[Unch]

It had been a long day. Mike pulled the duvet over himself, and turned off the light on the nightstand. The neatly arranged bedroom plunged into near darkness, the fuzzy outline of the expensive modern furniture slowly fading back into view as Mike’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. The faint noise of Central London crept in, infusing the room with its gentle roar.

Slowly, very slowly, the weight of the duvet melted away. The warmth surrounding Mike’s body intensified, in an agreeable way. The volume of the traffic increased slightly, its timbre morphing subtly into a more organic, pleasing sound. Mike opened his eyes to find himself laying on a white sandy beach, the warm tropical sun beating down on him from a perfect blue sky. Crystal waters gently lapped at the sand in front of him. Turning to his left, he observed the beach curving around, bordered by a forest of palm trees. In the distance he could see some brilliant white wooden gazeboes basking in the sun.

He was suddenly startled by a gentle giggling from behind him. He quickly turned to see a young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with flowing shoulder-length brown locks smiling at him. She was very attractive, dressed in a bikini with light sarong around her waist. She let out another cute laugh, and beckoned him towards her.

Mike scrambled to his feet. The woman turned away and began to scamper across the sand, still giggling in an alluring way. Mike took chase. Although she didn’t appear to be moving very fast, Mike was unable to catch-up with her - a 10 foot gap remained between them. No matter how hard he pushed, she remained out of his grasp. The effort of running across the sand was sapping Mike’s strength, he started to feel every step, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, nothing. There was nothing supporting the weight of his right foot.

Mike fell forwards, his arms flailing about, but there was nothing to break his fall against. He could feel every grain of sand against his skin, but it seemed to flow like water. He clawed desperately, trying to find something to pull himself up. Then he felt it. On his ankle, a hand gripping tightly, pulling him downward.

The young woman was still about 10 feet in front of him, standing still, watching him suffer, with the same smile on her face. He tried to call out to her for help, but sand flooded into his mouth before he could make a sound. Gritty, salty sand. He tried in vain to spit it out, but it only made things worse. The hand below was still pulling him deeper and deeper. Mikes head was now nearly submerged, he held it back, desperately trying to keep his face above the sand. All he could see was the perfect blue sky as the darkness of the sand oozed around his field of vision. As darkness enveloped him and the pain of suffocation pushed outward against his chest, he could still hear the her laugh, it was different now - deranged, inhuman.

Mike coughed and convulsed violently in the bed as he awoke from the nightmare. He could still feel the sand in his mouth, the sand on his skin, and in his eyes. After the initial panic subsided he groped for the light switch on the nightstand. As his eyes adjusted to the light he checked himself, and under the duvet for sand. There was not a single grain. Everything was how it should be.

It took hours for Mike to calm down enough to fall asleep again. He had no more nightmares, but he awoke to the buzz of his alarm, feeling as tired as when he went to bed.

*******************

Mike stared out of the window of his office. Below, the citizens of London’s Golden Mile financial district scurried about like ants. The scene offered a distraction from the groggy, tired aching that had been the mainstay of his morning. He turned back to his desk, and back to the work that he had been neglecting. This was a crucial time in Mike’s career and he needed to rise to the challenge. He’d carefully engineered this opportunity, and he wasn’t about to let a minor bout of insomnia take it away from him. Sifting through the papers on his desk, he realised he was missing a report.

“Must still be in Steve’s office.“ he muttered to himself.

Mike stepped out of his office and into the main open plan office. As he turned to walk towards the office in the far corner of the room he made eye contact with Chris who was sat at his desk in the middle of the room. Chris glared at him, but Mike chose to ignore it and look away.

Mike had always been jealous of Steve Davidson’s office. It was larger than his and had a better view. For the first time he entered it without any such thoughts. The office was just as it always was. Steve’s suspension on Friday afternoon was sudden and unexpected. Steve’s suicide the next day was even more unexpected. No-one had yet gone through and removed his personal items. Mike glanced across to a folder atop a large metal filing cabinet, he was sure that was the one he needed. As he approached the folder, the door of the office slammed shut.

Mike turned to see Chris standing in front of the door, scowling at him.

“Oh do come in Christopher” he said sarcastically.

This angered Chris even further.

“Already moving in? The guy’s body isn’t even cold in the ground yet.” Chris seethed.

“Life carries on. The world doesn’t stop just because some silly sod decides to top himself” Mike said flippantly.

“You fucking bastard! You evil fucking bastard!” Chris raged.

“You fucking killed him, your stupid fucking scheme cost him his job, and it killed him!” he continued.

“Bullshit! He was not up to the job. The guy was obviously mentally ill, it was probably going to happen eventually regardless.” Mike countered.

“Besides, it wasn’t just me, it was our scheme. It wasn’t like I held a fucking gun to your head!” he added.

Chris’ anger exploded inside of him and he charged towards Mike, grabbing him by his shirt.

“You! You fu-” he began to shout, but he was cut off by Mike sniffing loudly.

“Jesus Christ Chris! Have you been drinking?” Mike exclaimed.

Chris loosen his grip slightly.

“You’ve been drinking haven’t you? Go home. You’re a fucking mess!” Mike ordered.

Chris tightened his grip once more.

“He’s got a wife and a daughter away from home at university. What about them? Don’t you ever think of them?” Chris growled through his teeth.

“Go home Chris. Go Home. That is not a fucking request!” Mike ordered again.

Chris let go, turned and walked out of the room. Mike crept up to the door and peered around into the main office. He could see Chris storming out, knocking over the coat stand as he yanked his jacket off of it. Mike smiled inside. The public outburst would work in his favour if he had to deal Chris later.

The rest of the day was a struggle for Mike. Sleep was a constant seductress. He eventually gave up at the office at 8pm, taking some paperwork home in the vain hope that he might be able get somewhere with it. He wasn’t home long before he gave up altogether and retired for the night.

*******************

Mike sunk into the large comfortable executive chair. The warm morning sun poured into the room from the large windows behind and to the right. It was his chair and his desk, but Steve’s office. He swung around to check the view behind him. Instead of the grey office buildings and bustling streets of London’s Golden Mile that he expected, was an amazing vista of the Thames, it’s unnaturally clear waters sparking in the sun. The view was one he had long coveted since he attended a meeting at Canary Wharf tower at the start of his career at the firm. Now it was his. The strange transformation did not unsettle him, even the sight of distant snow-capped mountains that simply couldn’t have been there.

Something snatched Mike’s attention from the window behind him. A subtle feeling that something was not right, even in the mixed up world he found himself. It was a primeval feeling that heightened his senses and quickened his pulse. And then, he latched onto it. He could hear an alarm. It was quiet, almost ethereal, but as he focused his attention on it, the ringing grew louder. He walked quickly across the room to the door an opened it. There was not a single soul in the main open-plan office. The place looked as if a tornado had been through it. Paper was strewn throughout, while the furniture lay in chaos. The alarm was much louder now. Mike felt a sudden sense of urgency. Clearly, people had tried to leave in a hurry, and Mike felt he should do the same, and so he ran across the room towards the red emergency exit door dodging around the knocked over chairs and fallen filing cabinets.

Bursting through the emergency door, Mike’s vision was overpowered by a bright sun. The light was no longer pleasant and gentle, it was now harsh and painful. Shading his eyes from the sun, he realised that the door had somehow led him from the 5th floor straight onto the street. The street was in ruins, where there were once office blocks, there was now rubble. The road and pavement were criss-crossed with fractures, some growing to gaping fissures. About 100 yards down the street he could see a lone figure, a woman - the only sign of life on this once bustling street.

Mike called out to her. “Hello?”

No response.

“Hello there?”

Still nothing.

Treading carefully, Mike started towards the woman.

“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”

Hopping over a slightly larger crack, he tried once again.

“Hello? Can you hear me? What’s going on?”

As he moved closer, Mike could see that the woman did not have her back to him as he had first thought. She was wearing a long blue strapless dress and had her hair up.

“Hey! Over here!” He waved his arm, while continuing his cautious progress.

“Hey! What’s the matter with you? What are you doing?”

He’d now got close enough to see her face clearly, she was crying. The heavy black make-up around her eyes was running down her cheeks. The woman looked familiar, but Mike couldn’t place her.

“Are you okay? What’s happened?” He asked.

The woman finally responded, although it was just as a slow turn of her head down to one side. Mike followed her gaze. A few feet behind her was a man in a suit, laying face down on the concrete. The motionless body lay with its feet towards Mike so its face could not be seen, but what was as clear as day was the large metal pole protruding from its back.

The woman let out a piercing anguished scream that startled Mike. The sound echoed around the desolate street. She turned her attention towards Mike, her eyes now full of anger. She let out another scream, more terrible than the one before. This time though, the echo was not allowed to dissipate before another, more distant scream joined it. Mike quickly turned to see the source. There she was again, standing atop a small mount of rubble on the left side of the street, the same woman in the blue dress. How? Another scream joined the echo chorus. Mike swung around 180. Another clone of the woman stood on a burnt-out car on the other side of the street. Mike turned back towards the original woman. Her deadly stare had not faltered, but now there was the additional gaze of several clones that had appeared behind her.

Fear wrapped itself around Mike like an anaconda in a death hold. He was paralysed, the terror crushed him with the most excruciating mental pain he’d ever experienced. The world was as still as it could be. Suddenly, the stillness was broken by a single slow, deliberate footstep by the prime blue dress woman. It wasn’t much movement, but enough for Mike to know what to do. He turned and immediately threw himself into a sprint. As he ran he could hear the growing sound of footsteps, bare feet on asphalt, hundreds of them. He dared not look behind, and kept going as fast as he could, dodging cracks and the debris that littered the street.

Suddenly, without warning, Mike found himself approaching a great gaping maw in the ground, it was about 10 feet wide and run along the entire width of the street. Momentum and survival instinct hurled Mike’s body across the craggy dark void. He reached out to the other side, but it did not come. Mike found himself falling into the dark pit beneath him, down, down until he finally hit the pillow with great force.

Just as the night before, the room was exactly as it should be. With his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, Mike let out a sigh of relief. Then it came to him. That woman, she was the same as the one on the beach. Who was she?

“This is fucked up!” he muttered to himself.

He looked at the alarm clock - 01:13. He still had chance to get the night’s sleep he desperately needed. But once again, he just could not get comfortable, he struggled to migrate from a gentle doze to a full slumber. Finally, the irritating twinge in his bladder pulled him away from any chance of sleep. It was no good, he needed a piss.

There was enough moonlight filtering through the skylight to illuminate the small en-suite shower room without switching on the light. Mike shuffled in, lifted the toilet lid, and relieved himself. A cold feeling enveloped the back of his neck, he felt as though he wasn’t alone. He turned his head to look behind him. Nothing. He continued, but a growing sense of dread welled up inside him. He turned his head to look again. Still nothing. Finished, he turned quickly to dart straight back for the safety and warmth of the bed. He half expected to be pounced upon, but still there was nothing there, the bedroom beyond the the door frame lay empty, and still and the inky darkness in the shower cubical was... BANG!

Slammed against the glass of the shower door, she stared at him. Where her eyes should have been were two black voids, and yet he could feel she was looking directly at him. The girl who had been haunting his dreams was now there in his shower pushing against the door. Her hair was now a tangled mess that partially obscured her face. Her skin looked pale and flaccid. Red rags draped across her body.

And she had no eyes.

For seconds or maybe minutes, Mike stood frozen in fear. Her jaw suddenly dropped and a hideous scream filled the small bathroom. It was like the sound of a thousand mothers wailing for dead children. Mike stepped back fumbling for the light cord. He found it and nearly tugged it clean off. The blinding light came on, and she was gone. No trace.

Stumbling backwards out of the bathroom, Mike demanded answers from his now absent tormentor.

“Who are you? What the fuck do you want?”

“She is my daughter, Mike.” came the unexpected answer from behind him.

Mike instantly recognised the hollow, haunting voice as that of Steve Davidson. He whirled around to face it, but there was no sign of Steve in the bedroom.

“We only want what is right, Mike.” Steve added from behind Mike.

Again Mike turned to face the voice. This time he could see the source. Steve stood sombrely in the doorway of the bathroom, his suit ragged, and his arms hung lifelessly beside him.

Mike continued to back away from the figure.

“But you’re dead!” he protested.

“Very astute.” Steve droned. He paused and then held out his hand.

Mike had no clue what to do. “I-I don’t understand. What is going on? How can...”

Mike backed into the bed and lost his balance, toppling backwards onto the duvet. Quickly he sat himself up. Steve’s hand now held a large black cobra. The snake was angry, hissing and writhing with malice.

“Oh no!” pleaded Mike, but it fell on deaf ears.

With one fluid motion, Steve tossed the snake at Mike. Mike felt its tail whip the arm he shielded his face with. Struggling, Mike writhed about in the duvet, tearing himself free, and then as quickly as he possibly could, he launched his body away from the bed onto the floor. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, desperately clawing at the wall.

But the room was empty and calm. Mike flicked on the light. It had just been another dream. As the whirlpool of confusion dissipated in his head, he became aware that he was soaking wet, the bed too. The unpleasant scent of urine filled the room. Mike cursed to himself. These were the most important days of his career and he was starting to fall apart.

[ Part 2 Follows ]