read this by @cruxymox first.
The world hosts more empty places than it knows. After dark, every maintenance tunnel is something else entirely. There are networks under the earth that are meant for nothing save cables and their repair. Entire roads almost no one walks, illuminated by the occasional vending machine sitting like some strange idol. I’ve never met anyone who serves those machines, though they are always full. One once dispensed only old coke bottles, with the taste my grandmother told me about.
But not every place is as empty as it pretends. I walk into the museum without exhibits easily. The manager – really a glorified security guard – has gone home, and this night the cameras work just fine. Jay told me of this place, because he tells me of many adventures he has. That Jay helped goes without question, but that he stayed at the museum keeping the security cameras company rather than just fixing them and moving to another adventure: that I wondered about.
No camera sees me since I ask them not to, but it turns out there is one room they do not like looking into. I am not Jay, to speak with anything, but a magician is always good at listening, and I trust the instincts and magic both as I walk into one of the empty rooms.
“A museum without exhibits is a dangerous state for a building to be in. The two people Jay accosted had no idea why they’d come here, unaware the need of the museum drew – you, I think. To fill an empty room, even though you are unseen.”
“■■■■■■■■,” the voice does not say. Fear is laced with a sense of the inevitable. “■■■_■■■_■■■■_■■_■■■_■■?”
“I am afraid that I am not here to eat you. Charlie perhaps would, but she is not here.” There isn’t a shape in the corner that folds into itself. “You sensed Jay, and something of his own fear. But you also freed the gremlin from the walls, and you could have done much more.”
The icon that was on the wall blazed for a moment, even though it is no longer here. I unmake its power with a gesture, turning the energy into a door. “You can return home.”
It moves between frames, parts of it cutting dimensions I can feel more than sense.
“Home means many things,” I say softly as power brushes against my wards. “It can mean where you are going instead of where you came from. I am deep enough for this to come to pass.”
“■■■■■_■■■,” The entity says, and the empty room is wholly empty again.
“Just waiting for an end. But in some ways aren’t we all?” I offer the thought to the world and head back outside.