I Told You Not to Go in There

Part I
Everyone knew to stay away from the warehouse. If you went in, then the witch killed you. Of course, like so many other cases, the whole thing was disregarded by law enforcement as yet another urban legend told by kids around campfires when they were trying to impress one another. That is, until November of 2003. When twelve kids disappeared after being dared to go inside the warehouse.
Detective Collins was a down to earth man who found his answers through fact and knowledge, and, after taking a bullet to the gut, had been on desk duty until he was called in to investigate the warehouse, and see if the kids really were inside.
When he arrived on the scene, no one was around, which wasn't really all that strange, because people always avoided the warehouse. But then he caught sight of a girl, possibly seventeen, staring at him from the sidewalk. She was leaning against a bike, blonde hair flying across her face in the chilly wind. But despite the weather, she was still wearing shorts and a tank top.
Collins walked over, wondering why on earth one girl—who really should have been in school—was staring at the warehouse.
And when he got over to her, she spoke before he could, her voice tainted with a vaguely Greek accent. “You shouldn't go in there, officer.” She warned him, and Collins saw that her eyes were a very dark shade of purple. Kids and their contacts.
“What's your name, kid,” Collin pulled out his notebook so he could take a statement.
“Sheila.” She purred, right as a cold gust of wind nearly knocked her bike over.
“All right, Sheila,” Collins scribbled down her name, “why shouldn't I go in there? And why aren't you in school right now?” He glanced up at her, only to see her sitting on her bike.
“I really wouldn't go in there, officer.” She said again, pushing up the kickstand and pedaling furiously to get away. “It's not safe,” she called over her shoulder, the wind nearly tearing her voice away.
“Well.” Collins put the notepad back inside his jacket and turned to the building. “This is going to be fun.
Part II
It wasn't. The walls were covered in red graffiti markings that made less than no sense, rats ran around his feet, and spiders fell in his hair. Not to mention the awful stank that hung around the air like a fog. Collins gagged just trying to breathe, then nearly tripped over what appeared to be a bathtub.
He squinted in the darkness, then searched through his pockets for a flashlight.
“Help!” A terrified voice screamed from the depths of the warehouse. “Someone help me!”
Collins snapped his head up and started running. He pulled his gun out, cursing when he scraped his side against the tin wall. “Where are you?” He called out, pulling the gun and flashlight up.
A beam of light stretched across the building, showing him flashes of more red graffiti, dripping down the cracking walls, and snakes slithering across the ground. Bats flew around the ceiling, making Collins jump when he saw their blood red eyes glaring down at him.
“Here! Please, help me!” The voice screamed out again. “Oh, god, it's coming for me!”
Collins kicked a door down, sending a shock up his leg, and ran towards the screaming voice. “I'm coming.” He turned more twists as the voice kept screaming, urging him to move faster and faster. Almost there. Collins took one more turn, and came face to face with a woman.
She was blonde, in her mid thirties, with only the smallest of wrinkles at her eyes. Her hair was short and blonde, with a few gray streaks in it, and though the light in the building was dim, Collins could have sworn that she had purple eyes.
“What's wrong?” He grabbed her bloodied shoulders to steady her. “Who's after you?”
“Me.” She tilted her head, exposing yellowed teeth in a dangerous smile, and something connected sharply with the side of Collins' head.
Part III
His hands were above his head, bound tightly with what felt like barbed wire. The metal dug into his wrists, and Collins felt something scraping his flesh as he twisted his hands around. His vision was fuzzy, and there was a burning pain at his left temple. He had run into something, probably concussing himself, but that didn't explain why he was tied up.
Something gray was in his face, and Collins jerked back on instinct, though he couldn't see what the gray thing was. He blinked several times, trying to clear his sight, and let out a scream when he saw the haggard woman in front of him as his blurry vision sharpened.
“Who are you?” Collins demanded, giving a yank on his arms, though it only resulted in more blood spilling down his arms. “Where am I? You do realize you're breaking several laws, right?”
The woman let out a cackle and scampered across the floor to what looked like a fireplace. She had a mountain of frizzy gray hair that was tangled with what looked like small sticks, leaves, and even a few pieces of glass. Her skin was flecked with warts and dirt, and her teeth were crooked and so yellow they were almost orange. She crawled along the ground much like some cave creature, her rag dress collecting dirt as it dragged below her.
She started muttering to herself, tossing various items inside the fire as she spoke. Her hands were gnarled and old, but she still managed to wrench what looked like a small rat in half and toss the head in the fire. She cackled again, the evil sound ringing in Collins' ears, and tossed some sort of powder in the fire that made it flash purple.
Then, in a flash, she was in front of him again, and she slid a large kitchen knife across his arm, right by his armpit. Collins cried out in pain and the woman held a bowl under his arm to collect the blood.
Without looking behind her, she tossed the bowl, and the whole thing landed in the fire with a crackle. Collins' world started to get fuzzy, and he felt light headed as he looked around the room. He only snapped to his senses when he saw her right in front of him again, nearly biting his nose.
“I told you not to come inside,” she cackled, making Collins wince in pain.
Then his eyes widened as he caught sight of her own violet orbs, staring into his own with a decidedly malevolent expression. “Sheila?” He gasped one last time and then everything went black.
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