Shadows

by Jack Dagger

“Yes. It is. Don't fuck about with it. Use it if you have to. Now go, and hurry.”

  “What are you going to be doing?” Jackson asked, lingering, while Bill was already making for the door.

  “Checking the security footage! Now go!” Ian snapped. Jackson hesitated, a look briefly crossing his face as if he wanted to snap something back, then he seemed to think better of it, turned and disappeared out the door with Bill.

  “Christ,” Ian muttered, turning away from them again and back to the security footage. The others all looked at each other, except for Peter, whose gaze had dropped to the floor. Within a few moments, they were all gathered around Ian, who was hunting fervently through the files. For Peter, curiosity was killing his mute dislocation.

  “Gotcha, fucker,” Ian snapped suddenly, causing everyone to jump. He had the appropriate camera and time index called up. They all watched in rapt attention. At first, it was just a simple stationary shot of the lobby. Outside, there was the occasional flash of headlights and nothing more. Then Tony walked into the shot.

  He seemed to hesitate as he came into view, then abruptly began walking quickly towards the door. The camera began to fade into static as he drew closer to the door. The image began to flicker and roll. Abruptly, as he came within five feet of the exit, the camera blacked out entirely. Ian snarled something, reaching forward to push buttons, but the view suddenly snapped back into focus. They all gasped.

  There was just blood where Tony had been. It dripped and pooled.

  “What...the fuck?” Keith muttered, the typical cockiness gone from his voice, replaced by genuine awe and fear.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ian growled.

  He wasn't prepared for this.

  Four

  -The Mistake-

  Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. The headache was back, hardcore, made worse by how hard his heart was pounding. He was terrified. His simple, mundane, regular job had been the winner of that psychotic lottery: someone was murdered at my job. It happened, but rarely. And it was a million times worse if you were actually paid to ensure the security of a building and those in it. All at once, all his bitching and complaining seemed miserably, woefully unfounded. Very suddenly, Jackson knew how easy he'd had it, and he'd fucked it all up.

  But what could he have done, anyway?

  “Hurry up, will ya?” Bill grumbled. Jackson sighed but hurried it up. He was lagging behind, and all of a sudden he didn't feel like being alone. They needed to find that other guy, Nick, and just get the hell out of this building.

  …

  “So, what's the plan?” Richard asked, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the security room. Peter and Autumn jumped and Ian looked like he nearly had.

  “The cops should be here soon...I'm going to escort you all out. I left the front door unlocked, anyway...I think. Once we get you guys outta here, I'll stay behind with the cops and...figure out what the fuck happened.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Keith replied, eager to be gone. Ian stood and rallied the others, shooing them out the door. He felt a wave of nausea pass over him, making his stomach do a slow, awful roll. He looked at the monitors before leaving. They were all solid and steady. What did it mean? He was getting some pieces of some puzzle, some more ominous and obvious than others, but...what the hell did it all mean?

  He left the security center, reluctantly, it seemed. Did he really relish the thought of staying in this horrible, dangerous place? Of course not. That was nuts. His head throbbed, dully, a background ache that seemed to be sharpening up as he stepped out of the office and into the corridor. The others were standing around awkwardly, waiting for him to lead them out. Well, it was his job, wasn't it? He moved to the front of the crowd.

  “Let's move it,” he said.

  They all followed as he navigated out of the small maze of corridors. His office was on the first floor, not far from the lobby. Somewhere else, deeper in the office building, Jackson and Bill hunted for Nick. He wished them luck.

  …

  Jackson turned another and kept expecting to see blood, lots of it, each time he did. But the next corner just revealed another length of bland corridor, lit by burning fluorescents, giving everything a sickly pale look. Outside it was cold and bleak and dark, but outside would be a hell of a lot safer than in here.

  What could have possible done that? The way Ian told it, there was just blood. Only blood. What did it mean? He found himself rolling the question over in his mind. He felt like he'd asked it a million times already, despite the fact that only a few short moments had passed. But the minutes were already beginning to feel like hours.

  Bill was muttering unhappily to himself. Something about ash. Jackson wondered what the grizzled old man made of all this. He certainly seemed to be keeping his cool, except for being a little snappish. But Bill was always like that. A fucking hardass who always snapped at people. Especially if they were younger.

  Bill disappeared around the next corner and Jackson followed him, then nearly ran into the man, who had stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Fuck me,” Bill gasped.

  Jackson didn't need to move to the side to see what the problem was; he could see the problem from around Bill. There was more blood, and, like Ian had said earlier about the original problem, it was fucking everywhere.

  “Jesus H goddamn fucking Christ on a butt-fucking cracker!” Jackson cried, taking a step backwards and tripping over his own two feet. He crashed to the ground, falling hard on his ass and grunting in pain. Bill stood before him, as if contemplating the scene. Besides all the blood, dripping thickly from the ceiling and drizzling down the walls and pooling on the floor, there was a soaked, derelict trashcan.

  It had rolled a little bit, as if pushed when...whatever it was that happened had happened. It had left a trail in the freshly spilt blood. Jackson kept expecting Bill to grab his radio and report to Ian, or to turn around and help him up and say 'Let's get the hell outta here, kid.' Or something like that. Something.

  Bill didn't do any of these things.

  “Well, fuck this,” he said, and there was an ugly squelching sound that made Jackson want to vomit as he took a step forward.

  “What are you doing!?” Jackson cried. Bill didn't answer, he just kept walking towards the door. Very suddenly, a wave of cold terror rippled across Jackson. He began to shudder uncontrollably, so bad that his teeth were clacking together.

  There was a sound overhead, from the tiled ceiling.

  He glanced up.

  He screamed, and was sprayed with blood.

  …

  Ian stepped into the lobby, holding the others back. Up ahead, he could see the flashing lights of a pair of cop cars. Good, they were almost there. They were just pulling into the parking lot now.

  “Thank Christ,” someone said from behind him. Ian stared resentfully at the blood. It was ugly. No, hideous. A blight upon reality.

  “Come on,” he said quietly.

  He began to lead them across the lobby. It suddenly seemed much bigger than it was before. It seemed to take quite a long time to cross. The others were deathly quiet behind him. They were halfway across the lobby when the silence was broken.

  “Wait a minute...” Peter said slowly, causing everyone to freeze up. They all looked around and, upon seeing nothing, stared at him. “Tony...Tony's really dead, isn't he?” he asked quietly. If it had been in a movie, Ian thought that his seemingly childlike inability to comprehend the situation would have been comical. Dark, but funny in a grim sort of way.

  But there was nothing funny about it now. It made him sad and sick. Something, he realized abruptly, had broken, deep inside of this kid. Something important. And he didn't know if it would ever get fixed.

  “Yes,” Ian said softly. He returned his attention to the front, then began walking again. The others followed. The cops were getting out of their cars now. Four of them were making for the front doors. Distantly, Ian heard a sharp pop! The sound made him freeze up. E
veryone seemed to shudder, as if some sharp burst of static had been sent out on everyone's mental frequency.

  “What the fuck was that?” Keith asked.

  Ian stared at the quartet of cops, almost to the front door. He twisted around to stare the way they had come, the way the popping noise had come from. And then he heard the screaming. It was Jackson.

  “Stop! Stoooooop! Don't fucking go outside! Don't fucking leave!” Jackson was screaming, his voice etched with absurd, raw panic. Ian felt terror swell within him anew. There was the sound of the door opening.

  “Fuck this, I'm getting out of here,” Keith said.

  “Wait!” Richard cried. Keith made for the door. The cops looked uncertain.

  “Nobody move!” one of them called.

  “Don't fucking leave! Don't fucking leave!”

  “What the hell is going on in here?”

  “Holy shit, look at all this fuckin' blood!”

  There was a strange sound overhead, a sound that demanded attention. All of the various lines of dialogue collapsed flat after that sound was heard, most of them mid-sentence. Jackson barreled into the room, coming to a dead stop. Everyone was looking up.

  Ian felt a fear, a deep fear, colder than the most frozen stone of terror that had ever had occupied his stomach, flood his system. Something, something, was overhead. A dark, malevolent presence, little more than unsubstantiated blackness, hovered overhead. It had pulled back some of the ceiling tiles, or maybe it had merely come through them.

  His radio was going crazy. All of the cops’ radios were squealing violently.

  There was a sharp popping sound. Ian saw it. He saw it all. One second, Keith was standing there, arms outstretched, as if to shoo the police officers aside. The very next second he was gone and, for one split-second, insanely, Ian swore that he could see a batch of blood, floating, still holding a human shape, as if everything about Keith but his blood had, all at the same time, been dematerialized. And that blood still, for a fraction of a second, held the shape of his body. But it happened so fast that he could never be sure.

  And then it flew, everywhere. It sprayed them all. Someone screamed. One of the cops, who was halfway in, turned and bolted. The others were not so lucky.

  “Come back! Come back!” Jackson was shouting. One of the cops turned and ran for the door. There was another pop! A second wave of blood sprayed them all like a sick, psychotic rain. The third cop attempted the same thing that his partner had, and did so in a way he didn't anticipate as there was a third pop and a third blood-rain.

  The final cop was smarter than the rest. He turned and ran with the rest of them.

  “Back! Get back here!” Jackson cried. Ian stumbled backwards, slipping on the blood. They all were. It obscured his vision, but he frantically rubbed it from his eyes. It stung, but through it, he could still see the...the...whatever it was, a malignant shadow, pulsing and swelling blackly, hovering at ceiling level.

  He turned and ran, slipping twice more before he was out of the lobby.

  Five

  -The Long Wait-

  They all huddled in the security office, including the single cop that had remained inside. There was a great deal of muttering and crying and questions. Ian shut them all up when he grabbed Jackson and pulled him forward dramatically, screaming,

  “How did you know?!”

  Dead silence fell. Jackson, soaked in fresh blood, blinked in confusion.

  “What?” he managed.

  “You told us not to go out and then that...that fucking thing fell on us!”

  “What was that?” Autumn asked.

  “Does someone wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?” the cop asked. He looked young and terrified.

  “I...I don't know, it just, it just clicked, you know?” Jackson replied. He laughed, suddenly, crazily. Ian shook him roughly.

  “Well spit it out!” he snapped.

  “Well, that guy, you know? The first one? You said he was killed by the front doors. And Nick, when we found Nick, he was by the back door, and he'd been going outside when it happened. But I already had walked around by a few doors, and nothing happened to me. But I've been feeling funny ever since I got here, paranoid, like someone was watching me. And it must've been...that thing. So it must've been here since I got here, at least. And...” he stopped, suddenly, his eyes losing focus, his mouth half-open, as if his brain had stalled.

  “Yeah?!” Ian yelled. Everyone was focusing intently now on the pair of security guards.

  “So, uh, yeah. Nick. He was popped when he was taking the trash out. And then Bill...oh, old Billy boy...he said, when he saw Nick's blood, he just said, 'Well, fuck this.' And he made for the door. And then...oh God, then it was there, right over him and he...”

  “Popped,” Peter said quietly.

  “Yeah...he popped. And it just kinda...clicked. It went after him like the second he decided to leave. And there, in the lobby...” he fell silent. He didn't have to say anymore. Ian let go of him and took a step back, letting out a long, shaky breath.

  “You idiot...” he whispered. “You idiot savant.”

  “What?” Jackson murmured.

  “You're a fucking moron, Jackson! You're terrible at your job! I'd fire you if they'd me! You suck at everything I've ever seen you do...and yet you fucking figure this thing out? You're like an idiot savant, the only thing you’re good at is this!” Ian cried. He let out a short bark of a laugh as he let Jackson go, taking a step back.

  He turned away from the group, trying to get control of himself. He stared down at the desk for several seconds, then glanced up. His eyes caught the bank of security monitors. The one that showed the lobby was rolling and flickering.

  In between the haze of static, he could see the blood and the flashing of blue-and-red police lights in the front parking lot. There were two more cars there now. Abruptly, the cop's shoulder-radio squealed to life, making everyone jump.

  “Banks! Banks, what the fuck is going on in there!? Sergeant Fredericks is here and wants to know the situation!” Everyone looked at the cop, who still looked terrified, white with fear. His plain terror made him look even younger than he was, almost like a kid in a cop uniform. Shaking, he brought the radio to his lips.

  “Hey...John, look, I don't know what's going on, but it sounds like someone in here might. I'm going to hand you guys over to him.”

  “What?”

  The cop, Banks, passed the radio over to Ian, who accepted it gingerly, as if it might explode. He stared at it for a long time before bringing it to his lips.

  He began to explain the situation, what he knew of it.

  …

  “Come on, I need to get out of here,” Autumn said, grabbing Peter's hand and pulling him towards the door.

  “What? Why?” he replied, looking at the others. Jackson was sitting in one corner, staring at nothing, rubbing his temples, covered in blood. Richard looked more or less in the same condition, sitting in the swivel chair, staring at the floor.

  There were tears in his eyes, unshed.

  “Just...come on,” Autumn replied, tugging him. Ian or the cop didn't notice when they left. They stepped out into the corridor. Autumn looked around, hesitating. Peter inspected the area. The corridor stretched away from them, bathed in too-bright light. A handful of closed red doors were stamped into the bland walls.

  “Where should we go?” Peter asked quietly. He felt numb and empty, dislocated from the world around him. He thought that if Autumn wasn't around, he'd be much like Jackson and Richard, staring into nothingness.

  “I don't know...not towards the lobby,” Autumn replied with a shudder. “There's a break room not far from here. Come on, we should get something to eat.”

  They began walking down the hallway, Autumn in the lead at first, Peter trailing behind. Something occurred to him, and he quickened his step. He had a question, and he found that focusing on it galvanized him somewhat, ground him back to reality a little.

 
“Why are you being so calm?” he asked after several seconds of silence.

  “Hmm? Am I?” Autumn replied. She opened her mouth after a moment of contemplative silence, but what issued forth wasn't an explanation, but a hysteria-edged giggle. Her eyes widened several centimeters and she put one hand over her mouth, stopping in the middle of the corridor. She took a few deep breaths, began to laugh again but cut it off.

  “I'm just barely hanging on,” she said, quietly, sullenly. “I'm just...I'm good with stress, for the most part. I've been in some pretty stressful situations.”

  “Oh yeah?” They came to the break room and Peter found himself looking around apprehensively. Terror came to him, sharp and suddenly, and he gasped, stumbling.

  “What?!” Autumn cried, her gaze sweeping the room and back the way they had come.

  “It's like...oh, man. I don't know, it's just like it just suddenly occurred to me how bad the situation is,” Peter replied, shaky with adrenaline-laced fear. “What the fuck is that thing?” he whispered.

  “I have no idea...but whatever it is, it wants us in here.” Autumn walked up to the pair of vending machines and stared long into one. “Oh...fuck, you've got to be kidding me,” she grumbled. Peter jumped.

  “What?” he hissed.

  “I forgot my purse back at the security room. Do you have any spare cash?”

  “Uh...yeah, hold on.” Peter felt as if his mind was coming alive in starts and fits in between periods of inactivity. It was having an exceptionally difficult time comprehending the situation at hand. He fished out his wallet and handed Autumn a five.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, feeding the bill into the machine.

  “We're probably going to die in here,” Peter replied, forlornly. He stared out of the only window in the room. It showed a dark exterior, just trees and shrubs and another office building a few hundred feet away. He realized, suddenly, that it would be the easiest thing in the world to just open that window and-

  Peter groaned suddenly, a sharp pain shooting through his skull. Something rattled overhead. Autumn let out a short shriek, her eyes darting up.