Speaker 1: The night was unusually dead along the isolated stretch of
the Pacific Northwest coastline, save the occasional rumble of a
shift worker heading south as if on cue. A single
yellowed pair of headlights cut through the darkness as an
old pickup rattled passed, its exhaust rattling as the driver
made their way towards the graveyard shift at the nearby
fish processing plant. As the tail lights receded into the distance,
the silence of the dark two lane road returned absolute
and heavy. Standing guard at the edge of the asphalt
like a solitary forgotten soldier, was a tall, rusty sign,
its metal skin corroded so badly from decades of salt
air that the original name of the former motel was
practically illegible. Behind it sat the apartment building, a crumbling
U shaped relic of the sixties, draped in peeling flamingo
pink paint. Under the dim yellow glow of the ancient
incandescent bulbs hoarded by a landlord too stingy and stubborn
to update to LEDs. A thick layer of ground fog
was just beginning to roll in from the estuary, hidden
just out of sight by the blackness swallowing the bottom
of the structure. An abandoned manager's office in a quiet
white shroud. Up on the second floor walkway, the door
to Unit fourteen swung open and clicked shut. Evan stood
under the light, his shoulders burning with the deep all
over ache of a twelve hour shift pouring concrete and
lifting two by fours inside the apartment. His girlfriend was
long since dead to the world. Sarah was utterly spent
from back to back bartending shifts taken on just to
help them keep with the soaring rent, car, insurance, and
electric bill. He'd barely had enough energy himself to shove
a cheap, hungry man meal into the dated refrigerated oven,
let alone tackle the chores that the grueling daytime hours
wouldn't allow him to tackle in the daytime. Before lifting
the heavy laundry basket, he paused and spared a glance
down at the watch on his wrist. The hands read
quarter to one in the morning. He let out a
quiet sigh. It was already clear he wouldn't be getting
to bed until close to three am. Running a hand
through his hair, he looked out across the quiet complex,
out of the twenty one units in the building, nearly
half were occupied these days. Today only a single, lonely
square of light glowed from behind closed blinds and a
bottom floor window across the way. Everyone else was fast asleep.
He leaned against the wooden railing, careful to avoid the splinters,
and took a deep breath of the damp coastal air.
Down in the parking lot, the painted white lines had
long since worn away by time, leaving everyone to park
their cars in a chaotic game of musical chairs. Beyond
the darkness and over the roof of the building, in
the woods beyond, the sound of the nocturnal life was
out in full force. He listened to the sharp rhythmic
chirp of crickets in the overgrown grass, the distant mournful cry,
and elk far away in the timber. In the opposite direction,
further down the coast, came the intermittent blare of the
lighthouse's foghorn, echoing out over the ocean. After the pandemonium
of the construction site, the sounds brought him a fleeting
moment of genuine peace. His gaze was brought back down
to the ground wisp like tendrils of fog were slowly
creeping across the broken asphalt, curling lazily around the tires
of the parked cars. Fog looks like it's going to
be thick tonight. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out
his iPod, unwinding the earbuds from around it and pushing
them into his ears. Scrolling for a moment, he found
a podcast who downloaded earlier and pressed play, the blare
of the intro music drowning out the sounds of the night.
Evan hoisted the plastic basket against his hip and started
down the right stairwell, his boots studding against the rough,
tar skinned stairs. Reaching the bottom, he wound his way
past his forward expedition and the other cars. Crossing the
dark expanse. He stepped over weeds and dandelions that had
begun working their way up through the cracks, careful not
to trip on any as he passed the rusted green
dumpster that sat directly in front of the central stairwell,
and steered himself towards the alcove tucked underneath them. Stepping
onto the concrete pad, he pulled his keys from his
pocket and slid the key into the lock, turning it.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The laundry
room was pitch black as he stepped across the threshold
and remained that way save for the shaft of light
falling in from outside the open door and hitting the
row of silver mail boxes across the room. Evan let
out an exasperated sigh. It'd be too much to ask
for Ronald to install motions, unsor lights, wouldn't it. Reaching
out in the dark, his fingers found the light switch
and flipped it up with slightly more force than necessary.
The overhead fluorescent lights gave a harsh flicker before snapping
fully to life, flooding the room in a sterile white
glare that made him squint for a second. Instantly, the
wide expanse of old speckled linoleum floor lay exposed before him.
On his left, the vintage form of the styled table
and assorted chairs from half a dozen different thrown out
kitchen sets cast blocky shadows across the room, while against
the far right wall, the row of enamel colored washers
and dryers sat silent like cold blocks. The moment the
light came on, the fish bowl effect he was used
to by now took over. The two small windows at
the back of the room, and the mass of pane
of glass at the front, adorned with faded, large white
letters spelling out laundry and mail room, instantly turned into
black mirrors, reflecting back nothing but the stark walls, the
faded cork bulletin board, and Evan himself. Standing still, he
couldn't see a single thing outside the dense silhouette of
the Oregon tree line just beyond the rear windows, and
the unlit two lane road across the parking lot vanished entirely,
leaving him with a sensation that, as much as he
was used to never liked, it, always gave him the
sensation that he was performing on a brightly lit stage
for an invisible audience. With the podcast still chattering away
in his ears, the host having begun their discussion, he
hauled his basket to the far end of the room.
Opening the lid of the washing machine next to the window,
he dumped the load of clothes in underwear and signed.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of quarters,
and as he fed them into the slide one at
a time, the wave of familiar bitterness washed over him.
He couldn't help but think about how much of a
cheapskate wrong was The asshole bleeds us dry every month
for rent, since he knows we can't afford to move,
knows we have to pay our own electricity, and he
still makes us pay just to wash our clothes in
our own damn building. He shoved the coin slide forward
just like the switch, harder than necessary and feeling more
than hearing the heavy metal clunk to his feet as
the old machines cut it up, its water valves, opening
with a hiss sound loud enough to make its way
around his earbuds. Knowing he still had a second basket
of sheets and towels waiting back upstairs, he decided he'd
have a quick late night smoke out in the courtyard first.
Sarah had been out on his ass about quitting for
months that even though he'd agreed it'd be healthier, a
part of him wasn't able to give that vice up
just yet. He turned his back on the room and
walked back to the door, hidden in a shallow alcove
around the locked closet. Stepping back outside, he paused just
for a moment as the damp, heavy air hid his face,
washing away the faint smell of stale detergent trapped humidity.
He dug into his pockets, pulling out the crumpled pack
of Marlboros and Zippo. Tapping a cigarette out, he crooked
it into the corner of his mouth and flipped the
lighter open with a practiced flick of his wrist. He
thumbed the wheel, sitting a spark shower over the wick,
but no flame came. He tried again, harder, this time nothing.
He shook it, then flicked it a third time. When
nothing came, he out a hiss as he realized it
had been completely out of fluid. Stupid piece of shit. Frustrated,
Evans stopped flicking the wheel and snapped the lighter closed,
leaving the smoke in his mouth. As he stood there,
the sudden lack of attention on anything directly in front
of him allowed his gaze to wander, and his eyes
involuntarily drifted to his right. He stopped dead. He was
standing right at the mouth of the narrow vertical gap
that separated the two halves of the building, an architectural
anomaly he had absolutely hated since the day they'd moved in, or,
more appropriately, since the first night he'd come down to
do laundry. Under the dim yellow globe, the single light
directly over his head, the tight corridor looked like a
towering slice of pure blackness. The cheap ball barely managed
to illuminate. Halfway down the dirt path beyond the shop,
the space plunged into a heavy, almost suffocating blackness that
bled directly into the overgrown backyard in woods beyond the ground,
fog had fully arrived, now rolling off the estuary and
packing itself tightly into the narrow breezeway, like cotton, burying
the dirt floor in a ghostly shroud. It looked nothing
less than something out of a haunted house. The oppressive
gloom of the gap was enough to make him hesitate.
Reaching into his pants pocket, Evan pulled out his iPod
and hit pause. Pulling the right earbud from his ear,
he listened. The crickets were still chirping nearby, both in
the narrow stretch of grass at the front of the
parking lot and in the backyard out of sight with
the nocturnal birds he'd heard singing their mating calls not
even ten minutes ago. Had completely vanished. The deep timber
was dead silent as well. The distant elk cry had
gone silent. The only sounds cutting through the dark coastal
night with the sound of the distant foghorn and the
lonely shriek shriek of the rusted, long disused swing set.
Sitting out in the black, fog covered backyard. As the
wind swung and pushed them back and forth, Evan felt
a sudden, cold prickle of sweat break out along his collarbone.
He had a fucking grip, he chied at himself. Watched
too many damn horror movies and listened to too many
of those stupid scary story podcasts. But looking down the narrow,
mischoked gap of darkness that seemed more to resemble a throat,
his instincts refused to listen to logic. He didn't want
to stand there anymore, not for another second. Abandoning the
useless lighter, he snatched up the empty basket and walked
quickly out of the alcove, heading across the parking lot
back to his SUV. If the lighter wouldn't work, just
use the dashboard cigarette lighter instead. Internally, though, after looking
out of the abyss. He was secretly eager to be
inside a locked vehicle, even if only for a few minutes.
Reaching the faded hunter Green truck, he jammed his keys
into the door and pulled up on the handle, tossing
the empty basket across the passenger seat and sliding behind
the wheel, quickly closing the heavy door and hitting the
power lock button. The satisfying mechanical thud of the locks
snapping into place made him let out of breath. He
hadn't realized he'd been holding. Leaning forward over the steering wheel.
He let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the
parking lot and the faint light from the walkways. The
fog had grown denser, now turning the air outside into
a swirling, ghostly soup. He looked between the shadows of
the parked cars. Nothing moved crossed the way. The single
square of light on the bottom floor was still fanning
out between the blinds. The knowledge that another person was
awake somewhere in the complex helped the knotoness stomach finally
untie itself. He reached out and pressed the dashboards cigarette
lighter into its socket, relaxing back into the cracked leather.
Evan couldn't help but crack a faint, tired smile. A
brand new expedition wouldn't even have a lighter anymore, but
a rig from nineteen ninety eight glad I held onto
this for more than one reason. As he waited, he
pulled the iPod back out of his pocket and hit
play again, wanting something to distract him from the silence.
The sounds of the host filled his ears again, drowning
out the stillness of the cab. A moment later, he
saw the lighter pop back out, indicating it was ready
for use. He pulled it up from its slot and
pressed the glowing red coil against the tip for a
few seconds. Inhaling deeply, he replaced the lighter and pulled
the smoke from his lips, blowing a thick cloud of
smoke towards the windshield, watching it hit and dissipate against
the glass. Outside, the mist swirled in lazy, almost hypnotic
patterns under the incandescent lights. Watching the fog mutate in
the dark, Evan felt a strange, detached sensation wash over
his exhausted mind, as if he were looking out into
a waking dream. An old literary quote rose in his memory,
something he'd seen plastered across the screen at the start
of one of his favorite movies, John Carpenter's The Thing
He was an Edgar Allan Poe is all that we
see or seem but a dream within a dream. Before
he could ponder the thought, a sudden burst of movement
across the parking lot shattered his peace. Evan's nerves spiked instantly,
his heart slammed against his chest as his eyes locked
onto a dark silhouette moving low to the ground, darting
through the swirling mist in the center of the parking lot.
He pulled out the cigarette from his mouth and leaned
over the steering wheel, his eyes strained to make out
what it was that his overactive imagine immediately began to
conjure up horrific, impossible shapes. Then the shape paused directly
in a patch of light. Evan let out a sudden,
almost breathless laugh, slouching back into the seat. The cat
damn black cat. He shook his head, wiping a hand
over his face. It was likely just a stray or
from one of the houses further up the road, and
none of the other tenants owned a black cat. The
creature stopped for a brief second, its small head snapping
in his direction, as if staring directly through the tinted
glass at him, before it turned and darted soundlessly out
of sight beneath the central stairwell. Too many damn horror movies,
he muttered aloud to the empty truck, a genuine chuckle
escaping him, this time seriously. He took one last long
drag of smoke. Completely relaxed now as he pulled out
the ashtray and stubbed it out, the jump scare had
washed away the lingering, irrational dread of the narrow gap.
He was ready to head back upstairs, grab the sheets
and towels, get his midnight chore over with. Grabbing the basket,
he twisted the handle and hopped out into the night.
A few minutes later, Evan descended the steps with a second,
heavier basket cradled against his chest. He paid the gap
no mine. This time. He was brief refuge in the
truck and the laugh the black cat had broken the
superstitious spell of the night. He wanted nothing more than
to finish up this final load and the haul had
back upstairs, crawl into bed next to Sarah and then
disappear into much needed sleep. He pushed open the door,
the fluorescent light still buzzing away overhead. Pulling his right
ear butt out, he happily noted the dull silence, indicating
the clothes had finished its cycle. Hoisting the basket on
top of the dryer next to the washer, he wiggled
a box of fabric softener sheets out from the side
of the basket, popped both doors open, and quickly transferred
the wet, heavy lumps into the dryer. He fed another
handful of quarters into the slot and slammed the slide home.
The old dryer roared to life, a loud, cavernous tumbling
sound that masked almost everything else in the room, nearly
drowning out the podcast still chattering away in his left ear.
Turning back to the basket, he began pulling out the
bed sheets and heavy bath towels. He couldn't just dump
these in haphazardly. He had to separate them so they
could wash evenly and not break the machine. Ronald on
my ass for a pairs machine that likely stopped getting
repairs back in two thousand and three, frickin thank you
as he was bending over the top loader, carefully wrapping
his sheet around the center agitator. He suddenly froze for
a fraction of a second. He'd sworn he heard a
distinct sound pace through the heavy roar of the dryer,
something close to his head. Evan stayed bent over the machine,
his muscles locked and ached slightly, straining his ears to
catch it again. He held his breath, but the noise
didn't repeat it, so, shaking his head, he returned to
loading the machine, then slammed the heavy lid shut and
reached back into his pocket for another handful of change.
As he lined up the first quarter on the metal slide,
which was cold to the touch, the sound came again. Tap.
Hevin paused his hand hovering over the mechanism. He cocked
his head to one side, waiting silent. He stood there
for a moment, staring at the silver metal slider, trying
to understand. Almost sounded like a fingernail packing against something.
Then he let out a small huff of air. There
had to be the sound of the quarters dropping into
the slie, maybe just the slide itself shifting. He slammed
the slide forward and the machine burst to life with
a heavy mechanical clunk in the rush of filling water.
With both machines running simultaneously, the sheer volume of sound
completely filled every inch of the space, burying even the
buzz of the lights beneath it. Feeling insulated by the noise,
Evan pushed the sound from his mind and stepped across
the linoleum, sinking into one of the chairs around the table,
putting the earbud back in and raising the volume as
high as it could go. A sudden, violent jerk of
his chin snapped Evan awake. He blinked against the glare
of the lights, his heart during a panic flip flop
before he realized where he was. He'd accidentally dozed off
in the chair. He didn't know how long he'd been out,
but the world had gone completely quiet. The podcast in
his ears had stopped, indicating the track had ended, and
the plastic earbuds had slipped out when he'd slumped back,
dangling over his side of the chair. The heavy, almost
comforting roar and hiss of the washer and dryer were
gone as well. Both machines had finished their cycles while
it slept. The only sounds left in the room were
the high pitched buzz of the overhead lights and the low,
heavy rumble of the water heater over by the industrial sink.
Evan mentally cursed himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Stoopid, stupid,
we had a fuck your nick up, moron. He pulled
the now dark eyepod from his pocket, quickly wrapping the
earbud cord around it and shoving it back into his jeans.
He needed to finish up the last dry hit the
hell out of here. It was actual bed. He stood,
marching across to the dryer and popped open the door,
setting the basket at his feet. He leaned down and
began hauling the still warm clothes out, tossing them in
a messy pile into it. Tap. He didn't even pause.
He kept grabbing handful of socks and underwear, absent mindedly
calculating if he could cram the sheets and towels on
top of this load once they were dried, to bring
everything up to the apartment in one oversized load, rather
than being forced to make two trips. Tap tap, Evan
froze the bundle of t shirts clutched in his fists.
He slowly straightened his back his muscles tensed as the
hollow quiet of the room pressed against his ears. He
stood perfectly still by the machines, listening tap. It always
seemed to vibrate through the air, echoing in the largely
empty space. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
At once. Evan began looking around the room, his eyes
darting past the table, the chairs, the row of mailboxes,
trying desperately to pinpoint the source as it came again.
For whatever reason, the same heavy, irrational dread he'd felt
while staring into the gap rolled back over him twice,
as thick, suffocating in cold. He took a slow, hesitant
step into the center of the room, the sound of
his boots muted against the linoleum, Tap tap, tap. Evan
went rigid, his breath catching in his throat. The acoustic
geometry of the room had finally betrayed its source, and
the truth hit him in almost sickening visceral punch in
the guts. It didn't sound like the coin mechanism shifting,
nor the machines cooling down. It sounded exactly like a
fingernail tapping rhythmically against glass, and it was coming from
the narrow window next to the washing machine. Feeling his
heart slam against his ribs, feeling as though it were
forcing its way up into his throat, He slowly turned
towards the glass, seeing nothing but his own wide eyed,
pale looking reflection staring back at him. His chest heaved
as his breathing turned shallow and fast. The horrifying reality
of the fish bowl layout finally sunk in. While he
was completely blind to whatever lay beyond the glass, anyone
or anything standing out there could see him with crystal clarity.
His rational mind fought hard against the rising panic and terror,
instantly pinning the blame on a person. The isolated coastal
stretcher nearby town had a known reputation for transient drug users, unpredictable,
desperate and sometimes violent people who frequently trespassed looking for
shit to steal and pawn to fund their next hit,
and they weren't above attacking people to get money either.
As much as he didn't want to, Evan forced himself
to speak, Hey, who's out there. His voice sounded hollow
and thin as it echoed in the unnatural stillness of
the room. The moment he spoke, the tapping abruptly ceased,
trying to force a tough, aggressive edge into his posture.
He took a deep breath and shouted again, Look, I'm
in no fucking mood for games tonight. Man, get the
hell out of here before I come out there. Silence
stretched for three agonizing seconds. Then a heavy double tap
vibrated through the room. This time it came from the
other rear window. Anger cut through his fear like a
serrated blade, but he remained painfully wary. He had no
weapon at all. His hands were empty save for the
keys in his pocket. The only other thing that he
could use would be one of the chairs in between
the two. He highly doubted some drugged up junkie would
find either one intimidating enough to m scray. And to
make matters worse, his cell phone was sitting uselessly up
in the apartment on the kitchen counter charging. I said,
fuck off, Evan roared, stepping aggressively towards the back windows.
He knew he was likely waking up the neighbors closest
to the laundry room, but right now he didn't give
a damn. In fact, it might be a good thing.
I will bust you up you piece of shit. The
tapping cut out again. The silence that replaced it was
far more suffocating and heavy than it had been. The
seconds ticked by agonizingly slow. After a few more moments,
Evan began moving, taking slow, tense steps towards the rear glass,
his knuckles white around his keyring, tap tap. The sound
blasted through the room, coming from the massive front window
behind him. Evan spun on his heels so fast he
nearly lost his footing. Because the front glass faced the
parking lot, he expected the dim yellow glare of the
walkway lights to at least show the outline of a
person standing on the walkway outside, but the glass was
a flawless black mirror, with only the outlines of parked
cars beyond. There was no one there. He took a
hesitant step back towards the front alcove, his mind racing
before his boot could even touch the floor. A second time,
a sharp, metallic click stuck the window directly behind his shoulder. Tap.
Every muscle in Evan's body front like a department store mannequin,
his blood turning to ice. This sound had traveled from
the front window to the back of the building in
less than two seconds. No human could realistically have sprinted
from the front window, through the gap and back to
the rear window that fast, not without making a sound,
not without tearing through the fog like a fucking freight train.
The terrifying truth crystallized in his mind, dropping into his
stomach like a lead balloon. Whatever was circling the building
wasn't a person, and if it was, were more than
one of them in the dark coordinating their movements. He
wasn't sure which one was worse. His primal instincts took over,
screaming for him to abandon his clothes, abandoned the basket,
haul his ass out of there. He didn't give a
shit about chores anymore. He just needed to clear the alcove,
burst out into the parking lot, sprint either for his
truck or the stairs to Sarah in safety. As the
tapping started up again, this time striking both rear windows simultaneously,
Evan made a decision. He bolted towards the alcove and
the exit. Tearing around the edge of the closet. He
slammed his weight directly against the metal door, his chest
heaving panic, clawing at his throat, and a sudden, irrational fear,
screaming at him that the lock would be jammed, But
to his immense relief, the brass handle twisted in his palm.
He stopped, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, taking
in two deep, burning breaths. He braced his heels against
the floor, ready to yank the door open and bolt,
but his hand froze on the handle. Wait. The thought
that came to him was as cold and sharp as
an ice pick. If someone or something was circling the building,
especially if there were two of them, one could be
standing directly on the other side of the door waiting
for him, Throwing it open blindly could prove to be
a fatal mistake. Clutching his keys tightly inside his fist,
letting the brass teeth protrude from between his knuckles like
a makeshift weapon, Evan braced his shoulder against the door,
ready to slam it shut again if necessary. Slowly, painstakingly,
he cracked the door open a few inches. Nothing rushed him.
The thick, damp air slipped through the gap, smelling heavily
of wet pine and the mud flats of the estuary.
He opened it a few inches wider, his eyes darting
through the crack. The concrete pad was empty, But as
he stood there at the threshold of realization began to
hit him, one that sickeningly began to warp up the
edges of his mind. He waited for the fall out
of his actions. The walls of the building were paper thin,
to say the least. He had been yelling at the
top of his lungs inside an echoing room, inside a hollow,
concrete and wood u shaped building that naturally amplified every
noise someone made. If a damn mouse so much as farted,
at least one person would hear it. You should be
hearing the frustrated rustle of blinds. You should be hearing
the angry shouting of an exhausted neighbor telling him to
shut the fuck up, or at least a confused voice
asking what was going on. There was nothing, nothing at all.
The silence was now a physical weight pressing against every
inch of his body. It was as if his voice
hadn't traveled past the walls of the laundry room at all.
If his stomach dropped into a bottomless void. He cast
a desperate glance across the misty courtyard, towards the bottom
floor unit that had given him comfort earlier. The single
square of yellow light was gone. The window was a
dead black square. The ground fog had completely swallowed the
parking lot, now rising to the levels of the walkways,
and with it, the coastal night had been stripped of
its soul. The crickets in the grass had fallen completely,
unnaturally dead s Island. Even the ceaseless groan of the
foghorn had vanished, smothered by a heavy artificial vacuum. Every
primal circuit in Evans's brain screamed that he had to
get out of the alcove now. Something was very wrong
with the world outside the door. He took a slow
step outside onto the concrete pad beneath the central stairs.
He kept his left hand behind him, refusing to let
the door click shut behind him in case he had
to dive quickly back inside the brightly lit cage the
laundry room had become. He tensed the muscles in his calves,
locked his eyes first on the outline of his expedition
across the asphalt, then the stairs beyond. He prepared to
launch himself into a full desperate sprint, then his body
completely betrayed him. Evan went rigid. His brain savagely ordered
his legs to begin to move, to run, to scream,
that do anything, but it was as if his nervous
system were firing blanks. An invisible, crushing pressure slammed down
on his shoulders. He felt the terrifying, undeniable sensation of
needle sharp eyes boring directly into the sides of his head.
Worse than the phantom eyes, though, was the sudden, wet
sound that fractured the silence. It was a slow, rattling
chest wheeze, the rhythmic, heavy sound of something massive breathing
through its nose, drawing the damp fog into its lungs
and forcing it back out again in hot, ragged gasps.
He was coming from deep inside the pitch black vertical
gap to his right. Evan didn't want to look. Every
survival instinct in his body begged him to keep his
gaze locked on the parking lot, but it was as
if the sheer magnetic weight of the horror to his
right forced him to slowly turn his head anyway. The
dim yellow incandescent bulb directly overhead fought valiantly against the
encroaching fog and darkness. Pushing its weak light halfway down
the breezeway. He was just enough to reveal the horrifying
fact that the corridor was no longer empty. Standing deep
in the vertical slot of darkness was a shape. He
was impossibly tall, looming well over evan And six foot frame,
and so unnaturally thin it looked like a structural pillar
that it melted and warped. There were no glowing Hollywood
eyes staring back at him from almost level with the
second floor walkway in the dark, only that wet rattle
chested vibrating along the wood siding. Evan took the fragments
of the nightmare as if in slow motion. His heart
felt as if it would explode in his chest and
he would die of a heart attack at any moment.
Nothing moved in the stillness. Then the shape moved with
a janky, violent, spider like unfolding of limbs. The creature
stooped down, its spine snapping and bending at a grotesque
angle just to fit beneath the low roof of the alcove.
The horror shattered the paralysis that kept him rooted to
the spot. His nervous system reeled back to life, and
he spun on his heels to sprint out into the courtyard.
He'd barely taken two running steps before he skidded to
a halt, his eyes threatening to pop out of his
sockets and his heart stopping. Standing right at the base
of the central stairway, barely ten feet away in the
swirling fog, was a second creature. It had seemingly materialized
out of the mist itself, its elongated frame already bending
down with a terrifying fluid speed to cut off his
escape route. For a split second, a stray beam of
light caught the wet, slick texture of its face. The
brief alien geometry of it snapped something inside Evan's mind.
He didn't screen, he couldn't. He lunged backwards, diving through
the slowly closing door to the laundry room, just as
the air behind him parted with a violent, rushing whoosh,
and then slammed the door shut, throwing his weight at
against the metal and twisting the dead bolt, just as
a massive impact rattled the frame. Help me, somebody, help me,
for God's sake, he screamed, his voice breaking into a
ragged shriek. He knew what was useless. The dead zone
had swallowed his yells before, and they were now outside.
The door groaned on its hinges as it was forced inward.
He swore he could hear the metal itself bending under
the sudden, impossible pressure. Realizing the door wouldn't hold for
more than a few seconds, he turned and bolted across
the room towards the back of the fish bowl, intending
to throw his body straight through the glass of the
rear window. He didn't give a fuck about cutting himself.
He only cared about escaping the horror that was pursuing him.
Slam slam, a deafening, aggressive pounding erupted against the very
glass he'd intended to leap through, making him skid to
a stop inches from his own reflection. The first creature
had already doubled back through the gap, anticipating his exact
move behind him. The door finally gave way with a
horrific screech of tearing metal. Evan sput around just in
time to see a massive gray hand tip with long,
razor sharp nails reach around the blind corner of the
entry alcove. The fingers didn't reach for him, they reached
for the wall click. The plastic poggle switch was flipped down,
and the overhead lights died. The room instantly plunged into
an absolute, suffocating darkness. The only illumination left was the faint,
ghostly light filtering into the front window of the fog
choked parking lot. In that dim strobe like haze, Evan
watched the impossibly long silhouette of the creature clear the alcove.
It moved with a janky, nauseating speed, its limbs unfolding
like a starved spider as it rushed across the floor
towards him, filling the entire width of the room. The
rattle chested breathing was deafening, now drowning out the frantic,
almost mocking tapping that had started up against the glass.
Trapped against the cold glass, completely enveloped by the stench
of old copper and wet earth, Evan opened his mouth
for one final desk its screen. He never got the chance.
The dark lunged forward, and the last thing Evan ever
knew was pain. Sarah shifted beneath the heavy blankets, pulled
from a deep sleep by the faint sound of a voice. Sarah,
she grunted softly, burying her face further into the pillow,
her body still spent from the double shift. Sarah, Wake, come.
This time the call was clearer. Her eyelids fluttered open.
She sleepily lifted her head, squinting into the pitch black bedroom.
Through the open doorway, she could see the shape of
a man standing in the living room behind the dark outline,
and the front door hung wide open, letting a long
wedge of light spill across the living room floor. Evan,
she muttered, her voice thick with sleep, what's wrong? A strange,
heavy beat of silence stretched into the apartment. Then his
voice drifted into the bedroom. It was unmistakingly his deep barytone,
though for whatever reason it sounded flat, as if you
were speaking through an empty tin can. I'm sorry to
wake you. There was an accident downstairs in the laundry room.
I need you to come down and help me carry
everything up. Sarah rubbed her eyes, her exhausted mind struggling
to process his words. Then the horror of their situation clicked.
She immediately envisioned one of those ancient, unmaintained washers busting
its rusty pipes and flooding the entire laundry room. Gosh,
she thought, a wave of anxiety falling over her. What's
Ronald gonna say? Did one of the machines break? She asked,
getting up and swinging her legs off the bed, Yeah,
the voice replied from the living room. Sarah paused for
a moment, her bare feet hovering just above the carpet.
There was something odd about the cadence of that single word.
The pitch was her boyfriend's, but the timing felt slightly wrong,
a fraction of a second too deliberate. She shook her head,
chalking it up to her own exhaustion and the stress
of whatever mess he was dealing with downstairs. Hurriedly, she
grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and pulled
them on, stepping out into the living room. What looked
like Evan was waiting for her on the threshold of
the front door. As she drew closer, the light fluttered
over him, and a sudden, inexplicable knot formed in her stomach.
Something was just off. He was standing completely unnaturally still,
his arms hung straight down at his sides, his shoulders level,
and without the slight, familiar slouch that he usually carried
after a long day at work. Even his chest didn't
seem to rise or fall. Heaven, are you okay, she asked,
stepping up to him. You look pale. He didn't answer
right away. He just stared blankly at her, his dark
eyes unblinking, tracking her face with a terrifying vacant intensity
that made the hair on the back of her neck
stand on end. The silence stretched until she almost felt
an impulse to step backwards. Then he smiled again, a wide,
rigid gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. I'm fine,
Heaven said, I just want to get the laundry so
we can finally go to bed together. The familiar domestic
promise of sleep alleviated her sudden irrational worries. Sarah forced
a tired nod, stepping past him and walking out into
the second floor landing. As she prepared to head down
the stairs. In the moment her back was turned to him,
the thing wearing Evan's shape didn't move to follow her
right away. It stood at the threshold, Its unblinking eyes
shifted down towards the courtyard and the alcove under the
central stairs. Down in the thick fog, the hidden space
was now completely dark, the single bof above the laundry
room door having been completely snuffed out. Satisfied, the creature
reached out, gripping the handle and pulling the door shut
behind it before stepping out into the block of night.
Hey there, kids, it's me mister Kereeby Pasta, and before
we say good night, I just wanted to say thank
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