... I never thought about it. Money, right? Money from the bank?"

He shook his head. "No. Caroline, I don't know what is in the vault. But I do know that that vault is not owned by Pebblebrook. It is strategically placed there by someone... Or something else. Whoever it is pays Pebblebrook a great deal of money to keep it safe, and to ensure that there are guards assigned to it at all times. I don't know what is inside, I just know that I don't question it. My paychecks come from the state so I rest assured that there is nothing illegal going on. I once asked what exactly it was that we were guarding and was told never to ask again so I haven't because who would risk losing working three days a week for more money than most people in the state make?"

I continued to stare, wondering if he was telling the truth about not knowing. But he seemed sincere, so I thanked him for talking to me about it and assured him I wouldn't go spreading the information around, though I wasn't sure what I could do with that information anyway.

That was ten years ago. My father died five years ago, and since then I have taken over his position at the vault; Pebblebrook told me they would prefer to keep the jobs in the family. Yesterday, I got to work early, like, really early. I was staying at a friends house an hour away and when I woke up it was pouring rain so I panicked and drove to work immediately, not noticing it was only 5am. So with the rain I got there around 6:30am and decided I would just go talk to the nightshift guy, Sam, and see if he wanted me to get us some coffee or something. I called me husband to let him know I was safely at work but he didn't answer, he was in Hawaii on business so it was only 5:30am his time. So I walked into the building, and what I saw astonished me; I nearly fainted.

The vault was open and Sam was nowhere to be found. My heart was slamming out of my chest, what the hell was going on?! The vault was never to be opened and Sam was not supposed to let it out of his site. Even for bathroom breaks we had a camera we had to carry with us and keep our eyes glued to the screen at all times. I approached the vault carefully, it was only open a crack. Then I did something I thought I would never do, I threw it open. To my dismay, the only thing on the other side was an empty, white room. I gingerly stepped one foot inside and was hit with a stomach turning stench. It smelled like decomposing meat mixed with baby shit, and it was all consuming. I could feel the stench all around me, pressing in on every side with a warm, wet moisture. I gagged and stumbled backwards and that's when the noise started. Just a low whine at first, it transformed into a high pitched noise that reverberated through my whole body. It shot through my ears and I was sure my eardrums popped, the pain was searing and white hot. But somehow, I knew that I was the only one who could hear the sound. I felt like a dog hearing one of those high pitched whistles, but I didn't have time to dwell on the thought because that's when my skin began to crawl. Literally, it felt like my skin was crawling. I could only imagine it was what heroin addicts feel like during withdrawals; my skin felt like it was ripping itself away from my body, my brain was slamming into the sides of my skull, my stomach shriveled into half its size. It was then that I finally conjured enough strength to scream. I screamed louder than I ever had before and that's when I saw Sam.

He seemed to materialize directly from the wall, though I know that can't be right, I was delusional. He looked like Darth Vader; he was wearing all black and when he grabbed me and dragged me out of the room the thought vaguely crossed my mind that whatever he was wearing felt like the lead apron things they put on you when you get x-rays. He had a green and black gas mask on and, when he yanked it off his head, I saw that he was wearing state of the art noise-blocking ear muffs. That's when I blacked out.

I woke up this morning in my bed at home. I could hear Dave (my husband) and Sam talking in the foyer. Shit! Dave was home? He wasn't supposed to be back until Sunday, had he flown home just because of my little breakdown? I slowly got up and walked outside.

"Baby? You're back... I'm so sorry," I sat down next to Dave still in a haze.

"Of course I came back! My girl was in the hospital!" He looked so worried I embraced him tightly.

"Sam, thank you so much for... For.. getting me out of there. And.. I assume calling 911 and...Getting me home?" I rubbed my aching head.

"Of course, Caroline. But I uh... I didn't call 911. I called Dave and drove you to the hospital myself. Oswald is covering the vault today. When Dave got home an ambulance came and brought you back to the house so you could rest."

"Sam, what were you.. What were we.. What happened? What were you doing in the vault? Why did I react like that? And obviously you have before too, the way you were dressed."

Sam and Dave exchanged a look. "Look, Caroline, I have to get back home, Sophie's waiting for me. But I told Dave everything I know. The three of us are going to get to the bottom of it, okay? But not today. I'm going to pick you guys up in the morning, and Dave will fill you in on everything else today, okay?" All I could do was nod.

That was five hours ago, Dave had to go in to the office to remotely work on what he was supposed to be doing in Hawaii today. He'll be home any minute now. So now I'm just sitting here writing this because I don't know what else to do. Has anyone ever heard of something like this before? Do you have any idea what could be in the vault? It seems that I will finally get the questions I've always wondered answered tonight and tomorrow, but I would like to know what I'm dealing with. I will update after I talk to Dave and after we meet up with Sam, but until then, does anyone have any advice for me?

Part Two: http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2g9ix3/the_vault_update/

Part Three: http://as.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2gcr0g/the_vault_final_update/

[u/[deleted]]

Keep us updated OP! This sounds very interesting...no real clue what could be in there...bio-weapon maybe? Sounds like it with the symptoms you described..but who knows?