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When I was young, my parents were the Superintendents of an 11-storey apartment building on Leroy Grant Dr. in Kingston, Ontario.

The basement had a garbage room, a party room, storage rooms, and of course, a boiler room. My dad was the only person in the whole building who had the key to every room save for the large, steel bolted door at the very end of the hall that nobody even at Head office had a key for. I convinced myself that it was the door to Hell.

One day, my dad and I were cleaning up the garbage room and he decided to play a game of Hide&Seek on me. As I’m walking down the hallway towards the elevator, I catch a dark man peeking at me from around the corner of the boiler room. “Haha, I see you!” I giggle.

Right then, the elevator door opens up and it’s my father, standing in the flesh with a smirk on his face, “Who are you talking to?”

I sink into confusion and demand him to tell me how he got from the boiler room into the elevator so fast without me noticing. He assures me he was never in the boiler room.

Goosebumps cover my skin.

My dad gets out and walks down the hall. His eyebrows raise as he looks at me to say the boiler room door isn’t even open. He jiggles the doorknob and it’s locked…

So, what did I see?

Britta B.


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