The Sanctuary of 17B

Chapter 4: Shadows in the Corridor

The wood of the door didn't just creak; it groaned, a deep, structural protest against the impossible weight pressing against it from the hallway. Dust danced in the sliver of light coming through the peephole as the wall vibrated.

"Dimas, move! It’s going to break through!" Alina hissed, her fingers digging into his shoulder, her nails sharp through his hoodie.

"Quiet!" Dimas hissed back, though his voice was barely a tremor. He didn't move. He leaned in, pressing his eye against the cold, brass-rimmed lens.

"What do you see? Tell me, please," she whispered, her breath hitching.

"Nothing but shadow. It’s... it’s blocking the hallway light. The emergency exit sign is dead, but I can see a silhouette. It’s huge, Alina. It’s hunched over, like it’s waiting for us to make a sound."

"Is it my voice again? Is it still mimicking you?"

"No. It’s just... breathing. Or something like it. It sounds like a wet bellows being pumped."

Dimas pulled back, his skin feeling like ice. He grabbed Alina by the arm and pulled her toward the center of the living room, away from the door.

"We need to barricade this. Now," he whispered. "The sofa. Help me push the sofa against the frame."

"What about the hallway? We can't just leave it out there. If it stays right outside, we’re trapped."

"Better trapped than dead. Push, Alina!"

They shoved the heavy, worn-out fabric sofa across the floor. The wood legs scraped loudly, and for a second, a deathly silence fell over the hallway. Then, a long, rhythmic scratching sound returned—the sound of claws tracing the metal door frame.

"It heard us," Alina gasped, her face draining of color. "It knows we're right here."

"Let it try," Dimas muttered, though his hands shook as he jammed the mop handle between the sofa’s base and the door handle. "We have the advantage. We’re inside. The rules seem to be about the threshold. Did you notice the smell?"

"The copper? It’s awful. I feel like my nose is going to bleed."

"Exactly. But look at the air right by our feet. It’s clearer here. It’s like the threshold is holding it back, like a barrier."

"That’s a big assumption, Dimas. What if it’s just taking its time?"

"Then we make sure it can’t get in. Help me with the cabinets. Move the rice, the water, everything."

They scrambled, piling their meager supplies against the wood. As they worked, another sound echoed from the corridor—a pathetic, whimpering sound.

"Wait," Alina stopped, looking toward the door. "That’s not the monster. That sounds like... Pak RT?"

Dimas froze. He crept back to the peephole. "It’s Pak RT. He’s walking past our door. He’s got that same look—the blank, hollow stare."

"Is he alone?"

"Yeah. He’s just wandering. Wait... he’s stopped right in front of the monster."

"Oh god. Don't look. Don't look at it," Alina whispered, covering her eyes.

"I have to. I need to know how these things hunt."

Dimas stared, mesmerized by the horror. The creature, a spindly, nightmare-limbed silhouette, remained crouched in the shadows. As Pak RT stumbled past, the creature didn't pounce. It simply reached out a long, grey, boneless arm and touched the old man’s shoulder.

Pak RT didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He just stopped walking and stood perfectly still. The creature leaned in, its featureless face inches from his. It seemed to be vibrating, a low-frequency hum that Dimas could feel in his own teeth.

"What is it doing?" Alina asked, her voice cracking. "Is it eating him?"

"It’s... it’s taking something," Dimas murmured, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Look at him. He’s slumping. He’s folding in on himself. It’s like the monster is pulling the memories right out of his head."

"That’s impossible. You can't just steal someone's mind."

"Tell that to him!" Dimas watched, horrified, as Pak RT’s knees buckled. The old man began to shrink, his posture losing all human tension, his skin turning a sickly, translucent grey.

Suddenly, a second shape emerged from the darkness of the stairwell. This one wasn't a tall, spindly shadow. It was lower, shaped like a mangy, emaciated hound, but with far too many joints in its legs. It trotted up to the motionless Pak RT and opened a jaw that unhinged into a vertical slit, revealing row upon row of needle-teeth.

It didn't bite. It just nudged the old man, and like a piece of dry parchment, Pak RT seemed to disintegrate, his body turning into a fine, grey mist that the dog-like creature inhaled.

"It didn't leave a body," Alina whispered, her eyes wide as she peeked over Dimas's shoulder. "Dimas, it just... erased him."

"They aren't just killing people," Dimas said, his voice a hollow shell of his usual bravado. "They’re recycling them. They’re turning people back into the fog."

The dog-monster turned its head. Even through the distorted peephole, Dimas felt a jolt of primal terror as he saw a pair of glowing, multi-faceted eyes swivel toward their door.

"It saw us," Dimas breathed, pushing Alina back. "Get down!"

The creature let out a low, guttural chittering sound, like the rapid clicking of a keyboard. It began to pace in front of their door, its claws clicking on the floor.

"Is it going to break in?" Alina sobbed, sliding down against the kitchen counter.

"I don't think it can," Dimas said, his eyes fixed on the gap between the door and the floor. "See? The mist is trying to creep in, but it’s hitting that line. It’s like we’re in a safe zone."

"For how long? Until we run out of space? Until the building collapses?"

"I don't know," Dimas admitted, sitting back on the floor, his head in his hands. "But we’re safe for now. We have to be."

"I hate this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to finish my commission and get some sleep. I didn't sign up for... for whatever this is."

"None of us did. But look at me, Alina. Look at my eyes."

She looked up, her gaze watery and desperate.

"We’re still here. We haven't forgotten anything. We’re going to survive this. We have to be smarter than the things in the hall."

"How? They’re monsters, Dimas! They eat memories!"

"Then we hold onto them tighter. Tell me something. Anything. Something nobody else knows about you. Something that defines you."

Alina hesitated, then a small, sad smile tugged at her lips. "I used to hide under my bed when I was six, reading fairy tales by flashlight because my dad thought they were a waste of time. I still have the book. The spine is held together by duct tape."

"Good," Dimas said, his grip on her hand firm. "That’s yours. Keep that. Hold it in your head. Don't let the fog touch it."

"What about you? What’s your thing?"

"The feeling of a clutch play," he said, staring at his monitor, which sat dark and cold. "The way your heart beats when it’s one vs. three, and you know you’re going to hit the shot. That focus. That clarity. I’m not losing that. I’m not losing the game."

"We’re a weird pair of anchors, aren't we?" she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"The best ones," he replied.

Suddenly, the hallway flickered. The overhead lights, which had been buzzing with a low, dying hum, suddenly sputtered. A bright, harsh white light surged through the hallway for a split second, illuminating the spindly monster still pacing outside their door.

"Look!" Alina cried.

The creature shrieked, a sound of pure agony, and scrambled back toward the stairwell.

Then, with a final, terminal pop, every light in the building died at once. The surge, the flicker, the hum—all of it vanished, leaving them in a darkness so absolute it felt physical.

"Dimas?" Alina’s voice was a panicked whisper in the void.

"I’m here," he said, reaching out into the blackness until he found her hand. "I’m right here."

"Everything is gone. The lights, the sound... it’s so quiet now."

"We’re still here," he repeated, his voice the only thing keeping the world from dissolving around them. "Don't let go of my hand."

In the total, suffocating blackness, the only thing left was the sound of their combined breathing, a fragile rhythm against the encroaching silence of the end of the world.