Previously on Chapter 1:
Andrei found a door that wouldn’t stay shut, coworkers who won’t say what they know, and a team lead offer that came with an ink pad full of secrets. He said yes. Or... he was forced to.
---
I think I’ve finally found my rhythm. This job’s an absolute bore, sure. But the days were predictable - if you could call them that.
Scratch.
The shifts have somehow meshed into one very long day. Or maybe that’s just what it felt like, since they’ve been so uneventful.
Scratch, scratch.
I hop in, log on to my computer. Then the others trickle along one by one. First it’s Maynard. “Hey Andrei!” He would greet me, with the same amount of enthusiasm every single time. The guy always had a smile on his face. Very welcoming. A ray of sunshine in this otherwise gloomy, monotone, office floor. Strange. He hasn’t arrived yet. The guy’s never late.
Scratch. Scratch, scratch.
Then comes Rosie. Quiet, calm, and diligent Rosie. She never complained when she would get (all) most of the calls every shift. We did try to move her to a different station. That didn’t do anything, I’ll tell you that. She still got the calls. “What can I say Rosie, you’re our lucky charm!” I joked. She giggled. Her laugh was melodious. I would totally ask her out, if it weren’t inappropriate to do so. And if it weren’t for her eyes. They looked at me strangely. Almost… Sad…
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.
Finally, Carl. He was never clear on how long he’s been working the graveyard shift. But he’s been here a while. My uneducated guess is. Divorced father of two? Maybe he’s an old bachelor? Who knows. I asked him once why he wouldn’t apply for a higher position. “Not for me.” He said rather flatly. “I know my place.” … Whatever that means.
Also…
Scratch, scratch. Whimper. Scratch, scratch.
What the fuck is that?
I got up from my seat and turned my head every which way. “Do you guys hear that?” I asked Rosie and Carl.
”Hear what?” Carl asked back.
”There it goes again!” I heard mixed sounds of scratching and whimpers echo down the empty halls of the office floor. I walked, with my ears guiding me towards the sound. I turned left, and the sounds led me to a long hallway of meeting room… doors. It led me straight to the last meeting room. I looked up and saw, in bold plastic font, the number 717.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Whimper. Howl.
—-
I could hear scratching on the door from down the hallway as I walked out of the elevator. I turned left, and walked down a long hallway of apartment doors. It led me straight to my apartment - unit 717. Home. The scratching only grew louder and more rapidly at the sound of my keys jingling as I looked for the door key.
When I unlocked my apartment door, I’m greeted by the dog. You could tell he’d been waiting there for a minute.
Every day, this is our routine. I’d get sloppy kisses all over my face before I could settle my jacket and lunch bag down. In a few minutes, I would be taking him out for a quick walk. That routine will have to change because of this promotion.
Forced promotion, I should say.
The smell of cinnamon apples, and delicious beef stew fills the tiny space. My girlfriend made it with coconut milk and ground chicken liver for that rich, sweet and savory flavor. She’d hide carrots and bell peppers in there ‘for our fiber’. My lunches were always the object of harmless envy at the office. Needless to say, the only thing that brings life back to me during work hours is my packed lunch.
While my girlfriend worked from home, she typically had something cooking in the background while she finished up with her own shift. She wiped her hands against her shirt as she walked towards me. “Hey, honey.” She kissed me on the cheek lightly as she ran back to her laptop in the dining area. “I’m just logging off!”
I didn’t know how to begin telling her about my weird day. How much was this going to change our comfortable routine? How are we going to adapt so we could still spend time with each other?
…
“Wait, wh-” She couldn’t even bring herself to a complete sigh. “I didn’t even know you were eyeing a promotion. When did this all happen?” How could I even answer this?
”It all just happened, honey, I-I didn’t even know.” I sound ridiculous even to myself. “Kyle said I was fit for the job, and there’s a 30 percent pay increase, and -”
”Who’s Kyle?”
”Team lead.”
”And what he says goes?” She threw her hands in the air. There was an awkward, palpable silence. For a second, she stared daggers into my soul. I knew she wasn’t mad at me. Just mad that it all happened quite fast.
I was mad too. It felt almost like I was lost in a trance. Just breezed through that interview like a floating, misplaced question mark, and left it “promoted”. I’d run into concrete wall, but even that I didn’t have the balls to do. My furry companion smiled with his tongue out by my feet, willingly accepting pets, oblivious to the sudden change that’s about to take place. “When do you start?” My better half asked.
“Tomorrow.” I answered solemnly.
“So soon? Honey, we barely see each other anymore with our daytime hours, and now this?”
”Look, my weekends will stay the same!” I hugged her from behind, relieved she didn’t resist me. “We can go bring the dog down to the off-leash park you love? We could go Sunday morning!”
”Let’s just -” She paused. “Let’s just take the dog out.”
—-
‘THE ATRIUM,’ written in bold, plastic font. Not 717. I swear that’s what I saw not a second ago.
The scratching and whimpering grew louder the closer I approached the door. I reached for the door handle. The same door handle that wouldn’t close yesterday.
Yesterday? The day before? When was it? The days seem to melt into one now.
Now, conveniently, it wouldn’t open no matter how much I tug and pull.
The cries and whimpers were getting more impatient by the second. It almost sounds like a dog. “Hold on! I’ll get you out, just try to relax!” Which was impossible because. Well, what would a dog be doing here?
Howl.
The howl from the other side of the door stopped me in my tracks. It was like ice crept up from the soles of my feet, up to my fingertips slowly. Deliberately. It crept up to my head until my thoughts were nothing but the echoes of that howl. It sounded like a cry. A warning.
“Here.” I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Carl. “Let me try.” I could still hear my heart pounding in my ears when Carl very easily pushed a key into the door’s keyhole, twisted it, and pulled it open.
“Y-you have a key for that door?” I almost laughed in disbelief.
“No, maintenance does. But no one’s on shift so I walked in and grabbed the key from their office,” He explained.
“Andrei! Carl! Oh thank god, I thought I was stuck in there forever!” Maynard jumps out of the previously locked meeting room bullets of sweat trickled down the sides of his face, his shirt drenched. I knew I should’ve asked him how he got stuck in there, or what he thought he was doing going into that room. I wanted to ask him what time he clocked in and how come I didn’t see him and why didn’t he go straight for the coffee machine or the bathroom. Instead, I asked him…
“Was… Was there a dog in there with you?”
Taken a little aback, Maynard sniffed his underarms and joked, “Just me, boss. Do I smell that bad?” I peeked into the meeting room and looked inside.
It was small, if you could even call it that. It looked more like a vestibule, with a door at the far end that looked identical to the door we used to get in. It was then that it dawned on me. I’ve never been in this one. Still, I looked around a little longer. It seemed oddly familiar, but out of place at the same time. My eyes found their way to the wall clock hanging on the farthest wall.
8:55 am. Strange.
“Anything interesting?” Carl asked.
”No. No, everything’s fine.”
”Then you don’t mind if I close the door and lock it?” Why would you… Nevermind.
”All yours.” I smiled and gave way for Carl to do as he said he would, and turned my attention to Maynard, who had run off to the water cooler, gulping down probably his second cup of water.
”Andrei!” Rosie called out from her cubicle. She had her phone receiver held up in the air for me to see. “Phone call for you.” I took big steps to her station, not wanting to waste the customer’s time. “Hello, thank you for ca-”
”Are you with me?” The voice on the other line cut me off.
”Yes ma’am, I’m right here, how can I help you today?”
”Please… wake u-” The line dropped dead. I stared at the receiver, like it had said the most offensive slur I’ve heard in weeks.
“Uhm… What did she say? I think this is the same lady that keeps calling” Rosie was curious. But she was careful not to sound too invasive. I shook my head and shrugged. “Same as last time.” But these phone calls have been happening too frequently. Something needed to be done about them.
“Hey Rosie, are you up for a little project?” She nodded her head eagerly and listened for my next instructions. “Sure, anything to help.”
”I want you to look into your call logs for the past weeks, all up to the first time you got a call from this number. I want the number, every phone call made, the duration of the call, and the time stamps. Print the report for me as soon as you get them.”
”Sure thing.” She said and promptly turned back to her computer and started working.
”Are you sure that’s necessary? It might just be some prank caller,” Carl said from behind me. I didn’t even notice him walk back. “Or some sad ex-girlfriend who got cut off from her phone plan.”
Girlfriend? I haven’t seen my… My what? I lost my thought. Seems to be happening a lot these days.
I turned my attention to Carl now. “Thanks for opening the door to that meeting room.” I said. I couldn’t help but examine the totality of this man.
There’s no ring on his left ring finger, or any sign that there was one. Streaks of silver lined the black of his hair made me assume he was a little older than us. Yet, not a single wrinkle or age spot on his face. So, maybe it’s genetics? But how can anyone look so old and so young at the same time? Why would Kyle waste away his prime years in this -
Carl. His name is Carl. Not Kyle. Kyle? Where’d that come from? Who the hell is Kyle? Get it together, Andrei.
I shook off my intrusive thoughts and tried to focus on the conversation. “Let’s just see what Rosie pulls up and we’ll go from there.” I smiled at Carl. He cocked his head to the side, a casual nod, then went back to his seat.
I made a quick head count of my very big team of four people, and realized one of us was still not seated - Maynard. A quick glance and I found him still in front of the meeting room door he was locked in moments ago. I whistled to get his attention, and he turned to me. Without a word, he made his way back to his desk, situated right next to me. “You okay, man?” I asked him. “You seem a little stressed.”
“What? Y-yeah, just… I don’t know, it just seems so weird.” He whispers loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough to make me wheel my chair closer to him. “Don’t you think that room is so… odd?”
Out of place. “Odd?” I asked. “It’s always been there though.”
”No, I know, but… Did you notice that door on the other side of the wall, inside that meeting room?” Every word Maynard said was laced with hesitation.
”Yeah?” I urged him to go on.
”Well I… I was trying to open that door. But I couldn’t. The door didn’t seem locked, it was just too heavy. Like it could only be opened by at least three of us or something…”
”Wow, that’s more than half my team dude,” I joked. “And what do you suppose we’ll find if we open that door?”
A way out…
…
Out? Why? What’s wrong with here?
… Carl?
“You must think I’m going nuts,” Maynard chuckled nervously. I didn’t mean to make him feel like that. As I was trying to come up with what to say next, he interrupted my thoughts once more. “Forget about it. Thanks for helping me get out, though.”
Get out get out get out get out…
“Y-yeah, anytime.” I said as I rolled my chair back to my station. I was working on my own tasks. Work. Focus on work. Just get through the shift.
My fingers moved. I typed.
And typed.
And when I looked up—
GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT
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About the Creator
Pasta Garcia
Fiction + funny writing about ghosts, grief, and girls who overthink. Occasionally wise. Always weird. I publish on Substack every Tuesdays, Thursdays & Saturdays.


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