Raquel's old sedan shuddered and shook in protest as she put it in reverse, and slid from her assigned spot at the apartment complex in which she lived. Her car was just as vocal in its seemed displeasure as she put it into drive, and set off. Raquel was on her way to Port Astor State University, to participate in a paid study. She had come up several-hundred dollars short on rent, and had felt saved when she saw the ad in the paper for the study. It was at one of the post-grad schools at the university-- something about philosophy? Religion? She couldn't recall, although it didn't really matter what was what. If she had to sit through several hours of students taking themselves entirely too seriously, and ask her overly vague questions, so be it.
And perhaps, she needed to talk to some of those types. Recently, she had had some problems enter her life, and she had no idea how to address them. Specifically, vivid dreams of church, of all things, and aversion to certain colors. She had gotten rid one of her favorite sweaters, as the orange color of it now burned in her eyes when she saw it, despite its many years of comfortable service.
Raquel lived on the northern part of the island, on the very bank of the Athapaskan Channel, not directly across from North Astor, but you could see it from her complex in Northshore. She always tried to keep her work close to home, both because of her unreliable vehicle, but also for how... uneasy the deeper city made her feel. The boundary of where her neighborhood met the first high-rises, where they formed a cyclopean wall, forbidding and looming, she always felt she could see a sign, "Do Not Enter". But now, alas, she had to; the PASU campuses were all located near the very heart of the city, so that is where she had to go.
Raquel could *feel* it as she passed her set threshold, past the high-rises where the deep reds and shadows of Port Astor dwelled. The Deep City, the local term for it. It was dense with only one and two lane roads separating city blocks wider than most on the West Coast. Looking up, the sky only existed as blue lines between the great spires that threatened to pierce the heavens.
As she closed in on her destination, she was struck by how out of place the university district was. No high-rises, nor even the scars of Port Astor brickwork-- concrete brutalism and stark monochromatic signage in its stead. Unlike the other parts of the Deep City, sunlight bathed the whole of PASU, making the gray concrete almost glow and radiate in a way she found hard to describe, and look at coming in from the man-made canyons.
Following the signs, she eventually found her goal: The Port Astor State University College of Applied Metaphysics & Philosophy. Raquel checked her email again on her phone just before leaving her car, just to reassure herself that she indeed did have the right location, as well as the date and time.
Finally feeling somewhat-confident, she exited her car. She moved toward the entrance of the college, which had a yellow sign with black block text; “STUDY PARTICIPANTS HERE!” With a great exhale, she entered.
She didn’t know what a college of “applied metaphysics and philosophy” was supposed to look like, so Raquel was unsure of how to feel about the décor of the place. Odd artwork of dark watercolors on darker canvas, organic shapes taking on a nearly… luminescent quality even though they shouldn’t be visible in the first place, juxtaposed with a stark white and gray canvas that was all angles and hard-lines. Statues of men from another time and place holding a vigil next to… she didn’t know what. But the one that got to her the most was an oil painting; an old stone building that looked like a church, with what looked like a warm orange glow from the doors and windows, a glow that should be welcoming, but made her uneasy. Her eyes began to twitch, and a faint ringing began when she stared at it. She knew she had seen it somewhere before.
“Hello!”
The greeting nearly killed Raquel, so engrossed by the painting was she. She spun to see who shook her; a younger man in a loose white button down and jeans, with short messy brown hair and sharp glasses over yellow-green eyes like a cat. His badge that hung at his neck read “Carlos Santine”.
A shaking of hands, a brief introduction, and then they set off. She was being short with Carlos—she was here to be in-and-out, and not to make friends.
The two ventured deeper into the building, the eccentricities of the lobby turning into the grays and whites of academia, the smell of dust and old carpets staining the air. They stopped at Room 111. Carlos held the door open and used a small gesture to motion Raquel into the room. The room wasn’t especially small, but the white table in the center took up most of it. A wall of dark brickwork served as accent for the off-cream drywall. Inside was also another man, dressed similarly to Carlos, but was far larger, heavy-set with a graying sandy beard.
An uneasy and awkward silence laid in the room as Raquel entered. The second man had no nametag or badge, and in front of him was an oddly-old looking composition book, or at least that is what it looked like. But what she really was unnerved by was a painting that she only saw the moment she sat down, as if it suddenly manifested just then and there; behind the large man, hanging on the wall was that painting of the stone church from the lobby. This time, she paid mind to the plaque on the frame; “PORT ASTOR STATE UNIVERSITY OLD STONE HALL”.
“Uhh…” Raquel started as if grasping for words, anything, “Who is he?”
“Oh!” Carlos exclaimed, “that’s Ben, he’s taking notes. Don’t pay him too much mind!” continuing on in a friendly tone Raquel found too saccharine for her taste. Ben, for his part, put on a obviously forced smile and nodded at the acknowledgement.
Carlos cleared his throat, and began. “Alright Raquel, thank you again for coming on down and participating in our study! All we’ll be doing is asking some questions, and recording the answers.”
“Will I be paid at the end?” Raquel asked.
Carlos smiled wryly “Of course. Shall we start the study?”
Raquel nodded and Ben opened his book.
Carlos and Ben exchanged a look, and then both nodded in unison.
“Have you ever attended Port Astor State University?”
“No, that was in the app—“
“Great, are you from Port Astor?
“No, agai—“
“Just establishing a control!”
“Control for wha—“
“Have you ever heard of Doctor Timothy Zann?”
“…No?”
“Have you ever been interested in the occult or esotericism?”
“No”, her frustration was beginning to show.
“Have you ever had a dream of an old stone church with orange lights?”
“… Why would you ask me that?”
“Please just answer the question.”
“Yes!”, she questioned why she said that as soon as she did. A fear began to rise within her; something was not right.
“Have you recently had an aversion to the color orange?”
“Fuck this, I’ll figure something else out!” Raquel rose and turned toward the door, moving toward it in a hurry. She exited the room, and spun to slam the door, but as she did, the last thing she saw was Carlos and Ben, smiling contentedly. A smile of someone whose agenda was going to plan.
A sudden and visceral feeling of uncertainty spiked, and as she made a sound as if to begin a question;
“He—“,
But the door slammed with a crashing bang that echoed much louder than it should have. Raquel heard the change before she saw it. Before she knew it.
Gone were the grays-and-whites, the smell of dust and carpet, the hum of lights. Now, an inky wine-dark passage was where Raquel was, and the door, the door she just slammed, was no more—and the horrid odor of something burning, sulfurous and acrid infected the air which hung stale and unmoving. Like it was frozen in a time and place. Raquel froze in her stupefied shock, her mind blank with not fear, but an inability to comprehend. After an eternal moment, she finally craned her neck stiffly, and the only thing she saw was a sharp and vivid orange light just down the hall, around a corner.
She moved from her pose in a rigid walk, her body felt like ancient leather, and eyes wide and white. Her footsteps echoed as they fell with an additional reverb that sounded wrong. Raquel turned the corner, and finally saw her environs—really saw; old plaster walls, with thick wooden beams supported the floor above, and the floor a dark hardwood. The light, that acid-orange that shone from great windows, but it didn’t act like it should. Outside there no scenes of Port Astor or any city, no people, not even a sky—in its place, only a solid and unyielding monochromatic orange was all there was. As vast and deep as it was… flat and singular. And once the light entered the hall, it fell at an angle creating a sharp mosaic of light across the floor and walls, despite there being nothing to create the lines and patterns.
Raquel resumed her stiff pace, and trespassed into the light. The light burned like intense Summer Sun, and made her eyes twitch and hurt, and she stumbled back without thought when she thought she felt something bubble inside her head. An unbidden and painful moan escaped her as she did. Back in the inky-dark, Raquel gazed at the window with confused terror. She was shaken from this, when she noticed the silhouette of movement from just further down the passage.
Her eyes locked onto the sudden mass, the black outline of it moving and undulating form cast against the vile light. A sound caught in her throat, and she nearly choked on it. She wanted to call out for help, she wanted to scream. The only thing stopping Raquel was a silent voice within her telling her that there would be no point.
When the shape neared the next window, the orange illuminated its form; deep sunken sockets, deeper than light dare to go, long spindly and rubbery arms that moved on too-many joints, and a long hanging jaw which moved grossly as it slid across the ceiling. Raquel let loose a primal shriek, and the faced mass answered in kind with a deep, gurgling and scratchy call, baying.
Raquel flew down the passage from where she came. Her rapid footsteps echoed and reverbed through the dark, her eyes scanning frantically for where the thought she “entered”. All the while, a horrid sloshing and scratching pursued her.
She threw herself at what she thought was the spot, and pounded on the dark wall with all she had, screaming.
“FUCKING LET ME OUT!”
That was when she felt the hands descend and grasp her, and she froze in sublime horror.
Raquel felt the arms move, and a panicked fury entered her, and she began to try and pull from the shape. The limbs, with surprising strength, lifted her aloft. Raquel barely registered that she left the ground, and struck out against the horror, and when her skin touched the mass, it deepened, and then the nearly-liquid form surrounded and engulfed her fist. She felt a sizzling on her hand, and she knew there was pain, but her mind refused to register it. She thrashed and raged, trying to escape, to fight, but could only swing lamely aloft, suspended by those horrid hands and her own consumed limb.
Surprising her, the shape released her hand, though she could not see the damage it had suffered, and she did not want to. By her shoulders, rigid muscular fingers suspended her by her shoulders, and turned her body to face forward. This was when Raquel saw that it was doing; its long arms extended, and began to carry Raquel toward and into the orange light, and she screamed as she once again felt its burn.
____________♦_____________
Ben and Carlos stood over the mass of liquefied remains that laid in the vacant lot, the visages of boredom hung on their faces.
“Do you think she found it?” Ben asked, his voice deep and bordering on mumbling.
Carlos shrugged coldly, “Let’s set up for the next study”.
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