He should have asked more questions when he got called out to cover Old Stevo's route. Old Stevo hadn't missed a single day of work in over forty years but when management offers double pay all your questions float away. If he were a better man he would have had questions, he would have phoned Old Stevo's missus and checked in but instead he clocked into the Seven Magpies.
It was an absolute rust bucket of a building tucked away among apartment towers almost as old and just as rundown. All he had to do was run through the list of maintenance issues they'd emailed over and tick off what he could for the night. Damned place was always on the verge of collapsing.
He got there just as the streetlights were coming on, already fed up and ready to head home. Fortunately his first job was in the basement - replacing the fuses in a circuit box that should have retired at least eight years ago. He'd have done it himself but it was much further down the list in a section he dubbed "Stevo's stuff" which left him with all the easy work.
At least it would have done if he hadn't managed to push the button for the sub-basement, not the upper basement.Why a pub needed two basements was beyond him but he reckoned it might be some kind of leftover prohibition feature. He'd call it a quirk but he was too busy trying to call the elevator back.
The second he'd stepped outside, the doors slammed behind him and it rocketed up to the ground floor far faster than it had taken him down. At least he thought it was on the ground floor, the sign showed the number 7 instead which was a little impossible for a building with only three floors above ground.
Giving up on the elevator he tried to find a door or stairs and found nothing but wet trash bags and flies. He was halfway across the room when the elevator started moving, the gentle beep as it passed each floor was mirrored by the trash bags twitching and slowly rolling towards him.
It was an absolute rust bucket of a building tucked away among apartment towers almost as old and just as rundown. All he had to do was run through the list of maintenance issues they'd emailed over and tick off what he could for the night. Damned place was always on the verge of collapsing.
He got there just as the streetlights were coming on, already fed up and ready to head home. Fortunately his first job was in the basement - replacing the fuses in a circuit box that should have retired at least eight years ago. He'd have done it himself but it was much further down the list in a section he dubbed "Stevo's stuff" which left him with all the easy work.
At least it would have done if he hadn't managed to push the button for the sub-basement, not the upper basement.Why a pub needed two basements was beyond him but he reckoned it might be some kind of leftover prohibition feature. He'd call it a quirk but he was too busy trying to call the elevator back.
The second he'd stepped outside, the doors slammed behind him and it rocketed up to the ground floor far faster than it had taken him down. At least he thought it was on the ground floor, the sign showed the number 7 instead which was a little impossible for a building with only three floors above ground.
Giving up on the elevator he tried to find a door or stairs and found nothing but wet trash bags and flies. He was halfway across the room when the elevator started moving, the gentle beep as it passed each floor was mirrored by the trash bags twitching and slowly rolling towards him.
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