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Sorry We're Closed

Chapter 14: "Matilda"

Eventually, we see a series of doors marked with different exhibits, one leading to our destination. We pass a small control room with some supply closets and a series of security camera feeds. The computers they broadcast to are black and silent, mirroring our frazzled reflections at us as we pass. The next door leads into a massive area with ceilings that must reach the building’s roof stories up. A few crates of rotting fish sit on the far end of a thin, long walkway to the side of what must be the tank. It’s all metal from our perspective, and a long, rusting ladder leads up to the platform above. I can hear the faint ripple of water lapping against metal. Robyn takes the opportunity to reload their gun, petting the metal above the dog’s eyes and prompting it to purr. I roll my shoulders. There’s nowhere to go but up.

Sorry We're Closed: Chapter 13 - Enter Lazarus

There’s bugs. Giant, fuck-off cockroach things. When they reel back to click their pincers at me, they reach just above my knees. The first we encountered dropped from the ceiling, startling me so badly I struck out wildly with my axe. I whacked hard enough through its exoskeleton that I heard the metal head strike off the floor—and nearly skinned a bit of Robyn off with the strike. Which put them in an ill humour. I had to prop my shoe off the bug to get enough purchase to tug my axe back out of its still-twitching body. Unpleasant noises and sensations. Nonetheless, we pressed on, keeping a wary eye on the ceiling. Everything reeks of dead fish, like a walk by the docks on a hot, sour day. The tanks are in a shocking state of disrepair, considering how briefly the aquarium’s been closed. Festering algae, creeping black mould, thin pools of still water.

Sorry We're Closed: Chapter 11

Outside are more glimmers of light, hazy images I only now realise aren’t tricks of the eye: they’re remnants of the other world. I watch them ripple across the street, unnoticed by anyone else. I open my third eye as I walk and discover another reality, one that’s always been here, unseen. It’s jarring—more than that. Totally upending. I watch as a flayed demon in black trousers, a white tee, and cap walks by the postman collecting his last delivery. The man shivers and rolls his shoulders with the postbox hanging open, and the demon hastily reaches in to remove a few letters and tuck them in its own little bag before heading off. It has a bounce in its step, snapping its fingers and humming a tune as it wanders past me. The postman catches me looking and smiles halfheartedly. “I swear, I always feel cold by this postbox, like I got a chill down my spine. Dunno what it is.” “Must be haunted,” I reply instinctively. He laughs, because that’s a normal joke a normal human would make, and I walk on.