Image from Pixabay; text added using Canva.
Scribbles of flowcharts and pseudocodes flow unbridled from paper to brain to screen. Streams of keyboard clacks flutter in the wide-open, almost empty office. I'm basking in the smooth programming flow afforded by the rare night shifts. And it's not because the wee hours are an oasis of inspiration, but rather a silent desert absent of distractions.
The handful of people present are busying themselves in their own little pockets of space. Or, in my senior teammate's case, quietly dozing off with his jacket's hood shielding his eyes. Despite all the slacking, his work still gets magically done on time. Experience does that. As a new recruit, I have to make the most of this moment when there aren't bosses hounding me for updates, no morning meetings, no -
Rinnggg
My senior bops the mouse and then taps the left mouse button twice. It's a conditioned response to the slightest noises.
Rinnggg
I am initially tempted to let it ring a few more times. But I sobered up from my little mischief, realizing I still needed a willing and sympathetic mentor rather than a disgruntled one.
Rinnggg
After scrambling towards the phone, "Hello, I.T. office."
"Doing okay so far. It's only me tonight and sir F."
"Haha, yeah.", I guffaw as my caller correctly guesses what my senior is currently up to.
"Just wait, and I'll be there in a bit."
"Yeah, of course, no mobile phones... Okay ... See you."
I pull my desk drawer open and swap my cellphone with the face mask inside. It's standard protocol within the plant production area. I'm grateful I didn't absentmindedly leave my mask in my locker. The fewer places to run about outside the office, the better.
'Would she be there again?'
A nagging thought speckles me with anxiety as I depart towards the other side of the building.
The I.T. department is located by the company's entrance lobby. It's housed in the massively wide office with the accounting, procurement, and most non-production teams. The enclosed space where the actual product magic happens is farther inside, occupying the most floor area in the building.
It's a ten-minute walk toward the destination. Some haste will have been required if the problem is urgent. But the cheery tone of my caller tells me otherwise. Besides, running in this somewhat dimly lit corridor is a terrible idea.
There is no night shift personnel near the lobby area, but there should be a security officer stationed by the main entrance. Either the guy is on patrol or on break. People's noises would have been reassuring, but I guess I'm on my own this time.
I bow my head, watching my feet leisurely race against each other. What lies ahead of the lonely hallway is the staircase going to the second floor. I need not go up, but turn a sharp right at the corridor's end. Passing by the stairs will only be for a brief moment, but still ...
A phone would be helpful right now. Not for the extra light, but as a distraction. Drawing the facemask in my pocket, I slowly place it on my face. I busy myself with the folds and contours of the cloth to get a perfect fit. It's mostly a pretense to preoccupy my hands and thoughts. However, my uncooperative mind can't help but zero in on the steps that resound in the quiet hallway.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
One foot over the other. A dull sound escapes as my foot touches the floor. It's a familiar rhythm, a walking beat that I own. Only that I'm vaguely aware it's not only me who's making the noise. For every step I take, a well-timed one echoes by the staircase in front of me, faultlessly synchronizing with my gait. If I were less attentive, I wouldn't have noticed anything amiss.
As I draw closer to the stairs, the sounds do so too. This path has often been a walk of agony. I'm glad I was smart enough to have thought of a countermeasure. I walked slowly but with bigger-than-normal strides. The distance towards the end is shortened.
The unnerving footsteps grow louder. Despite wanting to hold back, my feet liven the pace. The mimicking steps quicken too, but it's already the last stretch of the corridor. I take the shortest angle and cut towards the right, turning my back away from the staircase. An exhale escapes as my eyes land on the massive doors towards the production area. The doorway to the respite from this tenseness.
Of course, after accomplishing my job, I'd need to tread the same path. I contemplated which was worse: walking towards the staircase or away from it. It's undeniably nerve-wracking to have no direct vision of it, not knowing what's going behind. But getting back to our office is less anxiety-inducing.
The footsteps always start at the top. Whether I'm starting at the corridor's end closer to the bottom of the stairs, or the opposite, farther away; the mirroring sounds begin at the topmost step of the stairs. By the point when it seem like they're near the bottom floor, I'm a healthy distance away with only a few skips left to our office.
There are also a few times that it doesn't happen at all. It may have been busy frolicking elsewhere. Also, it has never happened in the daytime. However, on my way back, my intuition says there will be an encore of this unwanted tango. I take comfort in knowing that a wide gap will be maintained as I head towards my refuge.
I still slowly walk. I don't take a faster pace. Never. Just the thought of potentially hearing running sounds freaks me out. I know it follows my steps, so it would have been a real slasher movie moment if it sounded like it was chasing me. Brisk walking or running is just out of the question. Besides, I'm still trying to keep this charade that I don't notice it.
The first time was dreadful.
The echoes were present, but I was unsuspicious. It was easy to assume they were a regular employee from the upper floors making their way down. I was at the same starting point, walking away from our office. Gaze forward, as people usually do as they walk, I saw a tiny portion of someone's legs descending the staircase. Goosebumps only enveloped me as I got a better view of the better portion of the lower half of that someone.
Cold and shadowy is the simplest way to describe it. It's not my first foray into the unnatural. So I had the wits to avert my eyes and avoid a full view of a potential nightmare fuel. Instincts guided me to not make a scene, making potential passersby think I'd lost it. Or worse, make the unknown presence latch unto someone who sees. I forced my wildly beating heart to calm. The footsteps from above that were drawing closer and closer didn't help.
Ignoring it was always the best course of action. Meters away, I could glimpse its feet, the figure just one stair-step shy of the bottom. I have just passed halfway through the straight corridor. Turning tail crossed my anxious mind, but decided against leaving my back unguarded. Forging on, I was prepared for an up-close encounter. I kept my head facing down, pretending to be lost in thought.
The worst didn't happen, though. The footsteps continued to echo, but the sound remained glued to the spot. It dawned on me that it kept marching on its place, never taking the final move towards the bottom of the stairs. It's still indescribably eerie, but this much is manageable compared to the alternative. Was it because of some boundary it could not break? Or was it imaging the footprints of an existence it once had?
I wouldn't know, and I wouldn't dig deeper. Thoughts of the ordeals past and present are foregone as I push open the doors of our office. Until another time.
My fully awake senior teammate is a welcome sight. Being around carefree, unbothered people reduces these out-of-the-ordinary occurrences.
"Trouble in the engineering?"
"Yeah, all good. You thought me well."
"Nice! Good work. That's why I like you. But there's one more errand to do, though --- Miss J asked you to drop by in her office."
"Miss J, the Q.A. department head?"
"Yep. Yep."
"The Q.A. office near the the big bosses'."
"Righto, amigo."
.......
.....
...
.
But that's upstairs. 😱
