My name is Blake from Bannock.

I grew up in a small town called Gullis, Michigan.

Like a lot of small towns, it had its dark urban legend that drifted through the consciousness

of the people growing up and living there.

Our center to round a place we all just called the Canary.

When this story begins, it was an abandoned burned out hulk down near the docks, fenced

off behind a gate at the foot of some unused railroad tracks.

In its heyday back in the 60s, it had employed 400 people or so.

But from old photos, you can tell it was always ugly and awkward, unkempt, poorly maintained.

The company that owned the Canary had never been much of a success.

In 1987, when I was a junior at Gullis High School about four miles away, the Canary,

already on its last financial legs and employing only about 120 people or so, came to a nasty

end.

In trying to stave off their debts somehow, the owners had taken to basically renting

out two floors of the place to a chemical plant, which used that space to store huge

drums of stuff they shouldn't have, including a flammable acid used in cleaning airplane

engines.

During a heat wave, the drums weren't cooled properly, and somehow two of them simply exploded.

A fire started and swept through the fourth floor.

A worker named Menko Dubach had been blinded by the acid released in the explosion, and

he suffered severe lung damage from the chemical smoke that ensued as he stumbled around, screaming,

trying to find a way to safety.

...