The first level of hell you are prepared for your journey with the gristle of dead animals rolled into balls marinated in their own juices for millennia. This meal you will eat serenaded by strange goblins that jabber loudly and laugh hysterically your attempts to find your way out.

If you really want to you can drink brown coloured water. I wouldn’t.

Descend if you dare, followed still by the shrieking goblins to the fetid heat and neon glow of the second level. It smells faintly of pine, glue and chipboard. Should you make it out of that maze then we have more sights to show you.

Stay with me yet.

The entrance to the third level you will know from the wall of cool air that will feel like a lover’s breath on your neck, enjoy this brief fleeting pleasure for there will be no more. Amongst the steel and the concrete you will be made to do manual labour till your bones ache, your knuckles bleed and you are nothing but a gibbering wreck.

Next the goblins shall run amongst you, shrieking, shrilly accompanying you as you are stripped of all worldly wealth. By now your will is weak, your constitution gone. There is more.

The burdens you have carried through the depths you must now secure for your return to the real world and, unless of course you have a TARDIS, you must go, quietly now for you do not want to disturb The Attendant, to them that will help you.

Hush lest the goblins start again, all done…? Good.

Now leave, leave while you still have breath in your lungs and blood in your heart. Look back as you enter the cool air of the surface, the dark dome of night above you where sunlight once caressed your back as you entered the pit.

Note the name, never to return, the letters tall and lit up against the dark:

IKEA

Home of the devil.

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