The Lower Levels
The rain started the same week Gavin got the job. Not normal rain either. It came down black against the streetlights, thick and oily-looking, drumming against windows hard enough to wake me up every night at exactly 3:13 a.m. Tacoma had always been gray, always wet, but this felt different. Like the sky itself had started rotting. Gavin thought it was funny at first.
“Maybe the apocalypse finally got bored,” he joked, tossing a six-pack onto my kitchen counter while water dripped from his hood onto the floor. “About time something happened around here.” I laughed because that’s what I always did around him. Gavin had this way of making everything feel temporary — bills, breakups, dead-end jobs. Like none of it could really touch us as long as we kept moving. We’d known each other since eighth grade. Back then we were the weird kids who stayed out too late riding bikes through abandoned neighborhoods, daring each other to go into condemned houses. Gavin was fearless. I wasn’t. I just followed him because life felt less terrifying when he was around. He used to say people could smell fear.
“You walk into a dark room scared,” he told me once, “something in there notices.” I remember laughing when he said it. I don’t laugh about that anymore. At twenty-six, neither of us had much to show for our lives. I worked overnight stocking shelves at a grocery store off Pacific Avenue. Gavin bounced between construction gigs, warehouse jobs, and periods where he’d disappear for weeks drinking himself stupid in someone else’s apartment. Then he got the call. I still remember how excited he sounded.
“Full-time security,” he said over the phone. “Easy money. Old property out near the water.”
“What kind of property?”
“Don’t know. Rich people crap probably. They just need night coverage.”
“You hate night shifts.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, But this one pays insane.”
That should’ve been my first warning. Gavin never cared about money. Three days later he picked me up after work to show me the place. The drive took almost an hour north through stretches of forest where the trees crowded so close to the road they looked like they were leaning inward. The deeper we went, the worse my headache got. By the time we reached the gate, I could feel pressure behind my eyes. The property sat behind massive rusted fencing wrapped in chain and dead vines. Beyond it stood an enormous concrete structure overlooking the water. Not a mansion. Not a warehouse. Something else. Windowless. Cold. Wrong. It looked like a hospital designed by someone who hated people. Gavin rolled down the window and handed a security card to the guard at the gate. The old man barely glanced at us. But I noticed something strange. The guard had no eyelashes. Not a single hair on his arms either. Just pale skin stretched tight across his bones. He looked sick. Or unfinished. The gate groaned open.
“You sure this place is legit?” I asked.
Gavin shrugged. “Paperwork checks out.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He smirked. “You scared?”
The truth was yes. I couldn’t explain it, but every instinct told me to leave. The building sat at the edge of the ocean cliffs where fog rolled endlessly across black rocks below. There were no signs anywhere. No company logos. No visible cameras. Just concrete walls stained dark by decades of rain. Inside smelled like bleach and wet metal. The lights buzzed overhead. A woman met us in the lobby wearing a gray suit and gloves so white they almost glowed under the fluorescent lights. She introduced herself as Ms. Vane. Even now, thinking about her makes my stomach tighten. Her smile never reached her eyes.
“Gavin has spoken highly of you,” she told me.
I looked at him immediately. He’d never mentioned me.
“You hiring too?” I asked.
“No,” she said softly. “But we value familiarity. It keeps people calm.”
Something about the way she said calm made my skin crawl. Gavin gave me a quick tour after that. Mostly empty hallways. Storage rooms. Stairwells descending far below sea level. No windows. No clocks. I kept hearing noises in the walls. Not pipes. Breathing. At one point we passed a heavy steel door with multiple locks bolted across it. The paint around the frame was scratched to hell.
“What’s in there?” I asked. Gavin hesitated.
“Archives.”
“You don’t sound convinced.” He forced a laugh.
“Man, I’ve only worked here two nights.”
But I noticed he wouldn’t look directly at the door. That was new. Gavin wasn’t afraid of anything. When we got back to the lobby, Ms. Vane handed him a thick ring of keys.
“You’ll begin lower-level rounds tonight,” she said.
“And remember the rules.” Gavin nodded immediately.
“What rules?” I asked.
Neither of them answered. The drive home felt strange after that. Gavin barely talked. He kept checking the rearview mirror.
“You okay?” I finally asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are.”
Silence. Rain hammered the windshield so hard the road ahead disappeared. Then Gavin spoke again.
“They told me if I hear knocking,” he said quietly, “I’m not supposed to open any doors.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“They have protocols. Old building stuff.”
“Gavin.”
He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“If someone asks to be let out,” he continued, “I ignore it.”
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
“What the hell kind of job is this?”
“I don’t know.”
For the first time since I’d known him, he sounded genuinely scared. Then he whispered something I almost didn’t hear.
“But they knew my name before I applied.”
That night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that steel door. At 3:13 a.m., my phone rang. Gavin. The second I answered, I heard heavy breathing.
“Gav?”
No response. Then came the sound of metal scraping somewhere far away.
“Gavin?”
Finally he spoke. His voice was trembling.
“There’s someone down here.” I sat upright instantly.
“What?”
“In the lower levels.”
“You call the cops?”
“They won’t let me.”
The connection crackled violently. Behind him I heard a distant banging noise. Slow. Heavy. Like something enormous hitting a door.
“Listen to me,” he whispered. “If anything happens to me, don’t come here.”
“Dude, you’re not making sense.”
Another bang echoed through the phone. Closer this time. Gavin started breathing faster.
“Oh God…”
“What’s happening?”
“They said not to answer if it talks.”
Every hair on my body stood up.
“What talks?”
Then I heard it. Not Gavin, Something else. A voice in the background. Wet. Broken, Barely human. It sounded like someone trying to speak underwater.
“Gaaaviiinnn…”
The line went silent. Then came a scream so horrifying I nearly dropped the phone. Not pain. Not fear. Recognition. Like he had seen something impossible. The call disconnected. I tried calling back immediately. No answer. Again. Nothing. By the fifth attempt I was already pulling on my shoes. I drove through the storm faster than I ever had in my life. Rain blurred the roads. Thunder shook the sky hard enough to rattle my windows. The entire drive, I kept thinking about that voice.
Gaaaviiinnn…
Not calling to him. Claiming him. By the time I reached the property, the front gate was already open. No guard. No lights. Just darkness. The ocean below crashed violently against the cliffs while fog swallowed the building almost completely. I should’ve left. Every instinct begged me to turn around. Instead I went inside. The lobby was empty. But something wet covered the floor. At first I thought it was rainwater. Then lightning flashed through the glass entrance behind me. And I saw the trail clearly. Blood. Leading toward the stairwell descending underground. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Gavin?” I shouted. No answer. Only the buzzing lights overhead. I followed the blood downstairs. Level B1. Then B2. Then B3.
The deeper I went, the colder the air became. By B4, the walls had changed from concrete to something older. Rusted metal lined the corridors. The lights flickered weakly above doors marked only with numbers. And everywhere—
Scratches. Deep claw marks carved into steel. I found Gavin’s flashlight lying in the hallway. Still on. Still warm. Then I heard it. Knocking. Three slow knocks from the door at the end of the corridor. My stomach dropped. The steel door. The one from earlier. Another knock. Then a voice. Soft. Weak.
“Help me…”
Gavin. It sounded exactly like him. I ran toward the door without thinking.
“Gavin?!”
“Please,” the voice whimpered. “It hurts.”
I grabbed the handle. And froze.
Because behind me—
Something breathed. Right against my ear. Hot. Rotting. A voice whispered from the darkness behind me in perfect imitation of Gavin: “Don’t open it.”