I am a courier, of sorts, working in a grand byrinthine hotel. Certain elevators in this hotel connect to other worlds when the buttons are pushed correctly. Finding one’s way to the correct elevator is a difficult task, even for one who has been at this for some time. I do not get to see who it is that leaves the packages for me to deliver to these other worlds, but I have learned the hard way from watching others that if the instructions that come with these packages are not followed precisely to the letter, then Very Bad Things will happen.
We couriers are discouraged from lingering too long in the other worlds, but when we are in the hotel we are pursued by spectral figures that will drain your life/soul/essence if they catch you. Rest breaks and proper sleep are hard to come by. There are many of us couriers, but we tend to avoid one another lest we draw undue attention from the specters.
After finishing up a delivery in a pce reminiscent of a 1920s speakeasy with the patrons to match, I return to the hotel and pick up my next package for delivery. I find my next elevator but a specter is waiting on the other side when the shiny brass doors slide open. It is a stringy, gangly thing, vaguely humanoid in silhouette, but formed of constantly shifting sharp angles and shiny bck geometric shapes all overpping and folding in on themselves. I flee, seeking an alternate route or, failing that, a way to lose it and double back around.
The specter is persistent and catches up with me as I begin to tire. I conjure a golden sword and ssh at it. This slows and stuns the entity, but only temporarily. It catches back up with me soon enough, and each subsequent ssh to fend it off is less effective than the st. It is said that a pursuing specter can be driven off by sheer force of will, and my conjured golden sword is a manifestation of my will, but either this specter is unusually strong or my will is simply too weak.
Finally, mere feet away from the brass elevator door that would be my salvation, it catches me and I fall to the ground. I am paralyzed and looking up at the ceiling as the specter moves over me, enveloping the lower half of my body. It plunges its staticy imitation of hands into my chest. I am unable to move or resist. I feel myself growing cold, tired, and afraid. My thoughts slow.
The specter recoils. Something pushes it back off of me. Its hands pull out of my chest. I feel human hands gripping me and pulling me to my feet. A dozen or so other couriers have gathered to drive the specter back. Still, I know that even the combined will of the group cannot keep the specter at bay forever. One of the pairs of hands involved with lifting me to my feet pulls me along and drags me into the elevator to safety. It is a woman I care for, but I had not known that she too had become a courier within the hotel.
Couriers banding together to come to one another’s rescue is not something I have heard of happening before and some part of my mind that has gotten a head start on recovering wonders if this is the start of something greater.
The elevator dings and opens up to a pce of metal pipes bathed in dim blue light. It is cool and wet. I know that there are Lovecraftian things in this pce, but they are friendlier than the specters.
We have a delivery to make.
