Unquiet Dreams by K. A. Laity

hearing the voices of Janet and Brad as they passed the opening of her paneled square. Fearing they might look her way, she swung back around so she would appear to be engaged in poring over the payroll sheets scattered across her work area. What to do, what to do? Obviously I can't tell anyone, Margaret thought, they'll think I'm crazy, I'll lose my job. But she had to do something…
    Call maintenance? Say there was something wrong with the sink, some kind of smell, some kind of…rodent? They'd probably only put traps down, unless there was something more wrong. And if one of them went missing, there would be a stink—they were unionized. It would be noticed, not like the temps—oh god she felt so guilty for not becoming aware of this sooner! But if it were a union member, well, it would be investigated. Someone else would have to deal with it, not Margaret. But she couldn't just hide from it. She already had fifteen deaths—no let's call them disappearances. I don't know they're dead, Margaret defended herself weakly. What did happen? They went numb from the touch of this shadow, this…void. And then? Well, they disappeared. It's not like it had a mouth—well, not that she saw—and if it had no mouth, it could not eat in the true sense of the word. Margaret winced, thinking involuntarily of her grandmother's old Latvian tales that frightened her as a child, stories that seemed inevitably to end with "And den it et dem all!"
    She couldn't call maintenance. She could simply avoid that part of the break room and say nothing to anyone. Maybe convince others to stay away from it. Oh yeah, right, that was going to work. It was the office sink! Coffee pots were filled there, tea cups, cup o' soups, dishes were washed, hands, clothes with food stains, coffee stains. Oh sure, Margaret thought sarcastically, that'll be no problem at all. And what's to say it wouldn't come out further? If its food wouldn't come to it, surely it would come to its food…oh god, I can't think about this anymore, Margaret thought, not realizing she was shaking her head. Do some work, don't think about it for a bit, surely something will come, some solution.
    Margaret turned to her tasks, sifting the papers, totaling columns, engrossing herself entirely in the figures, sheets and entries before her. She achieved it for a time. There was plenty to do, and the familiarity of the chores soon brought her into the preoccupied state of a comfortably busy brain, one totally involved with the tasks at hand. In fact it wasn't until she caught sight of a shadow from the corner of her eye—and flinched—that Margaret let her thoughts return to what she had seen earlier. Her skin remembered; even now the flesh on her foot held onto its red inflammation, though the severity had lessened and she no longer felt the numbing tingle. It seemed less real, though. The idea that something evil, something…sentient could be in the break room, why it was almost ludicrous, if only—well, if only she didn't feel that chill up her spine at the thought of going back there, Margaret could just pretend it never happened, pretend it wasn't real, pretend she didn't have to deal with it. But she knew the alternative was to continue to flinch every time a shadow touched her—or try to live surrounded by lights on full power all day, all night. But where there was light, there was darkness. Light made shadow. It was worse than trying not to step on cracks. Fear of the dark, even in the light of day.
    All right, thought Margaret, I have to do something, I can't stand this. There had been one idea in the back of her mind. She went down on her haunches and rummaged in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet, the unofficial junk drawer. I know it's in here somewhere, Margaret muttered, lifting out paper plates, balloons, holiday decorations—ah ha! She held up the shiny silver flashlight and flicked it on with her thumb. It rewarded