Max sat in the lobby, tapping his foot nervously, checking his watch. He had been here for what felt like an eternity. The clock on the wall ticked, a slow, methodical beat that grated on his nerves. Every second felt like a lifetime. The receptionist sat at her desk, flipping through papers, paying him no attention. Max shifted in his seat, adjusting his tie. He could hear muffled voices through the thin walls, conversations that seemed to go on forever. He hated waiting. It always made his mind wander.
The building was cold, the kind of cold that settled deep into your bones, and Max could feel it, creeping up his spine. The sterile walls and fluorescent lights did nothing to help. He glanced around the room again, his eyes settling on the dark, closed door at the far end. It had the words "Interview Room" painted on it in large, black letters. He could barely make them out under the flickering light.
His stomach churned. He had heard rumors about this place, about the interview process. They said it was unlike any other. People came out of there different. Not everyone made it. But Max didn't care. He was desperate. His last job had left him drowning in debt, and he couldn't afford to be picky.
A door slammed in the distance, followed by footsteps. A man walked out, his face pale, eyes wide, his hair disheveled. Max watched as the man staggered to the elevator, his hands shaking. The elevator doors closed, but the image of that man's face stayed with him, like a bad dream.
The receptionist didn't even glance up as Max stood and made his way toward the interview room. He paused in front of the door, his heart racing. His hand hovered over the knob for a moment before he twisted it and pushed the door open.
The room was sterile, white walls, a single table in the center, and two chairs facing each other. At the head of the table sat a man dressed in a perfectly pressed suit. His face was expressionless, his eyes dark, almost like they didn't belong to a living person. Max felt an uneasy chill wash over him as he sat down, the chair creaking under his weight.
"Max," the man said, his voice calm, devoid of any emotion. "We don't waste time here."
Max nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm ready."
The man didn't respond. Instead, he slid a thick folder across the table, stopping it just short of Max's hands. "Read the contents. Answer truthfully."
Max opened the folder, the pages inside blank, except for one. A single sentence stared up at him in bold letters: What is your greatest fear?
Max blinked. That was it. A simple question, yet it felt like a trap. His mind raced, trying to come up with the right answer. Was it spiders? Heights? Failure? He'd always thought of himself as fearless, but now, sitting in this cold room, he realized how uncertain he was. He scratched his head and glanced back up at the interviewer, whose eyes never left him.
Max's mouth went dry. He felt like the walls were closing in. There was something wrong here, something he couldn't put his finger on, but he had to answer. He had no choice. He scribbled the first thing that came to mind: Losing control.
The man didn't react. He simply nodded and slid the folder back across the table.
"Good answer."
Max swallowed again. "I'm sorry, but… could you explain what this interview process is about?"
The interviewer's lips twitched into what could have been a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll understand soon enough. This is just the beginning."
Max opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His stomach twisted into a knot as a strange pressure built in the room. His heart hammered against his chest as if it were trying to escape. The walls felt like they were pressing in on him. The man's eyes were too dark, too empty, like they could swallow him whole.
Suddenly, there was a sound—a soft scraping noise from behind the walls. Max froze, his eyes darting around the room. He hadn't heard that before. The noise grew louder, like something was moving, something large and heavy, scraping against the walls, dragging itself closer.
Max's breath caught in his throat as the lights flickered. He looked at the man, but his face hadn't changed. His cold eyes remained locked on Max, unblinking.
The scraping stopped. Silence.
Max forced himself to speak, his voice trembling. "What is this place? What's happening?"
The man's expression didn't shift. "You're here for a reason. We're all here for a reason."
Max's hand shook as he tried to steady himself. The room felt like it was suffocating him. He couldn't breathe. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. He thought he might collapse.
The man stood abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. "You've made your choice."
Max tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. He reached out for the table to steady himself, but his vision blurred. His head was spinning, the walls seemed to bend around him. The lights flickered again, and the scraping noise returned, louder this time, closer.
Max screamed, but no sound came out. The man's face remained unmoved, indifferent, as if this was all part of the process.
Max stumbled toward the door, but his hands couldn't find the doorknob. The lights went out completely, and the room was plunged into darkness. His heart raced as he pounded on the door, his fists bruising against the cold metal.
Something moved in the darkness. He felt it—like a presence, something reaching out to him. He could hear it, too, the soft scraping, louder now, closer, so close it felt like it was right behind him.
He spun around, his breath shallow, his body trembling. But there was nothing there.
He turned back to the door. His hands were slick with sweat, his fingers numb as he fumbled with the knob. The scraping noise was deafening now, right next to him, in his ear, so loud he couldn't think.
He screamed again. This time, it was real. But his scream was cut off as something sharp dug into his back. He jerked forward, the pain overwhelming. His body buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, unable to move.
He could feel the cold hands on his skin, dragging him backward, pulling him into the darkness. His vision faded, his body going limp. He couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't even breathe.
The last thing he heard was the man's voice, cold and dispassionate, echoing in the distance.
"You'll understand soon enough."
------
When Max's body was found days later, it was discovered in an alley near the building. His eyes were wide open, his mouth twisted into a silent scream. His body was covered in deep gashes, as though something had torn into him, and his clothes were soaked in blood.
No one knew what had happened to him. The building was abandoned the following week. No one dared to go near it. The job interviews stopped, and the rumors died down, replaced by whispers of a curse, of something dark and ancient that had been awakened. But Max's story wasn't the last. It was just the beginning.
The man in the suit was still out there, still waiting for the next desperate soul to walk through those doors.