The Security Guard

The Security Guard

The shadows of the motionless figures threw themselves across the thick wooden panels of the walls surrounding. The faint shimmer of the glass eyes of the figures glowed in the thick blanket of shadows, reflecting their dead life, as though to unnerve any unlucky passer-by. From the corner of the room another figure stirred, this one apparently moving it's arms next to the wall, as though working on something. The figure was the night watchman of the Madame Tussaud's building, switching off the lights of that floor, giving this same foreboding atmosphere to the rest of the building. He replaced the curtain covering the switches
Just another working day, or should that be night? Bill thought to himself.
Whatever, that's not important anyway, what's important is my job, and I've got to get to work. Bill walked down the long narrow hall, just next to the main room where the wax models of famous members of parliament where kept. His footsteps echoed as he walked down both ends of the hall making the room seem large, almost immense with the way that they echoed into the black oblivion. The spoon in his cup of tea clinked slightly on the side of the cup as he walked adding to the sounds of his footsteps. The figures in that room always stirred him in an unnatural way, nothing like the others in the rest of the building. Their identity's of power he thought, gave them a sense of foreboding awareness, a disquieting stillness, executing their own motivations in that room, nothing like human motivations. He shook his head slightly attempting to shake off any thoughts of this nature what the hell am I talking about? He muttered to himself
I've been working here to long, get a grip man. He brushed his hand over his eyes, trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. He reached his office door; the word "office" on the glass stood out on the door, lit by the dim light of the table lamp in the room, like a beacon.
Bill locked the door behind him hastily, he himself not knowing against what.

Four hours had passed and Bill started to shake off his fear. He sat at the small desk in the room, flicking through the pile of magazines laid out in front of him, magazines, which held little interest to him. Like the same stuff you get in a doctor's waiting room. He thought. Switching off the small table lamp on the desk, he made himself comfortable in the chair, which made it squeak as he rested his weight onto it. Just in time for a little shuteye. He whispered to himself. As he allowed his eyelids to close under the tiredness, he was woken suddenly by the sound of slow footsteps. This sudden noise made him jump out of his chair as though being lifted by an unseen force. The thought of someone else in the building with him and just outside the office from him filled him with fantastic terrors. There's no other night shift workers this night he thought. But how did he get in? His mind reeled with suspicions yet he was sure no one else was here besides him. The footsteps carried on outside. Bill slowly put his ear to the door, all the while his body shook, so much that he thought he might fall apart. His heart raced till he could feel it inside his throat as if it shared it's own fear of the noise. Bill could hear the sound of the footsteps even through the thick wood of the door. He cleared his throat quietly, hoping the person didn't hear him It's as if whoever it is just walking up and down out there he whispered to himself.
He gathered his strength and slowly opened the door. The slight creak of the opening door echoed out into the corridor circulating through the air. He stepped out into the corridor and started to walk down to the main room, his body still shaking with fear. Reaching the end of the corridor, he looked into the thick blanket of darkness covering the room. Nothing was stirring, not a person, not anything. Instinct sharply aroused his sight to the legs of the many mannequins adorned throughout the room. The darkness covered their bodies while their legs remained seen, as if giving away the fact that they were the cause of the sound, or simply taunting Bill with their motionless, inhuman legs.
Must be my imagination he thought. No one can get in this way. Bill shined his torch around the room checking for any possible signs of forced entry, still protecting himself by staying in the corridor. He found no signs of disturbance. His torch graced across the faces of the dummies allowing their full features to be recognised. The light of the torch coupled with the surrounding blackness, brought upon lines of shadow on their faces, as if hinting at physical age. Their eyes again glinting in the light, reflecting some possible hint of "life".
Bill quickly turned off the torch and briskly walked toward the office, quietly making some small joke of the incident trying to block out his ever present, ever growing fear. Then just as his hand reached for the doorknob he froze. His body became a living statue of utter dread. Coming from inside the office was the undeniable sound of his chair creaking, as if someone was sitting uncomfortably, constantly moving, waiting for him.
His mind was to overwhelmed by terror for him to explain the sound, yet his hand slowly crept forward toward the door handle as if of it's own volition. He was possessed by fright but he had to know what it was. He turned the knob and slowly opened the door, the sound still persisting. He opened the door wide enough so that it touched the wall behind it and he gazed inside. The room was consumed by darkness just like the main room; his hand reached for the light switch and flicked it on.
The chair of the desk still creaked forward and backward, yet their was no-one to be seen Bill walked over to the chair, stopping it by placing his hand on the top of it and the chair stopped. I must be cracking up he thought and he shut the door behind him.
Stepping away from the door moving toward the desk, a large crash came behind him, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor. Bill stopped in his tracks, his entire body stiffened up from the onslaught of terror. He quickly looked behind, not really wanting to, and was met by the sight of the office door hanging open and the sight of a mannequin lying face down on the floor. He needed no further incentive, as his legs carried him out of the office, and down the corridor into the main room. The gaze of the other dummies in the room somehow stopped him in his tracks. He started to back towards one side of the room, slowly brushing past the dummies causing them to rock two and fro until his back came to the thick red curtain behind the dummies. He was unable to go any further. His heart beating so hard it could have bounced right out of his chest. He started to breathe uncontrollably. Just as he started to think of what he had just seen, a sound came behind him. The sound of something stepping out from behind the curtain. And then he felt it. Something was resting on his shoulder. Through the panic and fear he could tell what it was. It was a hand. He could feel the hardness of it on his shoulder. The stiff rigid fingers and the brush of a sleeve on his neck. At that moment, he somehow knew what he had seen and heard before wasn't real, it was his imagination. But another fear was replaced after this, something he knew to be true while slowly turning his head, that this right now was real.

THE END