Go For Stories

“People?” Milly’s voice rose in excitement. “Quick!”

She reached for the handle of the stairwell door. Nigel grabbed her hand before she could open it and shook his head. He leaned forward. Bec and Milly joined him in unison. They stood with their ears pushed to the door for a full twenty seconds, each holding their breath and straining to hear. There was nothing; no footsteps, no whispers. Nigel swallowed his disappointment and stood back from the door.

“Sorry, Bec. It must have been something else. Maybe a knock-on from the reactor bursts.”

“No, I definitely-” She held up a finger again. “There. There it is.”

Nigel leaned forward, giving her the benefit of the doubt. He hadn’t even got his ear close to the door before he heard it too. Quiet, murmuring sounds. Unmistakeably human. He tried to make out what was being said, or even how many people were on the other side of the door, but the door was too thick. There was another murmur, followed by a loud “Shhhh.”

That was enough for him. He grabbed the door and yanked it open. Standing on the other side of the door were two younger men. He recognised one immediately; tall and with shaggy red hair. He worked in catering. The other was harder to pick. Maintenance, perhaps.
They stood before Nigel and his crew, mouths agape, completely still. Nigel held out his arms in a submissive gesture.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, unsure of how they would react. “It’s okay.”

They didn’t respond to his movement. He stepped closer again and looked back at Milly and Bec. Milly shrugged and raised an eyebrow.

“Nate? Gerard, isn’t it? What’s going on?”

He took another step and a siren exploded in his ears. Nigel clapped his hands to his head and spun around, looking for danger. It was the same siren pattern that alerted he and Milly to the massacre in the plaza. Three whoops and a wail. Three whoops and a wail. The sound bounced around the stairwell, building and building into a wild crescendo that shook his entire being. Bec shouted something unheard to him.

“What?” he shouted, unable to hear it himself.

Her mouth moved up and down, her eyes insistent.

“I can’t …” He took a hand from his ear and waved his finger around, indicating the noise. “I can’t hear you.”

She removed a hand from her own ear and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around to face the two men.
Who were no longer there.

“God fucking shit it!” Nigel ran down the corridor, not waiting for the other two. They would keep up, but the men had disappeared further down the row. He ran to the very end, looking both ways. At the end of the next corridor, he saw two sets of feet disappear through a doorway.

Casting a quick glance back to see that Milly and Bec followed, he raced towards the fleeing men. The siren was quieter now. It had taken on a more distant, eerie tone. It sounded like a lovesick howler monkey more than a security alert. Once Nigel reached the door, he found it shut.

He grabbed the handle before withdrawing it with a gasp. It was cold. Very cold. He looped his hand under his shirt and grabbed the handle again, turning it quick and thrusting the door open.

It led into another of the common rooms. The first thing to catch his eye was the dense layer of fog that hugged the floor. There was a small café to the side of the room, which would normally be fronted by a group of tables and chairs. Now, not one remained intact. The tables were overturned and their legs stood out of the fog in splintered pillars. The chairs rose from the haze in uneven, timber mountains. Amongst the devastation, Nigel felt like a giant in a fantasy land. He shivered, but not entirely from the cold as the cold swallowed the siren’s call, leaving him in silence.

Bec appeared at his side, followed a while after by Milly.

“What on Earth?”

They stepped into the room. Fog played around their ankles in an elegant ballet. Bec hugged herself to keep warm.

“What’s, is it, is …” she fought to speak through chattering teeth. “Is the air con playing up?”

Nigel bit his lip and shook his head. “Jacob will know.” He paused.

No, Jacob will not.

Neither woman corrected him. Milly placed a hand on his elbow and drew herself close to him.

“Check his watch, Nige.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the watch. He looked at it properly for the first time. He was surprised at how small it felt, given all that it could do. It was a simple, leather band that once held it to Jacob’s wrist. The screen took up the entirety of the face and crammed line upon line of information in such a small space. He pressed the face in a couple of random places before a prompt showed itself to him. It read, ‘CLIMATE CONTROL’. He poked it.

“What’s it say?” Bec leaned over to check. “Why is it so spooky in here?”

“It says, ‘Ambient light at acceptable levels. Volume, low. Temperature, even.’”

“So, it’s busted? Great.”

“I don’t know.” Nigel’s voice was low and wary. “Maybe it’s not.”

He looked across the swirling landscape to see the pair of men they had pursued down the corridor. They appeared to be running but went nowhere. Their footfalls were silent as they leaned forward, sprinting on the same spot, their feet sliding beneath the white haze.

“What the …?” Bec stepped forward.

The men lurched forward a foot, the fog did not notice their movement. They ran and ran, neither progressing nor making any impact on their surrounding environment. Nigel crossed to them with slow, careful steps. The fog played at his calves, licking at his knees. He stopped before the pair and leaned close to their faces. Their features were contorted in fear and their breath was ragged, but they failed to note Nigel’s approach. He waved a hand before their eyes.

They lurched forward again and Nigel fell backwards with a shout. They continued to ignore him, just as their legs continued to pump in their panic to escape.

“They’re stuck in a loop,” said Nigel from his place on the floor.

Bec and Milly came forward to investigate. Milly placed her hand on the shoulder of the closest man; the slowest of the pair, Nigel mused. Milly’s hand passed through him like he was made of the air itself. She took in a sharp breath and staggered back.

“No. This isn’t right.”

“Nothing is anymore, Sweetcheeks,” said Bec, swiping her hand back and forth through the eternally sprinting men.

Nigel rose to his feet and looked back to see what the men ran from. There was nothing. He looked forward to see where they were headed. Their current angle placed them behind the café counter and through the swinging doors to the kitchen. He swept past them. As he did, the men blew apart like dandelion seeds spreading in the wind. The fog swept away with them and the temperature rose in an instant.

“I am getting sick of this shit,” Nigel muttered. He stormed past the counter and through the swinging doors, not bothering to check for danger.

Behind the scenes, the kitchen was almost intact. A few pans and trays lay scattered and a mug had shattered on the floor in a puddle of moulding coffee. Beyond that, the only thing of interest was the large cool room door at the back of the kitchen. Nigel stepped closer, feeling the chill return somewhat. He reached forward, only partially aware of Milly and Bec behind him. He grasped the long, silver handle on the flat white door and lifted it. Slowly, slowly, he pulled until it clicked and the door released.

As it opened, the smell hit him first. A sweet, acidic, and torrid smell that caused his stomach to lurch. He held back the bile and looked at the carnage in the room. A blend of brown and coagulated human blood, and slimy, purple albinoid blood sprayed the walls. There was no movement from the pile of bits heaped inside the cool room. Despite the human blood, there were no body parts that were human anymore. The white, wiry limbs nestled amongst the broken, oozing torsos and split skulls of the albinoids. They were torn to pieces in a grisly masterpiece of gore.

“What the fuck happened here?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes from the grim display.