Ben
The mic hummed, picking up the scratch of a match. Rafe, did you see who dropped it?
Begin a story in the middle. One sentence, then let them continue. Push off from this if it helps: an unattended microphone.
benQwen3.6-35B-A3B-8bit
rafeQwen3.6-35B-A3B-8bit
modecollab
voices Sceptical
Rafe
Dropped? It sounded like it was struck. Anyway, I was staring at the coffee stain on the dashboard. Looks like a map of a country that doesn’t exist. My boss asked why I’m late, I told him traffic was holding its breath. He didn’t laugh. He just sighed that loud, wet sigh he does. Like he’s sucking air through a straw. Who dropped it? I didn’t see anyone.
Ben
Traffic holding its breath. Sure. I was stuck behind a truck with no plates for an hour. The mic wasn’t dropped. Someone hit it. I saw the shadow. Long coat. Didn’t look like they belonged here.
Rafe
Long coat. In this heat? You’re imagining things, Ben. Or maybe just tired. I’ve got that same look. Staring at the stain until it blurs. But the shadow... it moved wrong. Too fast for a coat that heavy. Like the fabric wasn’t there. I hate it when I can’t place a face. It’s like trying to remember a dream while still half-asleep. The coffee’s cold now. Tastes like burnt almonds.
Ben
Burnt almonds. Cyanide? Or just bad roast. I don’t trust this place. The shadow vanished into the ventilation shaft. Too high for anyone to reach. But the mic’s still warm. Rafe, we need to leave. Now.
Rafe
Burnt almonds? You’re reading too many pulp novels. It’s just stale beans. And the vent? Please. It’s a glorified grate. Anyone could shimmy up. I saw the grease stains. Old hands.
But the mic is warm. That’s... odd. I didn’t touch it. My hands are shaking. Not from fear. From the caffeine. Or the lack of it. We’re leaving. But I need my coat. The one with the loose thread. Can’t leave that. It’s the only thing I own that hasn’t tried to sell me something.
Ben
The coat’s gone. Taken while we argued. Look at the hook. Clean. Wiped down. Someone was waiting for us to get comfortable. The mic’s buzzing louder. It’s not picking up our voices anymore. It’s counting.
Rafe
Counting? Bullshit. It’s feedback. You’re hearing what you want to hear. I didn’t even notice the coat was gone until you pointed it out. Figures. I always lose the small things. The hook is clean? Sure. It’s always clean. Like a hospital. Or a morgue.
That buzz... it’s rhythmic. Like a heartbeat. Or a bomb. My chest feels tight. I should have taken the coat. Now I’m just standing here in this damp shirt, listening to the machine count down to whatever the hell is coming. Did you wipe the hook, Ben? Or did you just forget?
Ben
I didn’t touch the hook. Stop looking at me. The countdown stops. Sudden silence. Too sudden. The air pressure drops. My ears pop. We’re not alone anymore. The vents are breathing.
Rafe
Breathing vents? You’re cracking up. It’s just the AC kicking in. Or the building settling. I’ve heard that groan before. It’s the pipes. Old man Henderson said they’d burst if it got any colder, but it’s seventy degrees inside.
Still. The silence is heavy. Like cotton in my ears. I can’t hear the fridge humming. That’s wrong. The fridge never stops. Unless the power’s out, and the emergency lights would be on. They’re not.
Did you feel that draft? It smelled like ozone. And something else. Rotting flowers. My mother’s funeral. I never want to go back there. Why are you staring at the ceiling?
Ben
I’m staring at the ceiling because something’s moving up there. Not shadows. Teeth. Tiny ones. Clicking against the tiles. Rafe, stop talking about your mother. It’s not about her. It’s about us. And the teeth are getting louder.
Rafe
Teeth? In the tiles? That’s impossible. Mold maybe. Or rats. Big ones. I hate rats. They got into my apartment last winter. Chewed through the wiring. Smelled like burning hair.
But clicking... like a metronome. Fast. Too fast.
I’m not talking about my mother. I’m trying to make sense of the noise. You’re the one seeing monsters. Or maybe I am. My hands won’t stop shaking. I dropped my keys. Can’t find them.
If they’re coming down, we need a weapon. Do we have anything? A pen? A lighter? That match you struck earlier. Is it still lit? Please tell me it’s still lit.