by Gemma Rogers
How can one 12-hour night shift be so deadly?
I loved the anonymity, flexibility and solitude that working the night shift at Storage Queen gave me.
The unsociable hours paid well, helping me fund my university degree and giving me a quiet place to study while the world slept peacefully in their warm, cozy beds. It was the perfect job for me.
But that Friday night proved to be more than I bargained for when a man walked through the door, dragging a large suitcase.
My immediate instincts told me something was wrong.
That’s when my ordeal began.
I just had to make it through the night shift.