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Trigger Warnings: The following manuscript includes material that some readers may find disturbing, including Chess King (the mothership), slap bracelets, leg warmers, synth music, tube socks with stripes, mall food courts, big hair, Burlington Coat Factory, shoulder pads, parachute pants, cassette tapes, Members Only jackets, Sea-Monkeys (Brine Shrimp), fingerless gloves, Orange Julius, boomboxes, Nutcrackers, Swatch watches, face swallowing glasses, Teddy Ruxpin dolls and unpaid Blockbuster late fees.
It's so hard to get old without a cause
I don't want to perish like a fading horse
Youth's like diamonds in the sun,
And diamonds are forever
Forever young,
I want to be forever young.
Do you really want to live forever,
Forever, and ever?
*Alphaville*
The saddest buildings are not the ones that fall down. They are the ones that remain
standing long after everyone has forgotten what they were built for.
*Anonymous*
Go past the gas station that used to be a Dairy Queen…it’s a car wash now.
*Ohio Directions*
ANNAPOLIS, MD
Fall, 2024
1:17 A.M.
Abandoned Malls: East Coast Edition — Episode 47
“Hand me the bolt cutters,” Tyler muttered. He checked his watch. “Okay. On three. Camera on me.”
Evan positioned the Sony A7S camera.
Tyler snapped the rusted padlock. The pop echoed across the empty parking lot. “Welcome back. You know me, Tyler, and the team, Marissa and Evan. First, a quick shout-out to our fifty thousand subscribers. Tonight doesn’t happen without you.”
The camera swung to Marissa, who flashed a sideways peace sign. “We’re in Annapolis, Maryland, home of the U.S. Naval Academy.” She saluted. “See you on the inside.”
The lens settled back on the service entrance. Darkness swallowed the weak beam of his iPhone. “Sorry for the low light, guys,” Tyler whispered. “We’re not trying to attract
attention while we’re outside. This place has been on our must-visit list for years. Let's see what's been waiting for us.”
Just inside, a circular bank of pay phones stood like a forgotten command center, receivers dangling from metal spiral cords above dust-filmed shelves. Evan checked one coin return, then another. Nothing but grit.
He lifted a receiver.
Silence.
A smile tugged at his lips. “Still waiting to hear my first dial tone.”
Marissa leaned against a toppled advertising sign, tilting her head and pointing at the corny slogan: GOOD THINGS COME IN MALL PACKAGES. “Marissa back with you…and okay, first observation? It’s cold in here. Not draft cold. Not air-conditioning cold. Empty cold. Like the air forgot people needed to breathe.”
She stepped farther inside, notebook tucked under her arm. “Everyone we talked to today remembered this place differently. One waitress told us her sister worked at The Limited. Another still misses B. Dalton Bookseller. Funny how abandoned malls unlock so many memories.” She shivered, tugged her coat tighter, then nodded for Evan to keep moving. “Come with me,” she said to the camera. “We’re starting our tour.”
Their footsteps were smothered almost immediately, the sound dying inches from their shoes, as though the mall refused to let echoes wander its halls. “For a place this big,” she whispered, “it shouldn’t be this quiet. Most dead malls still make noise. This place feels like somebody hit the mute button.”
They passed an oval storefront with faded arched stripes.
“But here…” Her voice dropped. “Nothing. It’s like it’s holding its breath.”
Tyler stepped into the frame. “This should be a dead giveaway. An arcade. And looking at the faded letters, this used to be an Aladdin’s Castle.” The camera panned across the darkened archway. “If you grew up in the eighties, you can smell the tokens.”
“Dude, check this out,” Marisa said. The directory map flickered weakly behind her. “We’ve explored a lot of dead malls, and I’ve never seen one still lit.” She brushed away years of dust from the cracked plastic. “This isn’t a mall directory anymore. It’s a tombstone.”
Her eyes settled on the flickering arrow.
“Tyler…” She pointed toward the glowing ‘You Are Here’ marker. “Walk this way… toward the arcade for me.”
He took one cautious step.
The arrow twitched.
He took another.
It moved again.
“Uh…It’s following me,” he whispered.
“Evan, make sure you’re getting this,” Marissa whispered.
A metal gate slammed somewhere deeper in the mall, a hard, echoing crash that rolled through the corridor.
Her ears pricked. “You guys hear that?”
“Relax,” Tyler said. “We’ve heard noises like that before. That mall in North Jersey? Turned out to be another crew filming.”
Evan whipped the camera around. Something moved. Just a suggestion of a shape at the far end. He lowered the camera to look with his eyes, squinting into the dark.
The directory flickered again.
Marissa touched the edge of the sign. “I’m thinking electrical problem…or Gremlins.”
Nobody laughed.
“Well, we’ve been trying to hit 100,000 subscribers. I say press on. Maybe if we get something paranormal to show up, the ‘likes’ will follow.”
Evan slung a backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll lead.”
“And I’ll keep yammering,” Marissa said with a grin as they moved past empty storefronts that seemed to glare at them. “I never lived during the golden era of malls, but I read an article that compared them to watering holes on the Serengeti, where all sorts of customers would gather.” They reached an intersection where the concourse widened into a circular seating area, corridors branching off in every direction.
In the center stood a large fountain. Two stone figures stood back-to-back. One aiming a trident downward, the other frozen mid-throw like a raised lightning bolt. Sea creatures curled and leapt at their feet, mouths open, forever caught mid-splash.
Even empty, the fountain demanded attention.
Tyler stopped short.
For a moment, no one spoke.
“This thing is insane,” he said. “Biggest mall fountain I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re not kidding,” Marissa said, tipping her head back to squint up at the twin statues.
Their voices carried through the rotunda, rising toward the skylights and vanishing into the exposed roof trusses and glass above.
Evan raised the camera, adjusting his grip. “Ready when you are.”
Marissa drifted toward the wide basin. “The heart and soul of every mall. I love running along these.” She hopped up onto the ledge, spreading her arms for balance. “It’s hard to picture this place when it was alive. And this mall began its life in the 1970s as a freestanding Montgomery Ward store. Then in 1980, several anchors moved in, and Annapolis Mall was officially born.”
Tyler watched her, smiling, despite the stale chill in the air.
Marissa caught him staring and gave him a slow, teasing wink. Then she turned back to the camera. “Think about it. When a mall opens its doors, it’s basically a battery being recharged. Millions of footsteps, laughter, fights, teenage drama, first kisses, hook-ups, break-ups, holiday shoppers, and of course, retail employees.”
She paused, lifting her eyes toward the empty expanse.
“So where does all that energy go when Father Time marches on, and the building is left to Mother Nature?”
Tyler snorted. “Do you write this stuff down, or just make it up as you go?” He dug into his pocket and fished out a quarter.
“She’s a poet and actually does know it,” Evan said from behind the camera.
Tyler mumbled something under his breath and tossed the quarter. It rang hollow against the empty tiles.
No splash. Somehow it sounded wrong.
“And then there’s Tyler,” Marissa deadpanned, “making a wish even though there’s no water, which, according to universal wish laws, is kind of an important ingredient.”
She studied the surroundings. The ceiling had partially collapsed, leaving panels and wires strewn across the dusty floor. Dead palm trees twisted toward grimy skylights, their brown fronds littering the cracked tile. Pieces of Santa’s North Pole castle had been reduced to debris; fiberglass turrets snapped in half. Empty tables and broken signs were scattered like the aftermath of an apocalyptic commercial war no one felt the need to clean up.
“Hey. Let me see the camera.”
Evan hesitated, then handed it over.
Marissa grinned. “Trigger Warning. The following segment contains scenes that may be disturbing, especially if you grew up in the ’80s. Very similar to what we found at the Rolling Acres Mall in Ohio. I apologize in advance for what you are about to endure.” She then turned the camera back on herself, the lens catching only her face and the yawning darkness behind her. “Okay…time for my Blair Witch shot. Hot take. Dead malls should become retirement communities.”
She gestured around the food court.
“You’ve already got places to eat, walking paths, parking, plus there’s the nostalgia factor. Half the residents probably had their first job in a mall. Now somebody just needs to give me the funding.”
Evan huffed. “Yeah, sure. Let’s crowdfund Marissa’s Senile Citizens Retirement Village.”
Tyler looked around at chairs tipped on their sides and tables shoved out of place. “Look at all this shit thrown everywhere. Who does this?” He righted a chair. Then another. “Service for two.”
“News flash.” Evan snorted. “Malls closed, folks. And there’s literally a thousand things wrong with this place. It’s not gonna make any difference.”
Tyler slid into a chair. “Yeah. But I made a difference to this table.” He smirked. “There’s a bible parable about this.”
Evan blinked. “Pretty sure there isn't.”
“The starfish thing.”
He shook his head. “Okay, back to you, Marissa.”
She smiled. “Well, Tyler, your heart’s in the right place.”
Something moved at the edge of Tyler's vision. He whipped his head toward it. “What was that?”
At the far end of the food court, a tall figure appeared, moving with birdlike grace, its long arms and hunched shoulders giving it an almost monkey-like silhouette. It seemed to wipe a table, push in a chair, and stack an invisible tray.
Take five steps. Repeat.
Wipe. Push. Stack. Step
The repetition was mechanical, unnatural. A timeless loop.
Evan’s breath caught in his throat.
Marissa gripped an arm.
Tyler went still.
Marissa steadied the camera, keeping her voice controlled. “Okay…I wasn’t going to mention this, but a few employees back at the diner did casually mention that a ghost began appearing shortly after the mall closed. They believed it was a war veteran who lost his job. So he just never clocked out.” She hopped down from the fountain ledge and handed the camera to Evan. “…And this is The Cleaning Man. Customers would finish their Sbarro pizza, get up, and leave the mess behind. He’d simply appear, wipe the table, gather the trays, and make it look like no one had ever been there. Most people never gave him a second glance... until tonight.”
Every few steps, the figure repeated the same three actions.
Great place for a commercial break, she thought. “And for our Patreon members…” She pulled the notebook from beneath her arm and opened it. “Click the link below for exclusive content. I've uploaded an original mall brochure we found earlier.”
Her smile widened.
“If you've got friends or family who once hung out here, print it out. Let them relive something they forgot.”
She turned back toward the figure.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she added lightly. “He’s on a loop. He’ll do that until the end of time…or until they bulldoze this place. He doesn’t even know we’re here.”
The Cleaning Man stopped.
His head lifted ever so slightly and, for a brief instant, seemed…aware.
Tyler’s jaw dropped. “I…I thought you said he wouldn’t notice us.”
“Relax,” Marissa said calmly. “Those are just mannerisms.”
A low rumble rolled beneath their feet. Not quite sound, more felt than heard.
She straightened. “Did you feel that?”
Tyler shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“No,” she said. “Feel it.”
Tyler gulped. “Shit… he’s moving faster. Okay. We’re heading down that hallway. Now.”
She glanced at Evan. “Just keep filming.”
They moved in unison, their footsteps absorbed by the stale, recycled air. The corridor narrowed ahead, the only light now coming from the flickering camera screen.
Marissa spoke as she walked. “If you watched our Ohio broadcast, you might remember we met Seph Lawless. A well-known photographer of all things abandoned. He’s just released a book called Black Friday: The Collapse of the American Shopping Mall. Links in the first comment if you want to grab a copy at a discount.” She waved a hand at a dismantled escalator, its steps jutting up like a fractured spine. “One interesting tidbit we learned…malls were meant to be community hubs, full of life and energy. A man named Victor Gruen came up with the original architectural design. He never intended to create these mega shopping machines. ‘Cash registers with skylights,’ he called them. Apparently, just before he died, he cursed every mall in America, saying they should crumble and die. He’s probably the one dude who’d be happy about this place.”
Another deep shudder rolled beneath them. Marissa froze, gripping her notebook. “Okay… seriously. You guys felt that one, right?”
Evan lifted the camera. “Yeah. That isn’t old pipes.”
They rounded a bend and froze.
A faint mechanical groan sounded in the distance. Slow. Rhythmic. Too familiar.
Marissa’s breath hitched. “Oh my. That noise…” She took a few steps forward, eyes wide. “It’s an escalator.” She turned to face the camera, her voice cracking. “And… It's running!”
The sound grew louder as the steady metallic whoosh of steps cycled upward in the dark.
“Evan, hit night vision!” Tyler snapped.
“Guys…how is that thing running?”
They stood near the landing. Tyler shook his head. “First the directory, then the food court ghost, and now this.”
Something heavy scraped along the floor behind them.
“Now what?” Evan whispered, turning his head.
“I don’t know,” Tyler said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s coming our way.”
A long shadow stretched across the corridor. Advancing toward them.
Marissa squinted. “Oh fudge. It’s the janitor, I mean, custodian. And it looks like he’s bringing along his little mop bucket.”
“You say it like he’s real.” Tyler spun around. “I thought you said he wouldn’t even notice us?”
“Well, clearly I made that part up.”
Evan zoomed in as the shadow swelled, arms swinging in that same uncanny loop. Only now they noticed a fifth action.
Wipe…Push…Stack…Step…Drag.
“Christ on a cracker,” Evan whispered. “He’s the size of an NBA player. And speeding up.”
“It’s almost on us!” Tyler shouted. “Crap. Dead end. Only option is up.”
They scrambled onto the working escalator. Halfway up, it jerked violently, throwing them off balance. They stumbled, catching themselves.
It stopped.
A terrifying pause.
Then it reversed.
Slowly at first… then faster, the metal steps grinding beneath their shoes.
“Holy shit!” Evan screamed, grabbing at the rubber rail.
Marissa’s voice shook, half-laugh, half-panic. “Well, I always wanted to run up a down escalator. Heard it was a thing.”
They ran, legs pumping as the escalator matched them stride for stride. For a moment, it looked like they might make it. Then the escalator sped up, dragging them backward as fast as they climbed. Their shoes slapped the metal treads. Calves burned. Lungs strained.
The top remained out of reach.
Evan’s camera wobbled, catching frantic faces, slipping feet, blurred hands, and a man... cleaning.
Wipe. Push. Stack.
Tyler stumbled and, for one sick instant, felt the steps pulling him backward, feeding him straight into its reach.
“Jump!” Marissa screamed.
“Wait…” Evan said sharply. “He’s pointing.”
“Where?”
“There!” Marissa shouted. “An exit!”
They slowed just enough to see it.
The Cleaning Man had stopped. One arm was raised rigid and deliberate.
Not part of the loop. Pointing.
Marissa squinted, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “I think… I think he’s letting us leave.”
“Or telling us to,” Tyler said.
The camcorder slipped from Evan’s hand and hit the floor. “Quick,” he said. “Before it changes its mind.”