And the Beat Goes On.

It was only a matter of time before somebody found out. And when they found out it was probably going to make somebody angry. And when they got angry it was going to spill over onto the others, and soon the whole place was going to melt down into chaos, confusion and potential violence.

Almost predictably, it was the sales staff that blew up first.

A chair flew out into the hallway, followed by an unearthly screech, laden with profanity, enough swearing to make a pirate blush. It didn't take long until the sales associates stormed the Marketing department, taking seven hostages. They demanding an increased commission on the newest Youth Rejuvenating Face Cream, and a cappuccino machine.

In a surprising act of brotherhood the shipping and receiving department grabbed two forklifts from the warehouse and put all of the office workers cars on the roof. Swearing they would stay there until the sales staff's demands were met, and the company agreed to buy fresh donuts every Friday.

Corporate negotiators arrived armed with leather brief cases, Gucci suits, expensive Italian shoes, and some of the nicest watches anybody had ever seen. Everybody had ample time to see the watches, because the negotiators kept glancing at them. As though they were late for something more pressing than the release of seven hostages in the Marketing department.

After hours of tense meetings, thinly veiled threats, and some of the most delicious pizza the company any of them could remember negotiations broke down. They were all confused about what to do next so they agreed to go back to work, and pay for the broken chair.

The Chairman sent a note thanking everybody, and everybody got a nice gift card to a local grocery store and a pint of Rejuvenating Cream. Everybody was happy, except the custodial staff, who were excluded from the negotiations, and didn't get any pizza.

In the Janitor's closet you could hear the ends of the wooden broom handles being whittled to a fine point, the scrape of chalk across a board as plans were drawn up. You could smell the anger, see it bubbling from under the plain, gray steel door.

They burst from the room, a rising tide of second shift fury ready to ransack the building leaving a mess that could never be cleaned. On a cart right outside the door they found a box of fresh fruit, and a carafe of freshly ground, freshly brewed hot coffee, and a small pitcher of fresh cream.

They looked up and down the narrow, dimly lit hall but no one was there. After having some fruit, and coffee they felt a little foolish, and went to work. The building had never been cleaner.

So It Begins.

Our building is very old. It has a past that is not entirely wholesome. People speak in hushed tones about the days it was used as a speak easy. Tales, awful tales, circulate about the time it housed the overflow from the local jail. Mythical, monstrous stories, of terrible and awful occurrences. All dubious origin. Nobody thought they were true, but everybody believed them.

Initial construction was completed in the late 1800s. Three additions were cobbled on to the original over the next 37 years, leaving dark corners, small dank recesses, and oddly shaped rooms scattered in unexpected places. The whole building teeters on the line dividing reality and the other places. Places where the darkness is more than the absence of light. Places where the darkness lives. Places where the darkness is so absolute it cuts a clean line at the threshold, even sound won’t enter those places. Places where people go and never return. Sometimes the body, the vessel, comes back, but the person doesn’t. There are lines in our building nobody should cross.

This too, has been a place of darkness

In the basement is the darkest place of all. It is up a small flight of stairs, with a small rectangular landing. There is a heavy gauge chain link fence with a sturdy gate, held secure by an imposing lock, that separates the two places. In there, the darkness is darker. If a person were to watch long enough, and that person would be a fool, the darkness will start to boil, and roll. Twisting, dancing, living. Occasionally a toy will tumble down the steps, landing at the fool’s feet. If the fool had any brains at all he would not touch the little ball, or truck. No, the best course is to finish your task in the less dark part of the basement, and get out, as fast as possible.

During those early days the company had developed a very workable relationship with several manufacturers in developing countries. They produced the components for several machines that were moving beyond planning to procurement and production. Transformative machines with enormous potential. It would take some time to gather all the pieces, and assemble the parts into the whole. All of those parts needed to be stored somewhere. Once the rest of the building was full we were left with only the basement.

As the final crate was pulled from the elevator and the ordeal was almost over there was the slightest movement from the darkness.  A darkness slightly darker than the impenetrable black. Stirring, shifting, fading, coming closer, moving away. It had a  sound, breathless, gasping, terrifying. We stood, frozen in terror, knowing our lives were over. All of the sudden the great price on all the needed parts seemed a terrible deal, a balance sheet that was going to be zeroed out with our deaths.

As we stood, waiting for the end, a small cup tumbled down the stairs, it had a delicate ring as it fell from step to step. At the bottom it landed gently on its base. It was spotless, and shone as though it had just been polished. The voice grew louder, clearer, and it sounded as if someone were clearing their throat. “Tell John🍺 our cappuccino machine is broken, please.” It said.

“Right away.” we said, running up the stairs, faster than any man had ever run.

🍺 John is the equipment manager.