The library had long since closed, dusk setting in the City Slumbering. Not a single person inside save for one: the librarian Tyler Willow, who sat at the checkout desk. In his hand was a hard-cover novel. He flicked through the pages, reading intently. Today had been a slow one. The lack of visitors meant a less closing duties. There was nothing waiting for him at home either, so he might as well read in peace before it got too late. It was only a few pages later before Tyler encountered a passage he did not like. The protagonist had mentioned importance of his family, especially that of his sister. Just the mere sight of the word resurfaced feelings of guilt. Sighing, he place the book down. That was enough reading for today. A quick look at the clock showed the time at just past eight o’clock. More time had passed than he had realized. Tyler stood up, ready to close up, when the lights flickered and failed altogether. It wasn’t like this was the first time this happened. There a number of rational explanations that would account for the power failure. Perhaps it was faulty wiring, maybe some electrical work a block away. Regardless, Tyler’s paranoia flared, but this time, his paranoia was met with merit, as a creaking sound of a door opening (those stereotypical ones featured in the horror genre) was heard from behind him. Tyler was used to catching glimpses, or hear things other people couldn’t see or hear. This time was different. He could feel a physical presence in the room. Whatever had been tiptoeing around for so long had finally decided to show itself. He slowly turned around to find three men, clad in grey business suits, their fedora’s tilted just enough to cover their face. Behind the three was a door which was not there before, or rather, should not have been there at all.
“So how long have you been considering these thoughts of self-worthlessness?” asked the Dr. Kolya as he scribbled something on his notepad. Vincent, looked up at the ceiling contemplating things, resting his head against the arm of the couch. Well, it wasn’t really a couch, just a glorified mattress. In all his years Vincent never imagined that he would end up in some couch-psychologists office. That was something he had only seen on television years ago. Who knew people still practice this stuff even now?
It all started with any other day at work. Now that sleep had officially dropped off the mandate, Vincent spent most of his free time working on his companies projects. Work prevented him from thinking about the depressing things, so he spent A LOT of time working. His efforts alone would have pulled the company ahead if he wasn’t constantly revising things. Nothing ever met his standards. How long had it been since he last slept? A month or so. Regardless, by that time he started hallucinating, seeing extra doors here and there, windows that captured the night sky even during the daytime. Sometimes he would see things creeping out of the shadows in his office, or people that no one in his office would notice. Eventually he just broke down in his office. It was a wander he didn’t have a panic attack sooner. He had no history of mental illness, so rather than hand him over to the men in white coats, he was sent into mental rehab.
“Mr Cambridge,” he heard the doctor repeat, as he snapped back into the present day. “You might be thinking this is a pile of BS right now. But you’d be amazed at how much people improve when they open up about their problems.”
Arthur looked intently as smoke poured out of his opponents mouth. “Ya, I got nothing,” his opponent conceded as he flopped the cards onto the table, revealing a two and seven of varying suits. Arthur placed his own cards down, indicating that he had been sitting on pocket rockets the whole time. He didn’t know how Mitch talked him into a night of poker today. It had been months since he had completely abandoned any form of gambling. Still it was nice earning a few extra bucks, even if it amounted to just glorified pocket change. “And here I thought you’d be a little rusty after the break,” remarked Mitch, as he stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Well you’ve officially cleared me out,” he continued while standing up. “That’s a good place to call it. You’re still up for drinks tomorrow right?” Arthur nodded in agreement, standing up as well. The group exchanged some goodbyes, before Arthur made his way out of the basement, though he could have swore the door out was further in than he remembered. Imagine his surprise when he walked out only to find night had already fallen. It didn’t match Arthur’s judgement. He was good at keeping track of time, even without a watch (which he had left in his office, probably under a pile of papers), and he figured that it should be early dusk at best. How did he let time escape him? Regardless, he started making his way back to his office, though the inconsistency still alive and well in the back of his mind. As he continued to walk, he began to notice these weren’t even the streets he had come from. Even the architecture was out of place. Sudden night, unfamiliar streets, architecture a couple centuries behind the times. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. As much as he would have like to theorize dimensional anomalies, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. He turned towards the noise. Maybe it could be some stranger who could give him directions.
(Okay so I used a rather obvious one. Sue me.)
“Good evening Mr. Twist,” the figures spoke, adjusting the hat on his head. “I’ve come to collect your payment.”
The familiar sound of gunshots rang out as Daniel ducked into a nearby alley. It was amazing how a simple mission could spiral into chaos in just a few moments. It was supposed to be a simple task. Break in, kill the guy, and leave. Turns out the guy was a pretty influential crime boss. Daniel still wasn’t sure how he managed to avoid the spray of machine gun fired he encountered seconds upon entering the premise. But the men didn’t let up. Most times he failed a mission, his pursuers eventually gave up, instead returning to the target than to spread their numbers too thin. These guys, they were hell-bent on scouring every inch of the city for him. Daniel hadn’t even finished catching his breath before he heard more shouting close by. He pulled himself to his feet and continued fleeing. He eventually stumbled upon a manhole as he ran into the open streets. Well, he wasn’t safe out on the surface, so what was to stop him from taking refuge in the sewers? So he quickly removed the cover and slipped in, all the while, ignoring the crescent moon pattern.
You are now in...
Daniel set foot in the sewer tunnels, the sewage coming up to his ankles. He picked one foot up, disgusted at the filth. The sewers themselves were a dark to be a network of tunnels. His eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness, and he slowly waded through the sewage. As he moved forward, he began to see a figure in the distance. At first it was too dark to make out, but eventually it was clear something was walking towards him. Its posture slanted, and moving clumsily like a zombie.
This post has been edited by Ryuga: Jul 28 2011, 05:13 PM
The cabbie opened the door for Arthur, letting him hop in. Arthur grew more and more restless as the vehicle rolled through the streets, the occasional local looking at him through the window with empty eyes. “I take it you’re new around here?” asked the cabbie as he made another turn.
The Tacks Man recoiled, the fist striking his face. Turns out though that the most force Tyler could muster wasn’t very much because the Man simply returned to form. “Oh! So we have ourselves a tough guy,” chuckled. It was then that Tyler regretted taking on the man with metallic points for fingers, for the he could feel himself being stabbed in the gut seconds later. After confirming that the Tacks Man’s hand was indeed plunged into his gut, he looked up to see the other hand approaching his head. “Too bad it didn’t pay off.” The pin pierced Tyler’s head, but for reasons he couldn’t tell why, it hadn’t killed him. He could feel the pin probing around his mind searching for something. After being probed for about a minute, the Tacks Man withdrew his hands, letting Tyler fall to the ground. The Tacks Man inspected the merchandise he received from Tyler. A photograph of a young girl. “What a small world,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.