Chapter 6: 06

I bolted to the emergency stairs as the lift is on the other side of the hallway. Besides, they often took too long to close. After making sure the door closed properly, I ran straight to the second floor

 

As I opened the door to the second floor, I saw something beyond my wildest imagination.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” I shouted at the absurdity of this situation, It’s the guy from the bus stop.

A camera flash answered me. “It’s you! I fucking knew it, there’s some crazy cult going around here.”

I blinked as my mind went blank for a second before reminding myself of the current situation. Closing the emergency door behind me, I immediately made a lap around the server room to check the lines I had made. And the guy followed me.

 

“What were those two lines beside the doors?”

“Is this preparation for some kind of a ritual?”

“I hear what that detective said at Lok’s Cafe”

 

I stopped in the middle of the hallway in front of the lift. All seems proper.

“You a journalist?”

 

He also stopped and took a step back before assuming a defensive posture. “Yeah, What you gonna do? Kill me?” Then he took a pepper spray from his pocket.

 

Then the lift light turns on.

From the fourth floor.

Going down.

 

“No, but it will.”

“What will? Some cultist friend of yours upstairs?”

I ignored him and opened the server room west door.

“Get in”

“Not unless you answer my question. How should I know you won’t kill me in there anyway?”

 

Silence follows as we both stare down.

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Then the sound of flickering light in front of the lift starts and his breath starts to sped up in anxiety.

 

“Suit yourself”

“Wait-wait-wait!” He entered before I closed the door.

 

Now both of us are in this dim and cold server room. All that’s left is to find out if this thing has a rule.

 

“Was that a demon?”

“That-that was a salt line you made tight? Whatever it is can’t pass that right?” He asked as he continued to panic.

 

Ding.

 

We hold our breaths. Listening to the sound of flickering light. Then it passed the salt line.

 

The journalist whimpered. I tap his shoulder. Signaling him to follow me to the east entrance. Then I dropped my bag, as it will hinder my speed.

“Drop your stuff. When that thing opens the door, you run right, I ran left. Use the emergency stairs.”

 

He nodded and put down his camera and bag.

 

We stared at the other door. And from the light shining through the door gap, the light flickered. Then died.

We hugged the east door and my hand rested on the door handle. The sound of deep breaths accompanied us as we prepared for the worst.

 

It can’t open doors. I think to myself. More a hope than a certainty.

 

Then the door handle starts twisting.

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