The dark can trick you, you know. Make you see things, hear things, speak to people that never existed in the first place and go to places that haven't opened for years and years and years and the dark hides so much from us. So much that we can't see in the light.
There's a small brick shed in the fields outside of a town, one you've only ever seen glimpses of from the roads as you pass it by in favour of friendlier places, necessary places but it's always been there. That little grey door that's rusty around the edges, without a padlock and without any viewable purpose other than to taunt you with the thought that there's something inside it.
If you walked past there at night you'd see light coming through the keyhole and hear the faint sounds of glassware smashing and voices laughing at a joke too mumbled for you to hear. You might turn the door handle to find it unlocked and leading to a set of concrete stairs that spiral down into darkness. You might even go down those stairs, hands sweating as you grab the surprisingly warm handrail.
There could be lights glowing dimly on the walls at odd intervals, there could even be the vague outline of hands holding those lights against the walls. It would be too dark to see clearly enough until you reached the bottom, where the sound of breaking glass and laughter is loudest. A grey door matching the entrance would be at the end of a short corridor and shadows would be seen through the small glass window at the top.
The shadows might not be as human as they sound. They might have limbs where limbs shouldn't be or no limbs where limbs should be or worse. You would be able to hear them a lot clearer by pressing your ear against the door, under the window so you wouldn't be seen, of course.
Thirty years we told them! Thirty years until we could even consider going to the surface AND THEY BELIEVED EVERY WORD OF IT!
Oh hush already, you daft old fool - they'll hear us.
What does it matter? All we'd have to do is remind them that we've "saved their lives" and they'll fall right back into line as they've been doing the past FIFTY EIGHT YEARS ALREADY!
Just because they believed us last time doesn't mean they will this time. I can't cover for you every time you feel like gloating about it.
The... beings might be so distracted that they wouldn't see you slowly peeping into the window at their strange forms and the stranger activity they seem to be observing as writhing brown tentacles attempt to reach them through countless layers of paper-thin glass. The only thing that's between them-and-it and them-and-it-and-you.
If you backed out at that point you'd get away with this glimpse. You'd run as quietly as possible back up the stairs, trying to ignore the way the lights lean towards you as their holders realise what you aren't. You'd make it to the top of the stairs and close the door silently but firmly, planning to bring a lock with you next time to prevent the beings down there from following you.
You wouldn't realise you'd been spotted until several nights later when familiar voices are trying to get your attention from a manhole in your back garden. They beg that you come down and help them open it so they can talk to you.They might ask for your help as a matter of national importance - something that you can do will save the world as you know it!
You would have two options from there.
Open the manhole and be dragged away with them to "save the world" or ignore them for the rest of your days and pray that some day, somehow, they will forget about you and let you forget about them in turn. You may die with the sounds of their begging coming through the hospital vents, the hotel dumbwaiter, the maintenance door at the top of the elevator, the front grill of your car.
There's a small brick shed in the fields outside of a town, one you've only ever seen glimpses of from the roads as you pass it by in favour of friendlier places, necessary places but it's always been there. That little grey door that's rusty around the edges, without a padlock and without any viewable purpose other than to taunt you with the thought that there's something inside it.
If you walked past there at night you'd see light coming through the keyhole and hear the faint sounds of glassware smashing and voices laughing at a joke too mumbled for you to hear. You might turn the door handle to find it unlocked and leading to a set of concrete stairs that spiral down into darkness. You might even go down those stairs, hands sweating as you grab the surprisingly warm handrail.
There could be lights glowing dimly on the walls at odd intervals, there could even be the vague outline of hands holding those lights against the walls. It would be too dark to see clearly enough until you reached the bottom, where the sound of breaking glass and laughter is loudest. A grey door matching the entrance would be at the end of a short corridor and shadows would be seen through the small glass window at the top.
The shadows might not be as human as they sound. They might have limbs where limbs shouldn't be or no limbs where limbs should be or worse. You would be able to hear them a lot clearer by pressing your ear against the door, under the window so you wouldn't be seen, of course.
Thirty years we told them! Thirty years until we could even consider going to the surface AND THEY BELIEVED EVERY WORD OF IT!
Oh hush already, you daft old fool - they'll hear us.
What does it matter? All we'd have to do is remind them that we've "saved their lives" and they'll fall right back into line as they've been doing the past FIFTY EIGHT YEARS ALREADY!
Just because they believed us last time doesn't mean they will this time. I can't cover for you every time you feel like gloating about it.
The... beings might be so distracted that they wouldn't see you slowly peeping into the window at their strange forms and the stranger activity they seem to be observing as writhing brown tentacles attempt to reach them through countless layers of paper-thin glass. The only thing that's between them-and-it and them-and-it-and-you.
If you backed out at that point you'd get away with this glimpse. You'd run as quietly as possible back up the stairs, trying to ignore the way the lights lean towards you as their holders realise what you aren't. You'd make it to the top of the stairs and close the door silently but firmly, planning to bring a lock with you next time to prevent the beings down there from following you.
You wouldn't realise you'd been spotted until several nights later when familiar voices are trying to get your attention from a manhole in your back garden. They beg that you come down and help them open it so they can talk to you.They might ask for your help as a matter of national importance - something that you can do will save the world as you know it!
You would have two options from there.
Open the manhole and be dragged away with them to "save the world" or ignore them for the rest of your days and pray that some day, somehow, they will forget about you and let you forget about them in turn. You may die with the sounds of their begging coming through the hospital vents, the hotel dumbwaiter, the maintenance door at the top of the elevator, the front grill of your car.
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