Eventually my senses pick up on the familiar, a smell, something from my childhood. Christmas, model trains and burning electronics. Fire. Specifically the acrid, ozone infused aroma of an electrical fire. Adrenaline floods my body and I realise my eyes have been closed this entire time.

An angry flash of red in my periphery pulls attention back towards the keeper of misery. 

Focusing my gaze on the clock... 

The clock is gone. In its place smoulderes a warped hunk of plastic, circuits and copper wire. Budding flames lick the wall, threatening to engulf the roof and the rest of the building. In the heat of the moment my blood runs cold. In its last moments of life, blinking defiantly to the bitter end a dying beep echoes out across the room. My clock broadcasts its final goodbye. “80085”. The tone drops its pitch as the numbers fade to black.

It can’t be. Did my alarm clock just make its final act of existence a joke?

Could it have been an error code some bored engineer snuck into the design? 

It’s things like this that could make one question reality. 

Was my alarm clock sentient this whole time?

I knew that little bastard was messing with me.

I steal a glance down at my phone, the display reads 11:11 am. I look back up at the clock, flames still lapping at the edge of my curtains. I reach for the glass of water I keep religiously topped up beside my mousepad. An exploratory grasp finds no purchase, further investigations reveal a trail of water extending from where my cup used to be to its new home at the other end of the room. Resting now as a smouldering blob of styrofoam amongst flaming chunks of seven segment display and envy green pcb.

Had I really just had a seizure, doused my alarm clock and blacked out for the past, what, 40 minutes? I look around me. “Where is everyone” I ask the empty room. “What the hell is going on”.

A familiar warning tone of the building fire alarm assaults my ears snapping me back to the present once more, I need to deal with this fire. My gaze darts frantically around the sparsely decorated office in search of a solution. 

An acute observer might draw a number of disconcerting parallels between the design choices shared with mental hospitals for violent psychotics, daycare centers and the minimalist, curved edges and muted tones of the open plan cattle stalls around me. 

An almost perfect metaphor for society's capitalist efficiency maximisation ethos. 

I wonder how long this performance curve can continue. It's only a matter of time before they start taking our shoelaces. Too much of an insurance risk.

Sometimes I think life as actual livestock would be simpler, less stressful. There is something to be said for blissful ignorance. At least cows don’t have to worry about putting out fires. At least, not until it’s too late.

Still at a loss for a way out of my existential cage, I focus my attention towards the very real "burning issue" of the day.

In a stroke of genius recognised only in the moment, I seize my coworkers jacket. Left abandoned across the back of a neighbouring chair. “Sorry Dave” I mutter under my breath as I attempt to smother the remains of the clock with the side not marked “Ralph Lauren”. 

My attempts at heroism don’t go unpunished. With Daves self imagined success symbol for fuel, the fire burns with renewed vigour. Flames leap up the wall and against the ceiling

I take a step back, observing the carnage unfolding before me. 

“I think today calls for an early lunch”.

I grab my phone, keys, and hightail it out the door. 

I emerge from the warren of hallways into the foya of the 13th floor. In what feels like an unnaturally calm gesture, I reach out and tentatively press the down arrow to summon the lift.

Smoke is now filling the room at an alarming rate. “Ding”, the doors slide open revealing my chariot to safety. I jump in and frantically smash the “G” and close doors buttons. With agonising slowness the lift doors slide closed and the cart begins its descent to a more reasonable altitude. I lean against the wall. Slumping down into the corner, unsure of just what to feel given the state I left the office in. “DING” The lift stopped moving, the doors slide open revealing a hazy “12” printed in large letters across from the open lift. “What the..”. I spin around to inspect the panel. EVERY button is illuminated. “Great work Cham. You’ve really done it this time”, I scream to myself. Hearing my rage echo off the hard surfaces of the level 12 InsureCo lobby. 

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A faint voice, muffled by the smoke sings out from what sounds like further down the hall.“Hello? Is someone there? Anyone! I’m stuck and can’t get out. It’s starting to get hard to breath!” 

They’re not wrong about that I think. Noting the haze in the lobby darkening with each thinning breath. “I’m in the lift” I call back into the enveloping smog. 

“Where are you?”. The previously distressed voice answers from MUCH closer than I’m expecting. What at first sounded like Myriam, who up until now I believed to be a middle aged human resources director with hair and personality to match, now sounds closer to a demonic lord from beyond the ninth circle of hell (a slight improvement, depending on who you ask). 

“I’m right here little one, step forward and receive your reward, for the way is open and the barriers long forgotten. BLEND WITH US!”. 

A spine chilling dread floods my mind, a sensation I’ve only previously experienced in the presence of middle age my little pony enthusiasts and small spiders. I go dead silent. A faint scratching sound reverberates off the walls of the lobby. Creeping closer with each passing heartbeat. The doors of the lift begin to slide close. I peer through the slowly receding walls, acutely aware they represent my only defense against whatever demonic being is waiting beyond.

A form starts to coalesce through the smoke, just beyond the edge of the lift. A nightmare of unimaginable horror. In the haze the creature looks like an elongated human. Rake thin arms dangle well below the knees with hands adorned by serrated talon like fingers. Had I been able to describe its face I would, but in its place stretched over an elongated skull into a deformed mask was Myriam. Her face now fixed in a pained grimace. I can’t even tell if she’s dead or alive. Not a huge improvement. 

With a grinding screech and unconsciously held breath the doors trundle close and the lift resumes its descent. In no time at all the dreaded “Ding” rings out again. The doors slide open revealing a less lavishly decorated lobby than the floor above. I stand frozen as the elevator doors open in front of me. I’m struck by the sheer absurdity of the situation. 

This is not a normal Friday. 

At least the smoke hadn’t spread to this level as well. As I consider calling out for stragglers (probably a bad idea) a soul chilling roar erupts from the fire stairs down the hall. “Oh shit”. Violent scratching and tapping noises echo out into the deathly silence of level 11. I begin smashing the close door button with impunity. “Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit “tap”tap”tap”ta-” The doors begin to close. I hear the fire stair door at the end of the lobby fly off its hinges and careen down the vacant hallway. Sliding just into my field of view as it comes to a stop in front of the lift. I see blood stains on the inside. Hand prints. Like someone was trapped against the door moments before being turned into tomato sauce.

These thoughts flee my mind as the terribly familiar scratching noise from earlier rapidly approaches my mirrored coffin. This time the doors shut before I see it. 

Something big slams into the lift shaft above me. Screeching with indignant rage the creature begins slamming against the elevator shaft. I hear a crash and a moment later what could only be one of the doors from the level above smashes into the roof of my lift. Thankfully the ceiling holds. “Ding” the doors open to level 10, and my best chance for escape. 

I dash out of the lift into the dimly lit lobby. Another generic insurance office. This one even more spartan than the one above. 

Thankfully the layout is the same on every floor. I dash towards the fire stairs and push through into the cool brick passage. Housed in the stairwell and secured by a glass box hangs a fire axe. Without hesitation I smash oven the cover and rip the weapon free from its hanger. 

Armed now with more than misplaced confidence I set off faster than my decrepit body has moved in years. I fly down the stairs. Catching myself from tripping countless times. 

I’ve been running for what feels like an eternity, numbered doors fly past, noting the descent of each level. A “5” wizzes past printed in big red blocks. Strange I think to myself, that lettering looks the same as my clock. Terror catches up to me as the fire door of level 10 smashes in above me to tumble down the center of the stairwell.

I pick up the pace, flying down levels like my life depends on it. I feel my heart hammering in my chest. Sweat pours from my head but I can’t stop. I’m fueled by raw terror.

Then it happens. I lose my footing and without any grace to speak of tumble the last few steps onto the landing. 

Skinned knees and a sharp pain in the ankle won’t slow me down now. I don’t want to end up at the mercy of pissed off Eldritch-Myriam back there. With a final force of will I fling myself at the door labeled “Exit Ground”. Emerging from the dim hazy stairwell into the light of day wreaks havoc on my senses. Through slit eyes I peer out onto the courtyard. Hundreds of people mill around the area like nothing is happening. Like there isn’t a secretary slaughtering, face wearing monster running around the building. Chasing me down the STAIRS! I don’t even see the fire brigade.

With memories of the things distorted features and horrible breath fresh in my mind, I start putting distance between me and the fire escape. Drawing attention as I sprint across the courtyard a familiar voice calls from across the square. “Cham! There you are! You know you’re supposed to report for roll call during a fire drill.” The human embodiment of Mr Toad hops into my path. “Slow down son, you’ll hurt someone if you run around like that, have some sense!”. I pull up just short of smashing into the guy. “Sorry Dave, but what the fuck is going on?” I exclaim through stolen breaths.

The look on Dave's face is one I can only liken to complete surprise. “Excuse Me?” he stutters, looking like I’ve just pulled a fish from his clipboard and slapped his glasses off with it. Such complete shock could only indicate that Dave had not yet witnessed the rampaging killing machine undoubtedly making its way through the final levels of the building. At least, if he had, his priorities were way off.

“Run”, I say between breaths. His face now turning a whole new shade of red. One seen exclusively in hypertension patients and heirloom beetroot competitions.

Before he could respond a crash rang out across the courtyard. Closely followed by a chorus of screams echoing out across the stunned onlookers. In an impressive visage flanked by billowing smoke from the fire stairs the creature looms before the crowd. It’s eyes darting between the huddled faces before it, sniffing the air at each turn. Grotesque serpent like forked tongue flickering between Myriams elongated lips.

The stunned crowd stares on in shock and amazement. None wanting to move first, an entire horde of people, utterly paralysed by this foreign entity. It’s flickering tongue, darting in and out, abruptly stops. Its eyes snap to me, “oh shit” I mutter to myself before turning in the direction of my car and sprinting down the street. I hear a timid voice in the crowd behind me ask. “Myriam? Is that you? Are-are you ok?” Behind me I hear the creature let out its signature soul destroying screech. This was apparently all it took to spur the crowd into action. 

Mob mentality can be quite terrifying when demonic monsters are involved.