I sat down at the dinner table and started to eat my dinner. My husband was sitting across from me when the phone rang. I got up to get it and heard my mother on the other end crying.

                                                                                                              "What's wrong mom?" I questioned.
         "It's your father. He's dying." Hearing those words I dropped the phone and broke out crying. We got in the car and went to South Spond Emergency were my father was being held. We went up to the C-unit and found the room with my father. The sight of him lying on that bed with raspy breaths made me tremble. I walked up to him and held his hand. His rough skin felt cold and looked pale, his eyes told me that he was in pain.
        "Sara." He barely managed to say. "In my basement there is a box labeled "Daughter" if you see it take and open it." Right after he finished his sentence the monitor started to beep rapidly and he started to shake violently. Doctors came rushing in pushing us out. Through the blinds in the window I could see his body stop shaking and the heart monitor stop.
        "DAD!!" I collapsed to the floor sobbing with my husband holding me. One Week Later... I walked into the kitchen and grabbed my car keys. "Where are you going?" my husband wondered. "Remember when my father told me about the box. Well I'm going to check it out." He nodded and went back to reading the newspaper. I exited my house an walked out to the car. I put in the keys and then it struck me that when I was younger my father had worked for this secret company and I wasn't aloud to tell anyone about it. Burning curiosity replaced the grief in my mind. I disregarded it and kept my mind on the road. When I reached the house I saw my mother out in the garden and nodded hello. I entered the house and walked past my father's recliners and into the kitchen. After the kitchen I walked into the hall and walked to the basement door. As a child I never liked the basement because I thought is was creepy.
[[File:DOOR.jpg|thumb|My Basement Door]]I slowly opened the door and saw the old, creaky stairs. I took a step onto them and surprisingly they creak. I reached the bottom of the stairs and flicked on the lights, there were many boxes in a huge pile but there was one obscure on in the corner. I walked over to it and picked it up, I noticed that there was writing on one side and turned it. The words read "Daughter" and I ran upstairs and into my car and opened the box. Inside was a journal that was labeled "Dean R. Franshwictz Journal; Property of Schultz Industries" "''That must have been the company that dad worked at.''" I thought. I opened it and the first page read,


        Dean R. Franshwictz; Entry One; July 12, 1994
    I just got accepted into the company today and was told that we had to write in this journal everyday. It's been about two months since my daughter was born, well that's why I took the Job; so I can feed my family.

         I read the next 70 or so pages about my dad talking about his job and his life at home. By page 90 I was getting bored so I decided to read two more pages. And I'm not glad I did.


        Entry 92; October 12, 1994
    Today I was assigned to oversee a new project dubbed "Product A1". When I read the details it turned out it was supposed to be a new sauce of some kind. For the next 3 weeks I'm not allowed to write about my days.

        Entry 93; November 2, 1994
    We are becoming desperate in coming up with the ingredients for the sauce and have come to a breaking point. I realize that this is disgusting but the ingredients are as follows. Human feces, human remains, animal entrails, liquidized human remains, and some others that are to bearable to say. In one week we are going to test it on someone who has no idea what's in the sauce.

        Entry 94; November 9, 1994
    The dish that the subject has chosen is rib-eye steak. Right as I speak the subject is testing it.

        Entry 95; November 12, 1994
    The sauce is going to be released world-wide in January. I heard a rumor that the factory is going to shut down soon. If someone gets this journal go to this location

         Fair Ln. 19823 Utaih, Colorado.

          Seeing those words I immediately started the car and headed in that direction. When I pulled onto the road with the address listed it was a very, very long gravel road that seemed to go on forever. Far off in the distance I saw a building that looked like a factory. I gassed it in that direction; upon arrival I saw that the building was rusted down and abandoned. I got out of the car and walked up to the entrance. On the door was an eviction notice, ignoring that I slowly opened the door and took a step in the old building.

                                  To be continued in "Product A1: Part II"