Nice to Know

Sofa

When the elevator stops the doors don't open.

Peter walks up to them, digging his fingers into the crevice and doing his best to pull it apart, but they didn't budge.

"Wait," I said, twisting the key and pulling it out.

As I did the doors slowly crept open. I gave Peter a smirk, but he just rolled his eyes.

The doors opened up directly into the room, but it was too dark to see anything.

Tentatively, we stepped inside, feeling the walls for a light switch. I felt one brig against the tip of my fingers and I flicked it on.

As soon as I did a chandelier in the middle of the room sprung to life. Well, almost.

Half of the lights were out, leaving the room dim and patchy.

"Damn, what happened here?" Peter said, just as I was thinking the sender thing.

The room was in shambles. The intricately printed rug was ripped and unraveled, the white couch torn open, and almost any smaller piece of furniture smashed as if it had been thrown against the walls.

We both jumped as the doors slammed shut behind us. But that was the least unsettling part of the whole thing.

The floor was littered with makeshift nuises made from torn sheets and woven rug fibers. The strong breeze indicated that the windows had been smashed. Delicate silverware stuck out of exposed outlets.

I moved closer to Peter, "What on earth happened here?"

"It's hard to say." He responded, his voice distant.

But in the same instant that I saw his eyes go black, I felt a cold sting go up my back.

And a soft voice in the back of my head said, "She's behind you."