Upon arriving at the local library she wasn't surprised at all to see several members of staff rushing to the lift while calling for others to hit the stairs. There had been another "breakout" on floor five, which was mostly used as a waiting room for the obligatory council meetings in the connecting offices.
Nobody likes to wait, especially when they have no say in the matter and find themselves sitting in the same vicinity as someone they have held a grudge against for thirty or so years. Sadly this was all too common for the area, given how few people left and fewer arrived.
After the staff rush to get to floor five and, with any luck, stop the "breakout" before anyone loses a tooth again, she pushed the Call button and waited. With any luck nobody would be being brought down to wait in the isolation office for the police to arrive and she could get to floor three in peace, do her research and go home with no further chaos.
The lift arrived with the usual quiet groan, the oil that was supposed to be poured over the rotational gears at either end of the pulley was still in its packaging at the information desk, as far as she knew, and had been there for almost ten years now. After the doors had opened with further complaining noises from a machine that desperately needed some TLC, she and a few other patrons quickly stepped inside, bracing themselves against the smell that they all knew would cling to their clothes for at least three washes.
The elderly gent standing next to the level sign glanced about as everyone quietly held up their fingers to show which floor they needed to get to. It was some unspoken rule that you didn't talk in the lift, only the staff did that. Being quiet meant that you wouldn't be yelled at by anyone waiting on floor five (though half the time any noise from the lift would set somebody off on an ironic tirade about noise control in a sensitive environment).
After confirming that everyone else wanted floor three and only one man wanted floor four, the lift shuddered and began its ascent. It slowly rose above floors one and two with no signs of stopping or slowing for floor three as it went right past the majority's stop. It slowed as it got to floor four, only coming to a stop on the floor nobody wanted to visit.
The doors opened unusually quietly as everyone inside the lift looked about at each other as if one of them would suddenly admit they had pushed the button for floor five. The elderly gent stepped out slowly, whispering to the others "It's safe to say the old gal's lost it. Best if we walk down, eh? Heads low, no sudden moves and we'll be right as rain." which didn't reassure the others nearly as much as he'd hoped.
As they moved out, one young woman gasped and began rapidly pointing to the far end of the seemingly endless rows of unoccupied chairs. For a place that was always so loud and allegedly full of trouble makers, there didn't appear to be anybody at first until everyone's eyes followed her shaking finger to the dark red footprints that glistened under the florescent lighting.
The prints were heading in the same direction as the stairs so the group, still lead by the elderly gent, followed along in parallel, eyes rarely leaving the bloody trail as if they expected a person to just appear there all of a sudden. Despite their best efforts to keep silent they heard people yelling at them to be quiet, yet still saw no-one the entire way along. Murmuring apologies they hurried quieter to the stairs, the footprints alongside them the entire way, seemingly following them down the stairs.
The group were so fixated on them that the young man didn't stop at floor four and nobody stopped at floor three. Instead they continued following the prints right to the ground floor, coming to an abrupt halt at the exit doors. The handles were covered in what could only be described as fresh blood, the source of which was coming from the brutalised remains of a staff member whose lanyard had been used to choke him so tightly it was embedded deep within his throat.
Judging by the child's face that had been pushed half way through the door, whatever happened on floor five had come down just ahead of them.
Nobody likes to wait, especially when they have no say in the matter and find themselves sitting in the same vicinity as someone they have held a grudge against for thirty or so years. Sadly this was all too common for the area, given how few people left and fewer arrived.
After the staff rush to get to floor five and, with any luck, stop the "breakout" before anyone loses a tooth again, she pushed the Call button and waited. With any luck nobody would be being brought down to wait in the isolation office for the police to arrive and she could get to floor three in peace, do her research and go home with no further chaos.
The lift arrived with the usual quiet groan, the oil that was supposed to be poured over the rotational gears at either end of the pulley was still in its packaging at the information desk, as far as she knew, and had been there for almost ten years now. After the doors had opened with further complaining noises from a machine that desperately needed some TLC, she and a few other patrons quickly stepped inside, bracing themselves against the smell that they all knew would cling to their clothes for at least three washes.
The elderly gent standing next to the level sign glanced about as everyone quietly held up their fingers to show which floor they needed to get to. It was some unspoken rule that you didn't talk in the lift, only the staff did that. Being quiet meant that you wouldn't be yelled at by anyone waiting on floor five (though half the time any noise from the lift would set somebody off on an ironic tirade about noise control in a sensitive environment).
After confirming that everyone else wanted floor three and only one man wanted floor four, the lift shuddered and began its ascent. It slowly rose above floors one and two with no signs of stopping or slowing for floor three as it went right past the majority's stop. It slowed as it got to floor four, only coming to a stop on the floor nobody wanted to visit.
The doors opened unusually quietly as everyone inside the lift looked about at each other as if one of them would suddenly admit they had pushed the button for floor five. The elderly gent stepped out slowly, whispering to the others "It's safe to say the old gal's lost it. Best if we walk down, eh? Heads low, no sudden moves and we'll be right as rain." which didn't reassure the others nearly as much as he'd hoped.
As they moved out, one young woman gasped and began rapidly pointing to the far end of the seemingly endless rows of unoccupied chairs. For a place that was always so loud and allegedly full of trouble makers, there didn't appear to be anybody at first until everyone's eyes followed her shaking finger to the dark red footprints that glistened under the florescent lighting.
The prints were heading in the same direction as the stairs so the group, still lead by the elderly gent, followed along in parallel, eyes rarely leaving the bloody trail as if they expected a person to just appear there all of a sudden. Despite their best efforts to keep silent they heard people yelling at them to be quiet, yet still saw no-one the entire way along. Murmuring apologies they hurried quieter to the stairs, the footprints alongside them the entire way, seemingly following them down the stairs.
The group were so fixated on them that the young man didn't stop at floor four and nobody stopped at floor three. Instead they continued following the prints right to the ground floor, coming to an abrupt halt at the exit doors. The handles were covered in what could only be described as fresh blood, the source of which was coming from the brutalised remains of a staff member whose lanyard had been used to choke him so tightly it was embedded deep within his throat.
Judging by the child's face that had been pushed half way through the door, whatever happened on floor five had come down just ahead of them.
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