Heavy Traffic

There was only one rule: Don't open the door. The Magician was adamant about this. Rebecca had signed a non-disclosure statement when she took the job as First Stage Assistant. The pay was over-the-top, so it was an easy decision to accept the job with one absurd rule. Until she heard the screaming.

There were two shows each night, the last one ending at midnight. According to the latest reviews, The Great Obsidian had the best disappearing act since the dawn of time. Each night, volunteers were magicked away into oblivion and the crowd raved. Rebecca never dreamed she'd be the top assistant to an award-winning magic show. Obsidian was charming in a way that made her stomach flip. She kind of liked it, until tonight. This time she felt sick.

The door was in the back of the building, down the stairs leading to basement parking. It was metal, with old white paint chipping off and rust caked under the crumbling lacquer. A foul smell of rotting meat, bad pennies, and sulfur wafted out from the bottom and around the crusty hinges. She had tried opening the door once before when the disgusting smells were too much to ignore, but it was locked then. Tonight though, it seemed someone had forgotten to secure it.

The greasy, bloody knob turned with ease and Rebecca entered to find three more doors, 20 feet in front of her. The left door had a sign labeled "Volunteer-Organs", the middle sign "Volunteer-Meat", and the right door, "Volunteer-Kiddies". The left door contained muffled screaming, the right door was the origin of the sound of crying children, and the middle door was silent, and the source of the rotten odor. Once she realized The Great Obsidian was a trafficker, it was too late.