General Disclaimers: While it features no ‘on-screen’ sexual activity or explicit adult situations, this hypnofetish short does contain examples of fictional characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to other fictional characters. If you are under the age of consent in your community, are disturbed by such concepts, or want hot wet thrusting monkey-sex in your on-line pornography, then for goshsakes stop reading now!
Permission granted to re-post for free to any electronic medium, as long as no one's being charged to view it, and this disclaimer and e-mail address (firstname.lastname@example.org) are not removed. It would also be nice if you told me you were posting it.
Copyright Voyer, 2007.
Specific Disclaimers: Another short piece that started life as a drawing idea.
Dedicated to Ivo Shandor.
Melissa glared at the elevator.
She hated the elevator.
Not all elevators, of course. The ones over on the Eastside, for example, which took her up to her cubicle at Persephone Associates those, those were fine. She got on and off those every day without even a first thought.
Just this one here. The one that led from the lobby up to her apartment on the fourth floor. Or at least to the hallway that led to her apartment.
Or down. It also went down.
She glanced at the nearby door, the one invitingly labeled STAIRS, then growled and jammed the UP button with a forefinger. There was the usual elephantine groan, and the elevator car began to rise laboriously from the depths.
Emerge from the primordial ooze.
Listening to this, Melissa pressed her lips down to a thin line and clutched tighter at the comforting weight of her purse. In all honesty, she couldn’t exactly say why she hated the elevator so much. It wasn’t that the elevator was old and clunky. Hell, having the thing break down once in a while would be a relief. Then she could have used the STAIRS. It didn’t smell. There were never any perverts or vampires or anything hanging out it.
Bang. Clunk. The car arrived, and the doors wheezed open, revealing the usual bland lighting, the same stretch of mildly ugly carpet. Some idiot had forgotten her laundry basket in the corner, but that was just untidy, not disturbing.
Melissa squeezed her free hand into a fist, blew a strand of blondish hair out of her eyes, and stepped inside.
Turned to push the button marked 4..
And then, all at once, she remembered why she hated this elevator.
The doors slid shut.
Her hand found the special pocket, extracted the key. At the very bottom of the elevator control panel was a button labeled SB, and next to it was a keyhole. The key slid smoothly in, and turned. She jabbed the button, and its edges lit up.
The car started down.
She was going to the SubBasement.
Her hand extracted the key, dropped back to her side. She made a small noise in the back of her throat.
She felt her knees tremble against each other, through the fabric of her slacks.
Down to the very very bottom.
The doors opened.
She stepped out into the dingy corridor, pivoted left, started walking, neither fast nor slow. The heels of her pumps made sharp clicking sounds on the stained concrete floor. Past the unmarked metal doors, left and right. Down to the corner, pivot right, walk some more. The lights were spaced at regular but distant intervals, and so she was walking in and out of shadow.
As always, she vaguely hoped that someone or something was waiting in one of those shadows. A vampire pervert, grabbing her and pulling in. Ending this. But no. She arrived at the last corner unmolested. Here she pivoted left, and there was the Door. Except for the fact that it was capitalized, it looked exactly like all the other doors.
She extended the key towards the waiting lock, but saw that she was being preempted. The door was swinging open. She took a step back, and looked down at the floor. Yes. Across the floor ran a faint yellow strip of paint. She aligned her toes along the line and waited.
The door finished opening, and another woman emerged. It was.. a short top-heavy woman in a short polka-dotted dress and a hideously matching purse, her elaborate hair a much more.. relentless.. shade of blonde than Melissa’s bob-cut. Back upstairs, on the far side of the elevator.. Melissa knew this woman, knew her name. They were friends, laughing together as they lugged their own laundry baskets down to the basement on Sunday afternoons... But down here at the very bottom.. she had no name. There were no friends. The blonde woman got fully out into the hallway, and dragged the heavy Door shut behind her, stuck her key in the lock and gave a twist. Tested to make sure the Door was secured. Put the key away in the special pocket in her purse. Only when she turned to leave did she register Melissa’s presence.
If the act was worthy of the name. She stared at Melissa for a half-second, then silently brushed past her and started back up the hall, her pointy heels even more emphatic on the concrete. Melissa waited for the methodical tap - tap - tap to fade then stepped forward herself. Slid her own key in the lock, turned it. Click.
She dragged the endlessly heavy Door open, and passed through. On the other side, she reversed the procedure. Close the Door. Lock it. Check to make sure it is locked.
The room was the same as ever. Bare concrete walls. Reddish lights that throbbed in across the low ceiling, three dim rows of infected teeth. The sickly-sweet odor coming from nowhere in particular. The stained wooden table squatting in the middle. The tall metal cabinet jammed up against a wall.
And next to the table-
Only then did it register that Melissa wasn’t alone.
A third woman. With the blonde woman, Melissa had had time to pick out details, make a confirmed ID. Here, she only caught a glance as she made her way across the room. Tall. Dark skin. Glasses. Wearing a business suit much like Melissa’s. Standing next to the table. Wearing a pair of the headphones.
The ancient black headphones that swallowed her ears.
Plugged into the Box.
Something spasmed deep inside Melissa.
The cabinet. Melissa stuck her key in the lock, twisted it, pulled the door open. It squealed on its hinges. Inside, there were shelves filled with nameless invisible shadows. Except for the shelf about chest-high: lined up in the usual row, stood the rest of the headphones, their cords all neatly coiled. She took the first one in line, slid the rest down, closed the cabinet, locked it again. Back to the table. Put her purse on the table not too far from the dark woman’s. Uncoil the cord, look at the symbol stamped on the housing of the thick jack.
Melissa swallowed, feeling the shape with her thumb. Not as good as Infinity, but not as bad as the Star or, elevator forbid, the Dagger.
Because it was only the Triangle, she was able to shoot another quick glance at the dark woman, halfway recognize her. Melissa didn’t know her name, even beyond the elevator. Lived up on the sixth floor somewhere. She stood, arms pinning themselves tightly to her sides, her head tilted back, her eyes two slivers of white-stained-pink under fluttering lashes. She twitched, and made a helpless noise in the back of her throat.
Melissa’s eyes were relentlessly dragged along the spirally length of the other’s cord, out of the headphones, down her body, up onto the table, into..
The Box. A chunk of black metal in the very middle of the table. Two thick cables emerging from one side, running off the table, waved their across the floor, vanishing in two massive sockets in the wall. And on top.. Rows. A row of yellow lights. A row of keyholes. A row of sockets. A row of symbols. One of the lights switched over to green, one of they keyholes filled and turned, one of the sockets plugged. The Cross.
Two spaces down, the Triangle.
Melissa plugged the jack into the socket.
She put on the headphones, adjusted them so they fit snugly.
She stuck in her key, and
The light flared green.
For a moment, nothing more. Then, from the depths of the headphones, it started to come. Melissa trembled all over, her own arms not pinned but locked out at awkward angles, eyes open and unable to blink. A hiss, almost undetectable, circling around and around her, one ear and back again. Again and again. And then finally it was a buzz, a buzzzZZZzzz, rising and falling not quite as far and rising, always building, faster and stronger, building rapidly to a roar, cutting back and forth into her mind, because that’s what the triangle was, a tooth of a saw, of a chainsaw, a massive metal blade, the biggest one in the entire world louder and stronger and cutting deeper and deeper now, brutally cutting her mind in half, and her mind was cut in two and she screamed and screamed and no noise came out. The saw was cutting in every direction now, cutting her mind into tiny pieces which crumbled apart
and still the saw
roared and the
stench filled the
Melissa was calm now. Very calm. She looked for several long seconds at her key jutting out of the Box, then felt around inside herself until she found her other key, the one buried down inside somewhere. She turned the key with a click. Brought her self back to life. Stretch out her arm and move her legs, all a million miles long. Key. Box. Table. Purse.
Headphones. Back to the cabinet. She stowed away the headphones, locked the door. Noticed as she headed to the door that the dark woman had been replaced. Pale skin, long crinkly black hair. Tear-stained brown eyes that were open, open wide, staring at Infinity, arms reached out in the same direction, fingers twitching. A mouth that smiled and made devoutly earnest noises in reply to what was pouring out of the headphones.
“yes... yes.. yes.. anything.. yes...”
Melissa unlocked the Door... door and pulled it open. Still heavy, but somehow not as heavy as when she came in.
Out. Close the door. Lock the door. Down the deserted hall to the elevator. Pivot pivot pivot. Into the elevator. She turned to the control panel. In the overarching sense, it was never ever over, but in the here and now.. she could go up to her apartment. Take a bath. Eat some veggies and noodles. Do her evening stretches while watching the news on channel 42. Not think about this. At least until she went to bed and started to dream. But that was hours away. Now she-
It wasn’t over at all.
Her hand was still holding her key. It hadn’t been carefully put away in the special pocket.
Her hand stuck the key into the other keyhole. The one at the top of the control panel.
She turned the key, and pushed the button, and the button glowed, the elevator started up.
She stepped to the center of the car. Arranged herself there. She truly remembered now. Remembered everything. Remembered why the Basket was there. Remembered why she hated the Elevator. Remembered why she loved the Elevator. Remembered why she dropped to her knees and worshipped the Elevator, licked the Elevator’s bright leather shoes.
Her purse slipped from her hand, fell into the waiting maw of the Basket.
The Elevator didn’t just go to the SubBasement.
She stepped out of her shoes.
It also went up. Up past her apartment and the blonde and black and dark-haired women’s apartments, past all the slaves’ apartments.
The car rose, faster and faster, and her clothes began to pour into the basket, a glorious rippling stream.
She dropped the last scrap of fabric, and the doors slid open.
The Penthouse poured into the Elevator and devoured her.
Afterwards, she went down to her apartment. She took a bath, ate some veggies and noodles, and did her evening stretches while watching the news on channel 42.
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