A group of classmates and I were doing a project for an architecture class; we were supposed to find interesting buildings and find out about their history if we could. We discovered on the outskirts of a nearby town a large building that had been converted into a museum about the history of the town. We called ahead and informed the owner of our project and he gladly invited us for a tour. When we arrived at the place we took pictures of the outside, a massive, modern behemoth of glass and silver; it was sort of like that aquarium in New Orleans. It seemed quite out of place, though, set in a yellowing field and crowned with grey skies.
Except no trees and no people. We should've known.
We knocked on the glass doors and the owner warmly welcomed us in; he took us first through a hall with several displays then ushered us into a stairwell. He showed us into a massive glass-domed, white-tiled room; around its perimeters you could see another hall with displays. He led us to to the sides so we could look at the displays through the glass while he spoke on of various things. While he spoke I found myself distracted by the magnificence of the room and turned my eyes inward. It dawned on me that the floor was really rather dirty, and there lots of grates spread throughout. The dirt and stains were rusty shades of brown and upon closer inspection I saw short white bumps poking through the grates. I knelt down but pulled back in horror. They were hands of skeletons wrapped around the metal.
You'd think we would've noticed the floor.
I shuddered and stepped back to my group, quietly insisting that it was time to go. The owner overheard and said of course, he would be happy to show us out. He led us into the stairwell and shut the door behind us; of course it was locked when we tried it. Slightly panicked, we ran down the stairs and found nothing; this was a different stairwell than the one we had taken before. So we headed back up and past the door that we had come through; we started hearing noises echoing down through the stairwell. There was a constant shuffling sound, punctuated by wails and moans of pain. We didn't know what to do, we were frozen on the stairs.
The first person came around the corner above us. She was gaunt, even skeletal. Her skin was pale yellow and her eyes were blank. Her hair was stringy and looked as though it had fallen out in clumps; it was as if she had stepped out of a grave. She didn't even notice us as we flattened ourselves against the walls and she passed down to the bottom of the stairs.
We all did this.
With no other options we headed up the stairs passing a few more blank-eyed people on the way. We saw halls full of these people until eventually the stairs became more and more populated. We panicked, all of us, and took off in different directions trying to find a way out. But all there was were those people; some didn't seem aware at all of their surroundings. Others saw us, those others grasped weakly at our limbs in a pathetic manner. If there was was a safe way out, no one found it. Many hours later I watched as one of us somehow managed to climb up a wood paneled wall and then tinker with a window that swung outward when she pressed against it. She fell to her death and that's all I wanted. The quiet groaning and shuffling like broken butterflies, the flailing hands and empty eyes, they were all taking a toll. I had to get out.
I tried climbing the wall like she did. I tried but I couldn't copy her actions. I put my hands to my head and began whimpering; I was already becoming like them. I climbed a chair and jumped for the window but couldn't reach it. My frustration and terror came out of me in a high pitched wail.
"CUT!" a man shouted.
I whipped behind me to find Colin Farrell lounging on a couch with a camera crew behind him.
"What?"
"That's it! We've got it! Let's pack up," he said, clapping his hands together.
"This is a movie!?"
You'd think I would've noticed all the cigarettes and empty whiskey bottles.
And that's when I woke up.
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