Firefighter_Monsters in the Hallways

The fluorescent lights of the post office burnt my eyes and buzzed in my ears. People bustled around, conversation loud and punctuated by thudding boxes that were being thrown around. All of this was making it hard to focus on the manager who I was meant to be receiving today’s parcels from, but the worst of all had to be the television.

It was blaring, irritating, and grabbed everyone’s attention. The reporter on screen was well-put-together and was reading out the news in a calm and measured tone. Possibly too calm for the devastating news coming from her mouth.

“-is finally officially considering Action 210 to be passed into federal law.” She announced, rearranging her papers, “It has been scheduled to be ratified a month from now. However, activists are already making their way to the streets, either for or against the decision.”

Despite myself, I find myself transfixed as footage started playing on-screen of riots and protests nationwide. People were displayed and reported, each speaking on their stances.

“This will be a disaster! You can’t enforce this-”

“I say it’s about damn time. These criminals deserve to be policed.”

“What about the research the government does? Universities? Will that be outlawed, too?”

“This is all to cripple the food programs! How’re we supposed to transport fresh produce now?”

“Murder is a crime. Walking isn’t. Charge them on murder, instead.”

Lots of opinions. Clashing talking points. My head span just by thinking through all of them and pointing out all the flaws in their logic. The day had barely started, and I was already getting a headache.

“Gardner, here’s your schedule.” My manager told me, pushing a clipboard at me. I took it immediately, reading it through. The load was lighter today. I was starting to notice that the amount of traffic we got was slowly declining. Or maybe it was just me?

“It’s to balance out the walking time it’ll take.” She explained softly, “You should maybe think about investing in a bicycle if things snowball from here.”

I had learnt to ride a bike when I was a kid, just like any other kid who had the means, but it had been so long since I had actually ridden one, I thought I might have actually forgotten how. I know people said that you never really forgot, but I was pretty sure I was too dependent on reflection-hopping to ever go back to any other mode of transport.

So, I lugged the messenger bag over my shoulder and walked straight into the full-body mirror set up near the entrance.

Usually, I found walking quite meditative. That’s why I had chosen to be a mailwoman in the first place. Now though, I was rushing to get myself through the list. What used to be a full-time job, I managed to get done in three hours. After that, I checked to make sure my work pager was on, and then went straight to Fold’s apartment.

Fold was there, naturally, leaning over a small foldable desk that had been set up on his permanent desk. There were flesh-toned blobs on top of the desk, with a variety of knives and glass shards arranged beside them. Riley was sitting in the corner, a halo of ringlets floating around her shoulders as she watched the proceedings with interest.

“What’s going on?” I asked, looking around.

“Testing out the tearing patterns.” Riley explained, holding up some up-close pictures of serrated skin and torn muscle, “These were included in the autopsy report. Much better resolution than what Fold was working with before.”

“That’s… smart.” I noted, holding up one of the knives. They were a unique type of serrated edge that looked almost like a set of jagged teeth. From my adventures in bite matching, I immediately recognized it as a medium-sized cat of some kind, “How’s that going for you guys?”

“Well, the ‘bites’ are too clean to be proper teeth.” Riley explained, “Too narrow and no grinding. It was in and out with no repeats. Unnatural. So we’re experimenting with other materials to check what’s giving the flesh that unique smooth cut.” She looked slightly grinned, “I mean, Fold is doing it. I’m just watching.”

“And what’re the results?” I asked, a sinking feeling that I knew what was coming.

Fold met my gaze, completely unapologetic, “All signs are pointing us to glass.” He confirmed.

Well, damn. Another sign leaning towards his hypothesis. Something that I still refused to believe. The hallways had been a safe place for years now. Whether I was in high school, or college, or even when I was working a nine to five, the kaleidoscopic pathways were there to welcome me, taking me around the world and back in a few dreamy hours.

The idea that it was alive was alien enough, but that world coming to life to murder people? It just didn’t register as a possibility. In a panic, I moved my eyes away, instead latching onto the evidence corkboard on the wall. There were new photos pinned there that I hadn’t seen before. Unknown people, lying on the ground with bites all over their bodies. Multiple limbs bitten right out. In the background, I saw the shifting, multicolored landscape of the mirrored hallways.

More victims that had been claimed by those endless comforting mirrors.

“I think I need some time.” I whispered faintly, stumbling back into the mirror I had only just come from. Riley frowned and reached forward; her eyes lined with concern. I didn’t stop to listen to what she had to say, instead turning around and bolting right back into the mirrors where all that blood had been spilt.

I just wanted to breathe for a second. A distraction of some kind, even though my days were so full already I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do something productive. So, what to do instead?

Dave. He was doing his first jump tomorrow. I should go help him with the party beforehand.

I extracted myself from the hallways through one of the mirrors set up on sharp turns. Oddly shaped mirrors were a pain to jump through. Passing through them always made me feel weird, as if I was being turned inside out and stretched out like a piece of chewing gum. Or putty, for the matter.

There was a sign by the mirror when I jumped out of it. Small and discrete, it read ‘covering corner mirrors is a civil offence.’

Wow, so things had gone that far already.

I made my way to the closest phone box and let myself in. A couple quarters and then inputting the number that had been imprinted on the inside of my head ever since I had gotten home and hunted for that blanket.

Agonized beeping from the receiver, until finally there was crackling and the phone was picked up.

“Hello?” Came Dave’s hesitant voice through the line.

“Good afternoon, Dave.” I replied, “It’s Madison, remember?”

“Oh, right, of course.” He agreed, rustling in the background of his call, “Why- why are you calling?”

“You wanted to a customary little party for your first jump, didn’t you? We need to make sure we’ve got everything! Cut some cake, make some cholay, do you like spices? Because there’s this flaming stew my cousin made for her first jump celebration and it could set your mouth on fire both literally and metaphorically.”

“Um… sure?” He replied over the crackling, “I’m actually off on leave right now, so I might be able to do all the cooking myself. Send me the recipe?”

“Yeah, I’m not really home right now, so I’ll fax it over the moment I can.” I promised.

“Wait, so why did you call if you’re not home?” Dave asked.

“Do I need a reason?” I asked, feeling my heart pulse in my chest.

“Uhm, not really, but I’ve just been hearing it a lot in your voice, too. Is something wrong? You sound upset.” Dave explained, his concerned frown and scrunched up eyebrows evident even through the terrible sound quality of the payphone.

“Yeah, I am.” I sighed, fighting the urge to lean against the wall. It was filthy, who knew what had been spilled there, “It’s… hard to talk about.”

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, almost whispering at this point.

“The investigation with Fold is eating me alive.” I confessed, “There’s just… so much gore. I can’t handle it, but they need me, y’know? There aren’t any other reflection-hoppers to use except for me.”

An awkward silence that stretched long enough for me to start worrying that the phone had timed out. Then, finally, a crackly puff of air being released.

“That’s a pretty tough situation.” He admitted, “But you shouldn’t feel obligated to stick around if its making you uncomfortable. Maybe think about looking into therapy?”

“No, my insurance would never cover that.” I sighed, “You must have met a lot of people in your self-studies. You know any reflection hoppers that are more qualified for this job?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“I used textbooks and public domain films.” He replied, “I don’t know anyone at all. Excluding you.”

“Dang. That sucks.” I sighed, “But keep an eye out, will you?”

“Of course.” He agreed, “Make sure that Maximillian knows the gore’s getting to you, alright? Go for the jobs that don’t involve looking directly at the victims, maybe?”

“Yeah, okay.” I agreed, “That may work. Thanks, Dave. I’ll get back to you about this once I get home. Bye.”

“Bye.” He echoed, before tacking on, “Good luck.”

Just in time, too, as the dial tone began buzzing over the receiver.

“Enter 3 cents for continued call?” The robotic voice asked. I hung up the phone.

Time to head back, get ahold of my nerves all over again, and then walk back into that office.

There was a monster to catch.

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Dave Mitchells had a lot going on.

His entire life was a rollercoaster, front to back. He’d like to go over his whole biography, but right now, nothing was sticking out to him.

He wouldn’t say that he had a particularly hard time or anything. If anything, he was born in a position of privilege, if he was allowed to say that.

During high school, he began practicing reflection-hopping. It started off when he saw the action hero do it in a movie to avoid a sniper. Ever since then, he’d been hooked. He had to become a reflection-hopper, just like him!

He began practicing using books. His mother had been snippy about it, and his classmates had laughed him off whenever he asked around for help. So, he tried to figure it out by himself. He started swimming to learn how to dive, took up hiking and running to build up his stamina, did everything he could to build his body up and reach peak physical stature. That would help him with slipping into the mirrors, wouldn’t it?

In senior year, he remembered waking up one morning and washing his face. His reflection had stared at him from over the sink, eyes wide and owlish, hair hanging limp.

Wet fingers reached forward, grazing over the cold, smooth surface of the mirror. It was solid. When he tried to apply more pressure, it only felt more solid. Impenetrable. A world he’d never be a part of. No matter how hard he tried.

Regardless of that, after graduating from high school, he had a lot of choices. He was smart, good with his hands, had decent grades, and was reasonably athletic. Anything he wanted; he could do it. There were colleges offering him all kinds of scholarships, enough to make it through all of higher education debt-free.

But instead of all that, he went instead to military school. It appealed to him. The glory, the excitement, the buzz that surrounded it. He was hooked. And he applied.

He’d almost been accepted, too, until they flagged him for his epilepsy. That got him immediately kicked out of the running.

All his dreams were dashed into the ground. Where was he supposed to go from here?

After being rejected from the army, most people would move onto applying to the police, or maybe security. Not Dave. He needed to do something else.

A pamphlet for firefight recruits was slipped under his bedroom door one day. He read it through, then read it again. Went to the library and started looking more into it. Three days later, he was ringing up their hotline, asking to speak with Dave.

What followed next was weeks upon weeks of training. He attended workshops on fire safety, put in hours of practice on the practical course. He became more passionate about being a firefighter. It was better than being in the army or a police officer. Dave wasn’t made to be any of those things.

He was made to fight fires. And he really enjoyed doing it.

Almost as much as he enjoyed the idea of jumping through mirrors all on his own, those kaleidoscopic, many angled hallways to be see at his own behest.

Dave wanted that. More than anything.

And he was going to have it, too. In just a few hours.

He paced around his apartment, looking desperately for a distraction. The food was on the table, ready to be served, all the bookshelves were properly dusted, and his apartment was sparse because his job barely let him stay here much, so there wasn’t anything to fiddle around with.

But everything had to be perfect. Maddy Gardner was coming over and he couldn’t let anything be less than perfect. He hadn’t gotten the chance to connect with anyone like this before, and he wasn’t going to mess this chance up, either.

The doorbell chimed, jolting him into action.

He peered through the peephole with nervous energy, letting out an internal sigh of relief as he saw Maddy in her newsboy cap and brown overcoat.

The door swung open, and he greeted her with a practiced smile, “Hullo, Madison.”

She smiled and nodded back, “Hullo to you too.” She echoed, putting on a pretentious uptown accent. He laughed at it, but inside he wanted to shrivel up and die.

“Well, do you want to come in?” He asked, “I’ve got the whole setup already prepared…”

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The setup in question was a folding chair, positioned in front of a giant mirror lying flat across the floor.

I would know, as I had been crouched over it for what felt like hours. There was something about it that was so… mesmerizing. Looking deep into it, I felt like I could see a story playing out in front of me. A story that was all in my head, clearly, but it felt so vivid. Clearly, my head had been taken on by fits of fancy and now I was hallucinating.

“Is something wrong?” Dave asked hesitantly behind me, “Did I mess it up somehow?”

“No…” I murmured, reaching my hand forward to ripple across the reflective surface of the mirror that was now delightfully liquid using the charms tattooed onto my arms, “No, it’s fine.”

I decided to distract myself by shoveling down some of the paya Dave had made using the recipe I had faxed him. Despite the remarkably little instruction and time he had, the guy had made a decent version of it. I took a couple more sips to truly appreciate the stuff instead of just using it as a distraction.

“So, what now?” He asked, fidgeting uncomfortably, “Where do we go from here?”

“Well, we finish the food, and then take the plunge.” I replied. It was self-explanatory.

“Right, right, of course.” He agreed, “How much can I eat? Should I wait for a few hours before jumping or will I get stomach cramps?”

“This isn’t like swimming, Dave.” I sighed.

“You never know!”

“Get your head on correctly, man.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face, “Do you want to do this now or are we going to have to postpone this trip?”

Alarm flashed through his face, “No, we don’t have to do that!” He assured me, “Just uh… give me a moment?”

I stepped back, giving him some space as he clambered on top of the chair. He hesitated for a moment, then stretched one foot out over the mirror. He was wearing a tank top, allowing us to attach the storebought reflection-hopping charms onto his body with athletic tape.

We waited for a few moments, suspended in anticipation, until finally Dave bit the bullet and pulled his other foot off the stool. He plummeted like a rock, straight towards the mirror that sat below.

It looked incredibly fragile in that instant. And even though I had done this for years before, for a moment, I was struck with the fear that Dave wasn’t going to make it. He was going to land on the mirror, and it would shatter into a thousand glistening razors.

But he fell. And he made contact with the mirror. And he slipped right through, leaving behind barely a ripple on the surface. I gave him a few minutes to take in the grandeur, and then slipped into the mirror right behind him. I fell directly down and landed forcefully on the fractal-patterned ground below.

It wasn’t often when I had to jump down, but it wasn’t the first time. There were a few risky maneuvers in my childhood involving rain puddles that often dropped me straight down, but those were a rose-tinted memory. Nothing I had to concern myself with.

Dave was still standing a few feet away, looking around in a reverent fashion. His eyes were wide with magic, the polar opposite of the grief-stricken manic look that had dogged him the first time.

“Hey.” I whispered, trying not to disturb his immersion too much. To no avail, though, as he jumped away from me in alarm.

He blinked owlishly, as if trying to process my presence.

“Maddy…” He muttered, “I didn’t realize that you would follow me in.”

“It takes time to gain a feel for where you’re supposed to go.” I explained, “I didn’t want you to get lost, but if you think you’ve got it, then I can leave?” It was a half-hearted peace offering, but he immediately lit up at the option.

“Sure! Let’s do that.” He agreed.

“Oh. Well. Uh…” My thoughts scrambled in a panic. I hadn’t expected him to actually be up for it. Still, that was what he wanted, so I shouldn’t deny him, “Fine. I’ll see you outside?”

“Of course.” He agreed, before turning to look at the mirror fixed on the ceiling of the hallways, “Wait, how’re you going to get there?”

I raised an eyebrow and stepped a few paces back. As if on command, the entirety of the hallways began shifting organically, twisting around so that the part I was standing on turned on its head and hung me upside down. My feet never budged from their place, and even my hair didn’t show the slightest change. Gravity wasn’t real in the hallways. Everything was under your command if you tried hard enough.

Everything except the killers going loose, it seemed.

“Woah.” Dave whispered, looking at me awestruck, “How am I going to do that?”

“Just give it your best shot!” I encouraged, “And if it’s real hard, I suppose I’ll have to help you out.”

His cheeks flared red and he looked away. Yep, he was going to do something stupid to avoid asking for help. Whatever, we were both adults so it wasn’t really my problem. I jumped back into the real world and settled myself in for a wait.

I had read up some to prepare for the job and knew how these things generally went. People tended to have longer first jumps as they meandered through the hallways and experimented with their limitations. Because of this, I had prepared myself for a slog. That was why I had insisted on all the food.

Even with provisions, I found myself faltering as one hour became two hours, then three. And then four.

It slowly bled into the early morning hours, and I realized I really needed to get to bed. Even a few hours would be a lifesaver as I did my morning rounds. But Dave still hadn’t shown up.

I should have been more worried, but at that point my brain had been so gummed up by sleep, I barely even registered it as odd. I just packed all the remaining food away, locked the door behind me, and left for home.

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I ended up sleeping incredibly well. Even managed to not be woken too harshly by my alarm. Despite my late hours, the morning run seemed to be off to a great start.

“This one is especially fragile.” The manager warned me as she handed me a parcel nearly as big as my torso. My arms nearly buckled under the weight, but I managed to hang on by the skin of my teeth.

“And you want me carrying it?” I asked faintly.

“That’s exactly why we want you carrying it.” She corrected, “You’re the least likely to have a crash, or rattle it around unnecessarily. Get it to the recipient safe, and you might just bag yourself a bonus.”

I nodded briskly, a burst of energy and determination zinging down my spine.

I fully intended to do this responsibly. Go slowly, taking the most level route, no matter how long it took, not taking any unnecessary risks (which I totally also did with other packages marked fragile that didn’t come with a bonus attached to them, I swear!) but then I was met with unforeseen complications.

There was an arm sticking out from around a bend I was heading towards. A tanned, muscly arm with athletic tape used to patch paper charms over it.

For a moment, I forgot about the pictures I had seen. The dead body of Celina Minto. Or maybe I was just in denial. I don’t know why I walked towards the arm without even a hint of concern.

I genuinely thought that Dave was just lying there. Fallen unconscious after too much wandering. And in truth, Dave really was lying there.

Several feet away from his arm, which had been torn from his shoulder and dragged away to the bend, leaving behind a trail of blood marking its journey.

The fragile parcel slipped from my fingers. It hit the ground with a crunch. Something broke inside the cardboard, even with all the padding and foam that had been wrapped around it. It must’ve been really fragile, a hysterically avoidant part of my brain noted.

The rest of me was too busy screaming as Dave’s lifeless eyes stared into my soul. The giant row of teeth had cut straight through his face, leaving an imprint across his mouth that looked almost like a grotesque smile had been carved into his face.

I threw up again.

Before, even with the corpse of Celina Minto, I had never considered that the hallways were at fault for it. It was just a place, innocent of what happened inside it.

But now? I despised the hallways.

Firefighter

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