(well, of course these are codenames—who would name their child Knees?). I did not want to give them too much info, seeing as I wanted a righteous judgment about the place. So I chose to wait to fill them in on everything until after they had gotten a feel for the surroundings. They were greatly intrigued and very excited—a couple beers imbibed on their part probably did not hurt their states of mind either. But I was not too worried about that.
I guided Biff and Knees through the hallways, showing them the rooms and the layout but not going into detail about anything other than the history. We were down in the lower section by the gymnasium. I was holding one of the double doors open for them to come through so we could descend the stairs down to see the boiler room. I heard something like movement through air, and Knees let out a yell. Biff and I turned to see what the trouble was, and he said, “Something just ran past me and stepped on my foot!” I scanned back down the hallway only to see nothing. Knees shook it off, and we laughed as we went to see the rest of the building. After we finished the brief tour we grabbed some more chairs and went back to find our friends to reassemble our kinetic circle for some chitchat.
Just outside the door to the Theater Room in the hallway I had set up a recorder on a chair. From my vantage point I could see the red light on the device, letting me know it was still on. This turned out to be terribly handy. While we were all sitting around talking about past experiences, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that something was constantly blocking that red light. I started tuning everyone out and shifted my focus to the doorway. Sure enough, I saw something peeking around the corner at me several times. Stubs saw it too. It was like a spooky version of Catch Me If You Can. Just as we were all turning our attention to the doorway, we heard something in the room immediately behind us. There was a door that connected the two rooms, and as we stepped into it, I heard laughter in the hallway. Spine-tingling stuff, but I was starting to feel something else. I know I am (supposedly) a big, strong badass man and everything. Even so, I was frustrated; this was getting ridiculous, and not for nothing I wanted to kick that little shit’s ass.
Meanwhile, the temperature in the Theater Room was starting to get schizophrenic. One moment it would be nice and cozy, and seconds later it would be stiflingly uncomfortable. Sweat ran from our faces and then suddenly dried as it cooled. So we walked around some more. I took Biff and Knees to that bathroom where we had all felt physically ill. As we stood in the dark, around a corner by the stalls Biff whispered, “I think I am going to throw up.” I could feel her pain; this was a type of porcelain hell, draped in art deco and painted with some sort of unnatural misery. What the hell could have happened in there? I started looking at how the restroom was designed.
As you walked through the door you could go to the right to one set of stalls and urinals, or you could go to the left with an entirely different set of both. There was one catch: if you went to the left, one of the stalls cut off the rest of the room. But if you went to the right, you could keep going around by the window. I discovered there was a two-person sized nook back in the corner, hidden from view. It suddenly occurred to me that it was the perfect place for an attack. The layout was almost ripe for a sexual assault; no one would see anything from the doorway if they entered. My mind twisted that over and over like an equation. Was that why it was borderline unbearable in that bathroom? If so, who was victim and who was predator? Mind you, I have not one shred of evidence—this is all hypothesis. But I know what I am talking about. I have been on the dangerous end of that type of business. I recognized the feeling in my chest from standing in that room. I knew it all too well.
I guided Biff and Knees through the hallways, showing them the rooms and the layout but not going into detail about anything other than the history. We were down in the lower section by the gymnasium. I was holding one of the double doors open for them to come through so we could descend the stairs down to see the boiler room. I heard something like movement through air, and Knees let out a yell. Biff and I turned to see what the trouble was, and he said, “Something just ran past me and stepped on my foot!” I scanned back down the hallway only to see nothing. Knees shook it off, and we laughed as we went to see the rest of the building. After we finished the brief tour we grabbed some more chairs and went back to find our friends to reassemble our kinetic circle for some chitchat.
Just outside the door to the Theater Room in the hallway I had set up a recorder on a chair. From my vantage point I could see the red light on the device, letting me know it was still on. This turned out to be terribly handy. While we were all sitting around talking about past experiences, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that something was constantly blocking that red light. I started tuning everyone out and shifted my focus to the doorway. Sure enough, I saw something peeking around the corner at me several times. Stubs saw it too. It was like a spooky version of Catch Me If You Can. Just as we were all turning our attention to the doorway, we heard something in the room immediately behind us. There was a door that connected the two rooms, and as we stepped into it, I heard laughter in the hallway. Spine-tingling stuff, but I was starting to feel something else. I know I am (supposedly) a big, strong badass man and everything. Even so, I was frustrated; this was getting ridiculous, and not for nothing I wanted to kick that little shit’s ass.
Meanwhile, the temperature in the Theater Room was starting to get schizophrenic. One moment it would be nice and cozy, and seconds later it would be stiflingly uncomfortable. Sweat ran from our faces and then suddenly dried as it cooled. So we walked around some more. I took Biff and Knees to that bathroom where we had all felt physically ill. As we stood in the dark, around a corner by the stalls Biff whispered, “I think I am going to throw up.” I could feel her pain; this was a type of porcelain hell, draped in art deco and painted with some sort of unnatural misery. What the hell could have happened in there? I started looking at how the restroom was designed.
As you walked through the door you could go to the right to one set of stalls and urinals, or you could go to the left with an entirely different set of both. There was one catch: if you went to the left, one of the stalls cut off the rest of the room. But if you went to the right, you could keep going around by the window. I discovered there was a two-person sized nook back in the corner, hidden from view. It suddenly occurred to me that it was the perfect place for an attack. The layout was almost ripe for a sexual assault; no one would see anything from the doorway if they entered. My mind twisted that over and over like an equation. Was that why it was borderline unbearable in that bathroom? If so, who was victim and who was predator? Mind you, I have not one shred of evidence—this is all hypothesis. But I know what I am talking about. I have been on the dangerous end of that type of business. I recognized the feeling in my chest from standing in that room. I knew it all too well.
Similar Books
