Night Guest

I'm a night dispatcher at a security agency. My job couldn't be simpler. When an alarm goes off somewhere, I can see it on the control panel; I need to call our team, and they'll go and check it out. Sometimes I even have to call the owners if something's really wrong, and not just a glitched alarm. It's simple. Silence, no one's around, do whatever you want, however you want. The boss also installed an iron door on the stairwell; if you lock it from the inside, even terrorists with grenade launchers won't be able to pry you out. It's about twenty centimeters thick, enough to kill an elephant. I also have a flimsy glass door downstairs, the only advantage of which is that it's incredibly difficult to open from the outside—it's warped in the frame.

Basically, the entire floor is mine.

Note: there's no power on this floor. Well, no, I have to go to the other end of the stairs and turn it on there. I'm afraid of the dark, and it's actually easier for me to run from the office door to the bathroom door several times, following two strips of light, than to trudge across the entire dark, long floor to the stairs. During the day, they sell consignment furniture on our floor. Sometimes you find some really fancy stuff, like Yanka, who snatched a really cool table for her room. She went straight from her paycheck, packed it up, and bought it for cheap. But in the evening, seeing someone else's old furniture makes me feel a little creepy.

Actually, I had a peaceful time working there, until this month.

Our water cooler is by the glass door. And while you're filling it up, you're perfectly visible from the other side.

And something was looking at me from the other side. I won't say I imagined it. I won't say I saw anything, because I didn't see a damn thing. I just knew it was watching and was really waiting for me to open the door, to go to the bathroom, for example. It was willing to wait for a very, very long time. Until I open the door. It was bluish-pale, thin and tall, tapping its index finger on the glass and smiling with the smile of a good guest who needs to be let in. I didn't see it, I just knew it. It was less than half a meter away from me, separated by cracked glass and an unlocked door.

I pretended not to notice it. As if I'd hidden under the covers. I simply went back to my seat, even filled my mug with water. But it knew I'd seen it, just as I knew it was there. My chair was visible from the door, and it was watching. Waiting for me to look at it. For me to show that I saw it.

In the morning, I need to unlock the iron door, otherwise the boss won't be able to get to the floor. I waited until it was completely light and only then reached the door. When I pulled the bolt, I didn't swing the door open, as I usually did. I don't know why, but I thought I heard someone on the landing, a disappointed sound... a sound that was like a sob and a muffled laugh at the same time.

When I left, I was, of course, planning to quit. I didn't want to see him again, you know. And then, you know, I changed my mind before I even got home. We live in a small town, and finding work as a student is very difficult. Especially such an easy one.

The next night, I ran to the bathroom without looking around. But when I was walking back, I looked at the dark floor. And you know what... it was creeping. I don't know how to explain it. It wasn't the darkness creeping, but the entire floor, and I sensed such a monstrous, joyful malice in it.

 And I don't know why the office door was locked, but I remember tugging at it, trying to pry it free from its warped frame, and then slamming the door shut behind me. The latch of the lock popped out and hit the frame, preventing the door from closing tightly, leaving a gap. And through that gap, it peered. A pale, sticky, elongated face with bulging eyes and a smiling mouth. The creature simply pressed its face against the crack, a few centimeters from my hand.

I don't remember closing the door. But I do know that I ran to the far end of the office, where the door wasn't visible, and I couldn't get to the desk because it was visible from the hallway.

A little later, the siren in the shoe store went off, and I had to go over because I was afraid I wouldn't hear it crawling towards me over the shrill whine of the equipment.

 I turned off the siren and called the team. Then I called my friend, waking her up at three in the morning. We talked, and I stared at the creature, its fingers tracing the glass and smiling, smiling, smiling, smiling that terrifying, friendly, let-me-in, I'm-so-good smile. I don't know who it stole it from.

In the morning, my boss had to call me to open the door and let him in. Only then did I dare get up from my desk and go to the door. And then I told him I was leaving.