Somewhere

He stared into the odd black mist and there was no mistake -- the whine was coming from the clock. He went to tap the plastic, but shrieked and recoiled in pain. The tip of his finger was bleeding, and slightly bruised.

"Mr. Kharl, please do not touch the clock."

So they could see him too. That was a little unnerving, but at least they weren't ignoring him. And they didn't have to ask twice, he wasn't planning on touching the clock again. He looked down at his bleeding finger and brought it to his mouth to wash away the excess blood. The pain reminded him of something, but it was hazy.

The steady whine continued to drop in pitch, and James kept watching the clock. Although unsure at first, eventually it was undeniable. The mist was coalescing. It became like a shield over the face of the clock. And then James realized that his suspicion had been correct -- the clock did have hands, they were just moving so fast as to have been invisible when he first came in. Now they were slowing down. Still moving at an incredible speed, but surely decelerating. And decelerating quickly now. After just a few more seconds James could make out the individual hands, and then the whirring began to dichotomize into clicks. After another minute or so of waiting (it was hard to judge given the odd behavior of the clock), the hands had slowed to normal, and James was plunged back into silence, save the familiar "tick, tick, tick."

James sat back down in the chair and regarded the sign over the door. Just his name, but a blank line underneath. What went underneath? He brought his finger to his mouth again. The bleeding was slowing, but his finger still pulsed with the pain of the bruise. That pulsing pain, he could remember feeling it in his head, like he had sustained a bad injury to his skull. But when had that ever happened?

His cogitation was cut short by... something on the very edge of perception. He leapt out of his chair and over to the door, putting his ear up against it in a vain attempt to hear more clearly. It was sure, there were footsteps out there. They were still faint, down the hall a ways. James was reminded of his own trek down that hall. He couldn't even remember how he had gotten there... he had just found himself walking down the hall. But was the person he heard now another lost wanderer like himself, or the man behind the curtain. Occasionally the footsteps would stop, only to resume a few moments later. And then his questions were answered; he heard a banging and a female voice call "Can anyone hear me?" She was still a ways down the hall, but he recognized her frustration.

James banged on his door and yelled out. "I can hear you! Hello! Who's there?"

There was silence for a moment, and then the footsteps began again in earnest. She was running down the hall to the door. Finally, someone who might have answered. The footsteps got closer and closer and stopped outside his door. "Hello? Are you in there?"

"Yes, yes I'm in here! I can't open the door," James called.

"Hold on, let me try." James heard the handle being operated from outside, but nothing happened. "It's not working," the female voice said. "It must be locked from your side."

James looked at the handle. It was smooth, there was no sign of a locking mechanism at all. "No, it can't be," James said, putting his hand on handle. To his surprise, there was no resistance, and the door practically fell open.