Quadlibet

Perhaps he should have noticed when he pressed the elevator button and it didn't light up. He felt the button go all the way until it wouldn't go any further, but a moment later realized that something did not register. He tried it again, assuming the tiny bulb inside the clear plastic switch was burnt-out, but not wanting to wait too long just the same. This time, however, the button glowed.

Soon the familiar chime rang, and two large chrome doors separated behind him.

Hmm, he thought, of all the times I've come to this office (which was quite often, since this was his place of employment) I don't believe that I've ever taken this elevator.

Stepping back, he looked at all of the elevator doorways and decided that, in fact, he had not ever taken this particular one before. Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped in and pressed his floor.

The button that he pressed lit, but he was a little surprised to see the symbol wasn't like anything he had seen before. It certainly wasn't representative of his office floor. He stared at the console and, after a moment of self-discussion, decided that this was the right place for his floors mark. But then something else caught his eye.

Slowly, he set his fine leather briefcase at his feet and took a long look at the elevator console. Two rows of about twelve buttons each, and black as night, except for the one that he had pressed only moments ago. They were so dark, in fact, that even his face's distorted reflection was cast in a cool shimmer as if he were peering out at himself from some other world.

There was also a certain warmth to them. Not a comforting warmth, he thought, like bundling up next to a roaring fire on the coldest of winter days while snow came down in bundles just outside your window. No, it wasn't even the physical sensation of warmth. They seemed to glow with a prescience that he found immensely unnerving; almost as if they were watching him, each with its own individual consideration. He was beginning to believe these were, in fact, eyes, and the small room around him began to shift.

Now, he really considered himself a sensible man (and he truly believed his wife would agree, most of the time), and he wasn't about to let an incredibly un-sensible idea bother him much (even if it was his own un-sensible thought). Slowly, he backed up to the far wall, where he had left his briefcase, and picked it up. The elevator doors had stayed open an unusually long time, and he felt some brief comfort in the realization that he still had an opportunity to get off.

Oh, but we all know (at least those of us who are familiar with these types of tales) how short such a moment of resolution can be; especially when the thought of escape is suddenly realized. And, sure enough, as he shifted forward to step out, two large red doors slid from both sides of the space and shut abruptly. They didn't close with the usual whoosh of air and sound of moving mechanics often associated with most elevators, either. Instead, the gentleman with the fine leather brief case – and, now a bit more concerned about his well-being than he was a moment before - heard something a bit more organic sounding. Something like taking a large messy bite of a freshly picked peach, only this particular piece of fruit would have to be quite large and... well, he preferred not to think about what might bite into something this big.

As in any situation like this, his stomach began to twist and he started to feel a tad queasy. He quickly realized, however, the motion inside was actually reacting to the motions of the elevator as it was starting to ascend. Above the doors he noticed a row of numbers for each floor, alternating a bright off-white one at a time. What he saw against the light of each passing floor was, again, not numbers, however; they appeared to be living things in motion, and they were the deepest red he thought he had ever seen. For an instant they appeared merely colored, shapeless forms, floating listlessly; like when a drop of food coloring is plopped into a glass of clear water. But almost immediately after each notice lit, the thing inside would jerk as if violently shocked, and take the shape of the number of that corresponding floor. When the light was extinguished for that particular display, the sign would dim and the symbol was a simple black number once more.

His legs tensed as he felt the motion almost suddenly cease. Fortunately, he thought, I had my knees bent or I probably would have fallen stiff!

For a moment he was confused about why the elevator had stopped. The sign lit above the doors and among row of floor numbers looked nothing like the floor he had requested. It was the same slow-drifting strand of red the others had been shortly before taking on their respective numbers, but it did not seem to be paying any attention. He looked at the button he had originally pressed and it was no longer lit, but did look like the right floor number, and did not bear the strange symbol that he had pressed originally.

Just as he looked back above the doors, however, the entire chamber dimmed. It was very brief, and he noticed the lit floor symbol above actually got brighter as everything else around him darkened. And within the moment of losing lighting the small red blob jerked suddenly and bent itself (itself?) into the floor number he was hoping for. The great doors slowly parted and he stepped out. Quickly.

However, as one foot crossed the threshold of the elevator-to-hallway, his second planted itself firmly behind the heel of his first, and he tipped forward. The fine leather briefcase cushioned most of the impact, but his embarrassment was almost fatal.

Pulling himself up and looking to make sure no one was around to see him humble himself, he brushed off his jacket and slacks and picked up his briefcase.

"Good morning, Mr. Coles," a gentle voice followed after him from behind, "that was quite a spill! Are you alright?"

Mr. Coles turned to see his round little secretary staring with wide-eyed concern, "Oh, good morning, Ms. Chamberpot," he felt his face start to burn, "no, no, I'm quite fine thank you."

"Well, when I saw you coming of the elevator I had no idea that might happen! I mean, of all things! Tripping right off of the elevat-"

"I do believe I said I was fine, thank you," Mr. Coles snapped.

Ms. Chamberpot let out a startled gasp, "I am terribly sorry," and turned back down the hallway from where she had come.

That was a bit rough, wasn't it? He thought to himself, well, I'll apologize to her later, I suppose. Or perhaps I ought to tell her now.

"Ms. Chambers-" the second half of her name got caught in his throat. He had turned to see the broad back of his plump secretary walking away, when he noticed the lower part of her back end seemed to be, well, squirming. He almost yelled out that he thought that she might have a snake going up the backside of her dress when he saw the end of it peaking out under her skirt at her feet. For a moment longer, he held to the idea it was some type of serpent, for the thing appeared to have a head. But as it curled up behind her back, he soon realized it was not a head he was seeing as more of a triangular, fleshy tip. It was only a moment, however, as his secretary turned to his attention.

"Yes, sir?" the look in her ample face suggested some hurt feelings, but she smiled just the same.

"I -" he started.

She's got a tail! Screamed through the immense noise between his ears.

"Uhmm..." he tried again, "I... uh... I'm sorry that I snapped. That was inappropriate of me, and well... I am truly sorry." He looked at the floor, hoping that it made him appear a tad ashamed. He was really finding it difficult to look at the woman. She… has… got… a… blasted… tail!

He could almost feel her expressions change.

"That is quite all right, sir, it did look a bit embarrassing, after all." She said in an almost motherly tone. He looked up, finally, as she walked away and watched the back of her dress sway and bounce as she moved, and occasionally noticed something else curling around her ankles.

His office door shut behind him with a soft thud and, after making sure it was shut tight, he quickly moved to his chair and sat down. As was usual, the only space made available in the middle of his desk the night previous was covered in pink slips with names and telephone numbers, or reminders about meetings. Scooping them all together he patiently read each one and tried to forget the craziness going on just outside his office door.

"Meeting on Tuesday with Johnson, Uhm-hmm... Mrs. Merryweather, yes... yes..." he mumbled to himself reading each and every number and name, and laying each one back on his desk as he finished. The very last one had him stumped, however, and he stared at it as if it were written in a foreign tongue. "Urgent?" he said.

Unlike the other three or four notices, which were written in Ms. Chamberpot's - at least the Ms. Chamberpot he knew before he noticed the tail - traditional style and in black ink, this one was written in thick red ink, and the "Urgent" was underlined in what almost looked to him like scratches. "Red ink on pink paper?" he asked himself, and then took note of the phone number, "Well, it does say urgent..." and he took his phone and dialed.

Mr. Coles listened as the line made a connection, clicked, and then started ringing. It wasn't a strange sound, but he found himself getting lost in thought as the line rang and he began to wonder what had happened to him. An elevator that seemed to be watching him? And then the thought of what he thought he saw on Ms. Chamberpot? The thought of watching his secretary that way suddenly made him blush. Even when I was a boy, he thought to himself, I always respected women and never stared at their derriere! But she had a tail! He argued.

The phone stopped ringing then, and he could hear a commotion at the other end. Nothing too loud, but like a soft breeze, or someone breathing quietly. "Uh, hello," he called into it, "Hello? This is William Coles returning an urgent call from this number. Is anyone there?"

No answer. Just the soft murmur of movement and nothing else.

"Hel-lo-o" He called again, this time with a melodic, if impatient, lilt in his voice. Still no answer. "Alright, then," he said and hung up the phone.

He picked up the small squares of pink paper again and looked at one of the others. "Mrs. Merryweather, next, then," he said and reached for the phone once more. Lifting it to his ear, he began to press the numbers when he realized there was no dial tone. No hum, whatever.

There was a dial tone a minute ago... he thought... wasn't there?

And then he heard it, again; the soft nothing, suggesting someone was still on the other line of his phone. His ear started to feel strange as he listened, and he pulled the phone from it and looked at it. Perspiration dotted the black plastic and he wiped his ear in confusion.

“Hello,” a gentle voice resonated to his ears, “is someone calling?”

Staring blankly at the phone for a moment, he wiped the receiver on his pant leg and he put it back up to his ear.

“Uh, well, yes,” he stammered, pulling the small note from his desk. “Mrs. Merryweather?”

“Yes,” to woman on the other line said, “this is she.”

“Yes, well, this is William Coles, returning your call from earlier today-”

She began to respond, but he then heard what he took to be another voice. It was deep and did not sound at all pleased. He listened as she muffled her end and said something he couldn’t decipher. Silence followed.

Then, she spoke once more.

“Mr. Coles, yes,” her voice wasn’t quite as delightful this time, “I’m sorry there must have been a mistake on my end. You see, I did call you earlier today, but-”

The other voice spoke, again, but this time around he could hear it clearly. The words spoken made no sense to him. They sounded foreign, but not like anything he had heard before. And the tone of the voice sounded as if someone were swallowing mud while they attempted to speak. Mrs. Merryweather began speaking, again, also, interrupting the other voice, but he could not tell if she was speaking to him or the other person. Then, both voices were bantering back and forth. Neither seemed to realize he was still on the phone.

“No, no, I was jus-” Merryweather said with her gentle, but urgent tone, before being interrupted by the other voice.

“No!” he heard her yell. The phone clicked.

“Hello? Mrs. Merryweather?” there was no response. After a moment or two, he heard a few metallic clicks, and then the dial tone.

William Coles stood up with the sudden urge to find a bathroom. He ran to the door, fumbled with the lock and scrambled out and down the long hall of his office floor. Slamming into the bathroom door may have caused him to cringe in embarrassment, but at this point he turned the large handle and tumbled toward the bathroom counter. The bathroom door slammed in the background, but he paid it no mind. Water trickled into the large basin and, cupping his hands, he splashed some on his face. The cool wet shook him, causing him to calm down.

Without turning the faucet off, he walked to one of the urinals on the wall and began unzipping. Ahh... Relief washed over him like an inner glow, and for the first time today he smiled. Ahh...

Suddenly, the bathroom doorknob clicked and he heard it open. Not looking up, he listened intently and continued releasing the pressure built up in him during his ride up the elevator. The sharp click of heals on the floor tiles seemed to echo throughout the small room and stopped near him.

He did not look up.

Then one of the stall doors squealed open, and banged shut shortly thereafter. He heard the commotion of buttons or zippers or both and listened as the toilet seat took on its newest occupant. And then it was silent again. But only for a moment.

The toilet began to flush and gurgle, but he noticed it was not stopping. In the wash of noise, he then noticed another sound, ever so present. It sounded like a wet rag being struck against a wall or something, followed by a faint gasp, like that of a person. This occurred twice, and was followed by a chugging, clogged sound. Then he heard water splashing on the floor of the stall, immediately followed by a gurgle as the flushing stopped.

William Coles stood at the urinal for a few moments before realizing he was done. Slowly, cautiously, he zipped back up and turned back to the counter. He calmly washed his hands and slowly took some paper towels and dried them. Tossing the towels in the trash bin, he headed for the bathroom door, but stopped shortly. The stall door was still locked shut; he could see the thin bolt between the door and wall panel. Fidgeting, he finally got down on his hands and knees and peaked under the stall door. The shiny tips of fine black shoes poked under what he assumed were the hems of pant legs drooped over them. Then he realized he saw a dress shirt as well. In fact, he soon realized he was looking at what he thought was the complete wardrobe of someone’s, piled around the base of the toilet.

Has someone just been eaten, He thought frantically, or, perhaps, left the building?

He certainly wasn't waiting around for an answer.

He darted out of the bathroom with a speed not achieved since his prime. Down the long hall he walked until he got to the access hall of the elevators. "Taking an early lunch, Mr. Coles?" The soft and delightfully terrifying voice of his secretary slithered behind him.

He looked up to see her standing by one of the elevators, a large folder cradled in her arms.

"Uh," he started, "actually, I'm not feeling quite right today. I think that I'll be taking the rest of the day off."

"Oh, dear," Ms. Chamberpot looked at him compassionately, "well, I do hope you feel better tomorrow."

"As do I, Ms. Chamberpot, as do I."

"Your elevator is ready." She said softly.

"Oh?" he asked, suddenly noticing the elevator in front of him opening up. He began to step forward and stopped. "I think... I think I will take the stairs today." He said at last, and ran toward the nearest emergency exit.

THE END