A White Concrete Room and a Dim Orange Light

I didn't think it would come to this. Just a week ago, things had been fine. Not great, but fine. Now, though, things were horrible.

My life had taken a turn for the worse when my poor, dear sister took a nasty fall and broke her leg. The last of our relatives, a horrid aunt who treated us more like housekeepers than family, had been lowered into the earth four years before, leaving us to tend to her debts. As you might imagine, a broken leg was not a great help to our financial situation.

To cut a long story short, I had tasked myself with coming up with the money to pay my sister's medical bills and ended up taking what could only have been described as an extremely suspicious job. The online listing had read "Night Guard (Perranormal) – Pay Good!!" The poor English didn't inspire confidence, and neither did the idea of being a night guard, to be honest—I had a weak constitution as a result of not eating well, and, though it embarrasses me to admit it, adolescence had not released me from my childhood fear of the dark as I had hoped it would. But the pay was, in fact, good, and we desperately needed the money.

It was dusk, and what of the sun's ambient warmth remained was abruptly pushed aside by a cold gust that sent a barrage of brown autumn leaves rustling across my tattered shoes. Grass and weeds creeped up from cracks in the weathered pavement, tickling my ankles with unwelcome caresses. The place wasn't far from my apartment. In fact, I was sure I had driven this road a few times before, but I didn't recall noticing this tiny parking lot or the small white building that sat beside it, despite how old they looked.

"Is this really the place...?" I wondered to myself, taking a few unsteady steps forward. The building was a simple box of white concrete. The only fixture was a thin, rusty, steel door which was oddly situated about half a foot off the ground. There were no windows or external lighting, and the whole property seemed to be devoid of signage. It didn't feel right.

I stopped to think, but as I noticed the pitch black silhouette of the forest stretching out behind the building, a shudder shot through my body, and the darkness seemed to grow closer. My fear was pushing me; I couldn't hesitate. I was either going to get in my car and run, or I was going to open that rusty old door and confront whatever "perranormal" thing was waiting inside. Unfortunately, only one of those options involved getting paid, and unfortunately, it was the option I would have rather not chosen.

There was some resistance as I turned the doorknob, but it gave way with the sudden crunch of crumbling rust, and a puff of grey dust cascaded from the edge of the door as it creaked open. I winced at the sound. My heart was pounding. The room was dark. I took a deep breath and threw my hand up the wall, fumbling desperately in search of a light switch. There! I flicked the switch on, and for a few seconds there was still no light. My heart sank, but the light flickered, and I felt relieved for a moment. Then, slowly, the room was illuminated, and my heart sank once more.

The room was even smaller than it had seemed from the outside. It was nearly empty—nearly. The shadowed corners of the ceiling were populated by spiderwebs, two of which were occupied by rather large tenants. On the back wall, there was a reddish stain that I decided not to think about, and a chunk of concrete was missing. The dim orange glow that lit up the room came from a single old bulb that hung from a thin wire attached to the ceiling with small metal brackets. Flies and moths, save for those that had been snared in the spiders' traps, buzzed about the light, occasionally bumping into the glass with a high-pitched "tink." The floor, if you could call it that, was a sort of muddy sediment. Whether it had been laid in manually or had accumulated somehow over many years, I couldn't be sure. In the center of the room, sunk partially into the dirt, was a cheap plastic lawn chair, and in the chair sat the object of my dread: a pale porcelain mannequin, clad in a navy blue Victorian dress and a wavy blonde wig.

At the sight of the thing, which I for an instant thought to be human, I stumbled back slightly and nearly tripped over the doorstep.

"...the Hell is this, man?" I muttered, hoping to calm myself with the company of my own voice. I got my bearings and closed the door slowly behind me, but not before ensuring the knob could be turned from the inside. Inspecting the mannequin further, I noticed a small yellowed rectangle of cloth and a scrap of paper lying in its lap. I gingerly picked up the paper and tried to read whatever was scribbled on it, but I was so shaken that it took almost a minute to soothe my shivering hand enough to do so.

"KEEP THE TALISMAN ON ITS FOREHEAD" was all that was written on the paper. I looked back at the slip of cloth that sat across the mannequin's legs. That didn't seem good. I suddenly had the feeling that something very bad was about to happen, and I rushed to grab the cloth, placing it haphazardly on the mannequin's forehead. I stared at the mannequin in anticipation. Nothing happened. I let out a sigh and tried to remind myself that I didn't believe in ghosts or possessed dolls or anything like that. I may have been afraid of the dark, but that was just a primal fear of the unknown, nothing more. Still, I couldn't bring myself to take my eyes off that thing.

I stood still for a while as my mind raced. Questions kept forming, over and over: "What is this?" "Who posted that job?" "How long am I supposed to stay in here?" "Is someone supposed to be here to instruct me, or...?" But I had no answers. The uncertainties built up until I was crushed under their weight.

"I can't do this," I whispered, and I reached for the doorknob. "I'll just have to find another job quickly," I thought. I turned to the door and reached for the light switch, but just as soon as the mannequin left my sight there was a sound—a quiet sound, like a bird lighting on your windowsill, or the page of a book closing on your hand as you drift off to sleep. I spun back to face the figure and caught a glimpse of motion as the talisman dropped into its lap once again.