the mouse sounds, once I switch the cameras. my eyes dart across the monitors waiting for something to emit from the shadows. the hallway appears unfazed, with no door.
The echo of my steps reverberates through the hallways of floor 3. I approach an ajar door, but it shuts itself as soon as I get close. My hand reaches for the steel handle, and my body shivers from the cold. The door opens slowly, and I survey my surroundings. A gust of wind blows past me, and my flashlight's beam flickers. The world around me seems to hold its breath, frozen. the moment it works, I look up. realization dawns upon me, my breath hitches and my pulse rises. all of the chairs were now on their tables.
My eyelids shut and open, but the chairs remain exactly where they are. I pat my pockets for the notebook, my fingers jittering disturbs my writing.
the writing is readable but it's screaming distress.
I leave the room. My eyes sweep through each room, hoping to find this animal. But it's hard to look for something you don't know. I wish I had some company, as I'm the only person in the building, and my body embraces the warmth of each remaining room. As I walk through the familiar halls, I know I feel safe. My time in Nexus is now pleasant. Nothing beats loneliness, fear fills me as I walk through these dark corridors. Julia, she's different than others. These feelings inside me make my bones rattle, and the confusing sensation of feeling them shakes me to my core. I find myself in the last room on this floor, and that's when I see him. The receptionist stands in the corner, his gaze fixated on the walls. my heart stands still, as my voice begins to quiver,
"What-what are you doing here?" my words almost tremble as I struggle to contain my fearful voice. "Oh Hello, I'm sorry for startling you." I lean against the door's frame, my legs shaking from the obscurity of the situation.
"You didn't answer my question, you should be at home."
He remains unperturbed, sipping his steaming hot coffee nonchalantly. His sudden stare glares into my eyes, as his mouth connects with his crimson-colored mug.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I must've..." His voice sounds a little higher than usual, almost as if he's trying to hide something. The silence that follows is palpable, and the room feels cooler than usual.
Something's not quite right. "I forgot something," he says, his voice dropping a little. "I want to show you something," he says, his voice warm and inviting. He pauses, and then he says, "Ethan."Something about his presence in the room makes my senses tingle. "Follow me, Ethan." I follow him, but I'm not sure I should. His pace is slow as he walks past me.
My eyebrows scrunch as my thoughts become a jumbled mess. His gaze shifts to the left, and he disappears behind the wooden door frames. I try to catch up, but any sight of him is lost. I jog after him, but he's already gone.
"Hey, where'd you go?" I wait, facing the direction of the office, but there's no response. Then, in the distance, I hear an intriguing voice whisper, "Over here, Ethan. Come." I can't take it anymore, but I'm tempted to resist. I stride toward the right door, my hand on the handle. I push it down slowly. My heart pounds against my ribcage. I can't do it. The handle pushes itself back as I step back. "Come inside, Ethan." cautiously, my feet retreat to the office. only two more hours, then I can return home. time only seems to slow down, as my thumbs repeat thuds against the table accelerate. each fiber of my clothing presses against my titanium body, and the crimson-colored couch holds my backpack.
The resemblance of the corridor's darkness to my heart isn't shocking anymore. it's devoid of colors or vibrancy, as expected from a painting. the passion of the lines drawn on sheets of paper would prolong nights. I was drawn to perfection, lines erased like a camouflage buried beneath the piles of leaves and sticks. in the end, patience pays the debtor and the resentful feeling of who I once was faded into obscurity. Each room I encounter holds the darkness within me, the receptionist isn't strolling around anymore and this so-called animal won't show itself.
The elevator doors open as I enter the chamber, and the doors shut themselves until the ride upwards takes me to floor 3. The doors open and I maneuver over to the office. once inside the observation chamber, the monitor's screen light illuminates the room. The receptionist strides through the halls, his whistling echoing. As, my body inches closer to the screen, his smile fades into the deepest seas. Seconds after his appearance, he vanishes completely.
The elevator doors open, and I see a clock running backward for the first time. the last floor of tonight's shift. the unsureness of what I'd find rolls me into the waves of the unknown. The hallways go on forever, and the lights and AC buzz and hum incessantly. I was nervous about what might be waiting for me in the shadows, whether it would be the receptionist or someone else. I could feel a tingling sensation run through my body, and my breath grew short and labored. In the dim light, I could just make out the demon's eyes, they're there.
I had developed an unhealthy habit of expecting shadowy entities to materialize in the dark; it was the only way to explain the way I felt. my observing gaze scans each room, yet nothing jumps at me. the tense motion of my hands opening each door softens, once I find nothing. The last room is perfect; I could drive home now. The room's temperature is reminiscent of Madagascar. I shut the window, and the cold breeze of the room returned. The sensation feels odd on my body. My wrist turns, and the clock's hands move rapidly to 6 a.m., then suddenly halt at midnight. I grab a hold of my backpack and check its contents.
Once I have everything, the elevator takes me down to the ground floor. To my surprise, the receptionist is already at his table rummaging through his bag.
"Oh, hello, you're back," he says, his eyebrows knitted. "Yeah, I work here," he utters in a sarcastic tone. After some small talk, I leave the building and the car engine sounds. Home at last.
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