Original Prompt: “you’ve been growing suspicious of the office across the street. Not only do you suspect that more people enter than exit the building. But also; It seems to have grown taller…”
To Tom, or whoever,
I’m writing you this letter, as a last desperate ploy for attention, to inform you of dire circumstances. Previously I have mentioned the peculiarity of what I once thought to be a VFW, or some form of Veterans Affairs office, situated across the street from me. You were right to persuade me to let the matter go. You were so right. I should have listened.
In my previous letters I failed to give you the background, the context surrounding my curiosity. As this may be my last contact with you I feel an obligation to elucidate for you what I have come to know.
As you are aware, I moved to Denver just mere months before the draft started in ‘69. It had already been a wild year, but I was bound and determined to settle into my position at the University of Denver and establish myself as an academic. Once the draft and the war had gone into full swing I began to notice some subtle changes to my neighborhood. Military personnel regularly filtered in and out of the office building opposite from my downtown apartment.
As you know, nothing was out of the ordinary at first. I thought the unmarked structure was simply some kind of administrative headquarters for … whatever branch. I’m not familiar enough with the uniforms and insignia to be able to properly identify them. Often the camouflage was blue. Perhaps the Navy? I can’t say for sure.
After the war had ended I would occasionally see some returning veterans visit the building. The flow of personnel going in and out of the building didn’t strike me at first, not until finals week when I sat at my study overlooking the street and a notably bedraggled veteran entered. Were it not for his colorful attire and the state of his long hair I might not have noticed. I believe this might’ve been December of 1975. Interested by the appearance of this poor, strange man, I decided to keep a watchful eye to see if I could make sense of his condition. I watched for hours looking up whenever there was motion on the sidewalk opposite of me. Yet, long as I waited, he never exited the building.
I had known that the building seemed to lay empty at night, lights out, motionless. It didn’t seem that there would be overnight accommodations. But he never came out.
Perhaps one of the men that exited the building had been him? Perhaps some kind of rehabilitation or correction of his state of disarray had occurred? The next few days I watched, vigilantly this time as I had completely eschewed any pretense of grading. I wanted to see this man again, I needed to know what happened to him. Whether he was well or if he left that building in the same shape he had entered it in. This time it became more obvious, more men were entering the building than exiting.
It was at that juncture that I sent my first letter about the circumstances surrounding this block. The properties nearby were benign, a travel agency to the north and a Dutch flower shop to the south. Yet, there was a mystery to this. An itch I could not reach.
Since then I brought home some supplies from the University to begin monitoring the building. I tallied the visitors and every day found that besides a regular group, of what appeared to be officers, no one left the building. There didn’t seem to be any consistency to the people entering either. Some were in formal dress, others were clearly transient. All were men and all walked with the subtle stiffness of trained military men.
I tried to put it out of my mind, to get back to my work. It was hard at first but with the return of so many people and the bustle that came with the travel boom, then Valentine’s Day, and the final semester of school it became harder to focus on anything but teaching and grading. Then came the summer sunset. It was earlier.
I know this makes me sound looney. I know I must seem to be making this up, like the warmer months were somehow melting my capacity to recognize change. I know. But, God as my witness, the shadow of the building hit my desk much earlier than I had seen since the winter. It was taller.
I had set up the binoculars on a stand months before to look at the small foyer that seemed to swallow whole the men that entered. Yet when I reached for it, unchanged from the position I’d last left it in, I could see much further into the building. Either my apartment complex was sagging into the ground or this structure had had some work done to raise the ceiling of the first floor.
Unashamed of my curiosity I finally decided to aim my binoculars towards the second story window and see what I could gleen from the loosely closed shades. I would see the lights turn on briefly in the evenings and promptly go out at 6:30 PM, on the dot, every night. But they were closed just enough to not be able to see in from my own second story window. I aimed higher at the third story and could only see slits of interrupted light, but had to piece together shapes from those slivers of shadow.
Why was it taller? I couldn’t make sense of it. I raised the concern with the landlord and presented my case to him, being met with a dry dismissal. Our building was unchanged and he walked me through the basement to show me the smooth cement underbelly of our complex. Devoid of cracks and crumbling. I knew what I had to do and to the end of my days I will regret my inquisitiveness.
I went to an army surplus south of my apartment and found some attire that loosely fit me enough to be a passable uniform. I hoped that it wouldn’t be too obvious that it no longer had insignia or my name emblazoned on the breast. I hadn’t shaved in days as my dreams were filled with dreadful apparitions. Little did I know those were premonitions.
Please believe what I tell you next. I have reason to believe my life is in danger and what I witnessed may be at fault.
I walked through the doors, attempting to keep my composure and, as best I could tell, looking no more suspicious than others that had entered. A kindly officer greeted me and asked for my name and branch. I gave a pseudonym I’d prepared in advance and stated I was from the Navy. He then asked for more credentials but I lied further and told him I wasn’t sure anymore, that I had partial amnesia due to injury. His brow softened and he said that he understood, gesturing to a chair next to a man I saw enter before me while I walked down the street from another direction. I thought I had been cautious in my approach, walking several blocks from my house before turning back to the office.
Another officer came to me and called my name. My real name, not the pseudonym I’d given. He could see my shock and I knew if I bolted now I’d never learn the truth. I resigned myself to whatever fate it was waiting for me after the elevator ride up to the third floor. He placed his hand on my shoulder, knowingly looking at me.
“I understand, son. Life is hard. The pain we suffer in this lifetime can break even the strongest men.”
Hand still on my shoulder he beckoned me out of the elevator into an open room with only cement columns and lights hanging from a bare, dark ceiling. The lights were almost blinding and I couldn’t make out further than the metal frames holding up the lights.
Two officers came up to me and both gently reached for my hands. There was no force, no coercion. They looked sincere and sorrowful. There was a painted square in the center of the floor, a glossy baby blue. The closer I got the larger it seemed to grow. The closer I got the smaller the lights appeared to be. The world was warping around me, the straight lines of the lights began to bow and curve.
There was a cone above the square, or maybe it was a different shape and it was simply distorted, but as I neared it I felt the pull, it was trying to drag me up. As I crested the edge of the cone I could finally see up into the center, but it simply opened to I’m sorry, I know, this is where you call me crazy, but it was a mirror image of the blue square, seen from above. There were men on the other side. They were tall, but again the distortion could have clouded my judgement of distances. I felt light. I felt like I was almost floating. I was only a few feet, or maybe more, from the blue square on my side of … whatever this was.
My terror took control. I tried to turn to run and the pair of officers furrowed their brows. I grappled back down to the ground using their uniforms. I hadn’t realized I’d even been so high up until one of the officers lost his balance and I caught him flying, no, falling up and hitting the edge of the cone.
The officer at the elevator rushed to grab him, a cable running to a mount on the column nearest the square, leaping to grab the falling officer. No one uttered even the slightest sound. Not even to chastise my escape. Instead the other guiding officer ran his hands through the air like he was swimming to gather a cable for himself. I reached the elevator, thankful for my weight to have returned in full and looked back to see the falling officer’s hand clasped by the cabled man. He seemed to be caressing the hand he was holding, one arm firm and taut, the other relaxed and careful.
I saw the man’s head crest the cone and the officer reached for and cradled his head. Tears suspended in the air like a liquid halo. I knew his face from my dreams. In an instant his body seemed to elongate and disappear. Both of the officers fell the moment after, each deftly landing on their feet. Then they turned to me.
I ran. Tom, I’ve never ran so hard in my life. In a flurry of snap decisions I spotted the emergency exit and rushed out. Fleeing down the fire escape on the west side of the building into the alleyway. By the time I reached the ground I had the wherewithal to look back at my pursuers. Instead they stood at the top of the stairs, blankly looking at my flailing sprint. I swear one began to wave, but in the moment I feared he had retrieved a gun and was about to draw a bead on me.
I stripped and found my clothes, rushing into a barbershop and asking for a shave, still out of breath from my dash. I know that my escape plan will do no good. I know they already knew my name. I have no doubt they also know where I live. I had to try.
My belongings are yours now. Please use the key I’ve sent with this letter to access my apartment. I will contact you later with more details but I hope I can trust you to uphold my secrecy as I try to make sense of my experience and suss out whether I am still in danger.
Sincerely, your friend Christopher
Inspiration Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/py65qt/wp_youve_been_growing_suspicious_of_the_office/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
Mike Lightheart 