Episode 001	Next Episode
“Clock strikes twelve and moon drops burst, Out at you from their hiding place. Like acid and oil on a madman’s face, His reasons tend to fly away.” Blue Oyster Cult, Astronomy The only thing worse than going to sleep on a cold marble floor is waking up on a cold marble floor that you didn’t go to sleep on. I wake up against the corner of a small room. Little more than a broom closet, it’s completely empty. The walls are gray around me, with only the ambient light from the frosted window on the door giving me any idea of where I am. It’s an intimidatingly tall room, with a high roof and a variety of steel and blue-painted pipes that run from the floor to the ceiling. I ache as I stand, my knees popping with the effort. My hip catches like it always does when I wake up on a floor. I look down at myself, seeing my faded blue jeans and nothing else. Exactly how I went to sleep on my couch. I look around the dim room, my eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness. Red I jump a bit at the sudden change as the soft hue of white light from outside is joined with by pulsing red light. When I breathe out, it’s ragged. I reach for the long handle of the door, not realizing that I’m holding my breath. I’m afraid, but I can’t figure out why. I push down on the handle and step back from the door, my hands already clammy. All I see before me is a hallway running off in either direction. I step cautiously forward, peeking out to my left, away from the door. It’s a long way down to the end where some windows are. The hallway is lined with doors at wide intervals before it branches off to the right. I peek around the door, seeing the same, only a T intersection at the far end. The red lights are pulsing from the sides of the ceiling. I don’t see any lights, just the occasional red pulse. I look up to the ceiling, seeing the white glowing orbs of light. I can’t see any actual light fixtures, but I don’t bother with looking too hard. I try every door down the hall as I head to the left. My hand taps on each handle, none of them moving at all. I can’t keep myself from looking over my shoulder, but the slate marble floors and gray walls just seem eerie. There’s no sound at all except my breathing and my feet flapping against the hard ground. When I turn the corner, I see him. He’s crouching over another person, his lab coat stained with chemicals. The man he’s over looks like an older man, his eyes wide and his mouth open. He’s not moving. I see a pool of liquid around his whole body. It takes me a second to realize that it’s blood. And he’s dead. The man crouching over him is up on his haunches, kneeling over him. I take a step back, but that seems enough. He looks up. He has ashen skin. His eyes are pink. His lab coat is stained with blood. His mouth is too. Hanging from his mouth is part of the deceased man’s lung. I step back again. He stares. I step back again, unable to break my gaze at him. Then I hear it. I look to my right, down at the far end of the hall, at the T intersection. There’s two more. Both in lab coats, former scientists. Their eyes are completely pink. Their skin gray. Blood all over them. I turn back to him. He stares at me. I look from them, to him, and back. And then my eyes travel to closet I woke up in, so far away. The door is standing just slightly ajar. Him. Them. Him. Them. Run. I explode towards the door, my bare feet slipping on the marble floor. I can hear him moving also, his well-cushioned feet resounding with his loafer soles between his heels and the floor. Up ahead, they move as well, all aiming at me. I run. I run. I run. I run. My hand grabs the handle. I can feel his breath, closing. I can see them. I throw the door open, spinning inside, just to see him grab for me. I slam the door shut on his hand, two of his fingers breaking off. I shout as he howls like a struck wolf baying at the gibbous moon. I pull the door shut, holding onto the handle. They grab the handle that hates me, yanking on the door. My arms burn immediately as my feet slip, the door pulling outward. I try to scream, but I can see him through the opening door. I can see his pink eyes. I can see his stare. Then he looks to his left, my right. My door slams shut. They let go. I hold it closed, my breath as frozen as my nerves. I shiver, my grip tightening as my body becomes rigid with fear. I hear a new sound, far away. Boots. Heavy boots. Slow steps. Coming this way. I hear hissing. I hear growling, like animals, all coming from directly before the door. I shake harder at the sounds. Then I see the shadows on the window, dashing towards my right. I hear running. I hear snarling. Then I hear what I never expect. I hear bones breaking. I hear tendons snapping. I hear them and him, breaking apart. Being broken apart. I hear his body hit the ground and not move. I hear them hit the ground, neither moving. I breathe. I breathe. I breathe. I push down the handle, letting the door fall open on its own, watching as it spreads out before me. I see the hallway. It’s empty. From where I’m standing, I crane my neck, looking off to the left. Nothing. I listen. Nothing. Only the red pulses of light offer any sense of time passing. That and my breath. I take a step, pushing on the cold metal door with my right hand. It slides easily over the floor. And I see them. Him and them are on the ground, not far from me. And far from me. I can clearly see his head. I can’t tell which body is his. I think I recognize his feet, but it’s hard to tell. As soon as I realize that his chest is in two pieces, I lose it. My pizza and beer dinner spreads out over the marble floor before me, staining the sterile air with the acrid stench of stomach acid. My throat burns as I turn my head from the odor, looking down to the right. I see a shape. It’s a man. Only bigger. A black trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He is standing at the T intersection with his back facing me, as if considering the direction to his right. Standing with his eyes just over the edges of the door frames, his massive shape doesn’t seem to move at all in the stale air. I stand up from my own mess, my breath mixed with the bloody taste of acid in my mouth. I can’t tell if he’s aware of me or not. I look down at his hands, clasped in fingerless gloves, his boots flexing as he seems to consider, with bored attention, what to do next. “Hey,” I call, not believing my own voice. He turns subtly, but like a cat. And I wish he hadn’t. His skin’s almost as tanned as mine, but his eyes. Wide and strong, they glare at me with a sneer of disinterest, as if the sheer act of calling to him was an insult. I back away, my breath captured in my throat. He watches me back away from him, then turns, looking back to his right. He stares down the hallway for a moment, then without any hint of motion, begins to stalk down towards the end of the distant hallway. Paralyzed by absolute terror, I don’t move again until long after he’s gone from my vision.
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