I woke up again, not realizing I had fallen asleep.
My eyes snapped open, and I immediately reached for the monitor. The screen flickered to life, showing the hallway outside my door. Empty. No sign of the dog or its handler.
But something felt off.
The sirens had stopped. The power was still on, thank God, but the silence was unnerving. No footsteps, no voices, no hum of machinery—just the faint buzz of the flickering lights.
I hesitated, then slowly opened my door. The reinforced locks whirred as they disengaged, and I stepped into the hallway, taking extra care to move quietly. My door was a pain to open and close, but it was worth it for the peace of mind.
The hallway was a mess.
Scratches marred the walls, deep gouges that looked like they'd been made by claws. The smell hit me first—metallic and sour, like blood and something worse. I covered my nose and mouth, trying not to gag as I stepped closer.
There, on the floor, was what was left of my coworker.
Limbs and guts were scattered across the tiles, the body itself missing. A pool of blood had spread across the floor, dark and sticky. I forced myself to look away, my stomach churning.
I needed to check on Bobby.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. If that thing—that dog—was still out there, Bobby might be in danger. Or worse.
I moved carefully, checking each office door as I passed. Most were open, the rooms inside ransacked. Desks overturned, papers scattered, monitors smashed. It was like a tornado had torn through the place.
The hallway split into two, a label on the wall pointing the way. To the left was the Cafeteria; to the right, the Dorms.
I hesitated, then turned right, heading for the dorms. Bobby's room was 212, just a few doors down.
The lights above me flickered, casting the hallway in a strobe-like effect. Every step I took echoed, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat like a drum in my ears.
I've always had good hearing. Too good, sometimes. Back in Kansas, I could hear a coyote howling from miles away, or the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. People used to praise me for it, saying I had the ears of a hunter. But here, in this closed-off, fluorescent-lit hellhole, it was useless. All I could hear was the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clatter of keyboards.
Now, though, my hearing was a curse.
Every sound was amplified—the creak of the floor beneath my feet, the drip of water from a broken pipe, the faint rustle of something moving in the shadows.
I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the dog or its handler lurking in the shadows. Instead, I saw her.
A woman.
She stood in the doorway of one of the offices, only half-visible. Her uniform was torn, her name badge dangling from her chest. Blood stained her clothes, dark and dried.
But it was her face that made me freeze.
There was nothing there. No expression, no emotion—just blankness. Her eyes were empty, her mouth a thin, straight line. It wasn't the face of someone scared or in pain. It was the face of someone… gone.
I kept walking, my eyes locked on her. She didn't move, didn't speak, just stood there, watching me.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Fast, heavy, and getting closer.
I spun around, my heart racing. The woman was gone, but the sound was coming from behind me. I bolted for the nearest door, yanking it open and slamming it shut behind me.
The lock clicked into place just as something slammed into the door.
I stumbled back, grabbing the first thing I could find—a cane leaning against the wall. I held it like a weapon, my hands shaking as I waited for the door to burst open.
But it didn't.
Instead, I heard a low growl, followed by the sound of claws scraping against the metal.
I held my breath, my ears straining to pick up every sound. The growling stopped, replaced by silence.
Then I saw it.
A pair of eyes, glowing faintly in the darkness, staring at me through the small window in the door.
I yanked the shutter down, blocking the view, and collapsed into the office chair behind me. My hands were trembling, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
What the hell was going on?
I looked around the room, trying to distract myself. It was neat, almost obsessively so. The desk was clean, the shelves organized, the bed made. Whoever lived here took pride in their space.
I opened the drawers, rifling through them out of habit more than anything else. Files, snacks, a few personal items—nothing useful.
But it gave me something to do. Something to focus on.
Because if I stopped moving, if I stopped thinking, I'd have to face the truth.
This wasn't just a bad day at work.
This was something worse.