GARRISON

The conference room smelled like glass cleaner and stress.

The walls were all glass—no privacy, no shadow, just expansive windows reflecting Salem's gray sky like we were suspended in some observatory above the town. My tie was slightly crooked. My eyes still carried the bruises of restless sleep, and I couldn't stop checking my reflection. Too neat. Too staged.

The whole place was too perfect. It was too still—the kind of stillness that doesn't just feel quiet—it feels watched.

Outside the room, a shadow moved past the frosted glass, and then the door creaked open.

Josiah Hughes stepped inside.

The man looked exactly like his photos, except older and younger. Tall, sharp-shouldered, with the careful movements of someone who didn't waste energy. His black sweater hugged his body like it had been tailored around him. The only thing warmer than the beige lighting was the résumé in his hand—and he barely glanced at it.

"I'm sorry for the wait. You're Mr. Woods, right?"

I forced a grin. "Close. It's Wood. Garrison Wood."

He paused. It wasn't a normal pause either. Something flickered in his face—recognition, maybe? Or... confusion. Like he'd heard my name before but in a different context.

Then the moment passed. He extended a hand.

"Welcome to the team, Mr. Wood. It's a pleasure to have you here."

His grip was cold. Not like AC-cold. Like marble-cold. His skin felt wrong, like touching something that hadn't been alive in a long time. I fought the urge to pull away.

"Thanks. I'm ready to start. Where do I begin?"

Josiah gave a polite smile. One that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you good with computers?"

"Pretty fluent, yeah. I ran IT for a warehouse team before we moved."

"Good. Follow me."

We stepped into the hallway, and suddenly, I realized how quiet the building was. There was no chatter, just soft typing, the hum of fluorescent lighting, and the occasional metallic click of a printer. The floors gleamed under my shoes. No one looked up. They all worked like they were afraid to stop.

We turned a corner, and a voice called out, bright and too cheerful.

"Dad!"

A kid waved from behind a desk—maybe eleven, with a goofy smile and messy brown hair stuck up like he'd been running fingers through it all morning. Josiah's expression softened instantly. The transformation was weird to watch—he went from cold executive to warm parent in half a second.

"Hey, buddy."

"I'm Gabriel," the boy said, standing halfway out of his chair. "But you can call me Gabe. If you need help, Harris is over there." He pointed to a guy who looked like the human version of a loading screen—glasses, hunched posture, typing like he was afraid of his keyboard. "Or you can ask me."

"Appreciate it, Gabe."

Josiah gave the kid's shoulder a light squeeze. "Back to work. I'll check in later."

Then he led me deeper into the maze.

The farther we walked, the more I felt that subtle wrongness. The lights buzzed too quietly. The air smelled like steel and faint cologne. No one was talking, not even whispering. Every time I turned my head, I swore someone had just looked away.

"Here we are," Josiah finally said, stopping in front of a glass cubicle near the far window.

A computer was already booted up, screen saver flickering like a heartbeat. On the desk: one keyboard, one mouse, one notepad, perfectly aligned. No dust. No clutter. Like it had been prepped in a hurry. Or by someone who didn't know what a mess looked like.

"Your logins should be active. You'll be working under our systems analyst, Donovan Marks. He'll be in around ten."

I nodded, setting my bag down. "Cool. I'll dig in."

Josiah hovered a moment longer than necessary. Then, with that same unreadable smile, he turned and walked away.

The morning passed in a blur of soft clicks and quiet glances.

I tried to focus—tried. I dove into the onboarding documents, clicking through files and forms, but I kept glancing over my shoulder. Everyone around me moved too smoothly. There were no coughs, phone buzzes, or conversations—just the faint tapping of fingers and the low hiss of recycled air.

Across from me, Harris—Gabe's suggested backup lifted his head now and then, like he was about to say something. But he never did. Instead, he typed harder. He flinched when I finally caught his eye and gave him a quick nod.

I blinked. "Sorry—uh, hey. I'm Garrison."

He cleared his throat. "Harris. Welcome."

"How long've you been here?"

He hesitated. "Long enough."

"Is Josiah always so...?" I searched for the right word. "Chill?"

Harris gave a tight smile. "Josiah's...a good boss. He has his ways."

His eyes flicked toward the hallway like someone was listening.

I leaned back, pretending to stretch. "Quiet place, huh?"

"Yeah," Harris muttered. "You get used to it."

But I didn't want to get used to it. The whole building felt like it existed just outside of normal. We weren't working in a tech office in Salem—we were working inside something else, something staged.

By lunch, I needed air.

I found the break room—if you could call it that—on the second floor. Tiny fridge. Coffee machine. Two stools. A window looking out at the back alley where vines coiled up the brick like veins.

I poured some coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping it like it might wake me up.

A voice broke the silence.

"You're Garrison, right?"

I turned. A girl stood in the doorway—tall, sharp, with auburn hair pinned back in a lazy twist. Her ID badge read: Sasha Arlen, Data Coordinator.

"Yeah. First day."

She stepped in, her arms crossed. "I figured. You look like you're still deciding if this place is haunted or just weird."

I chuckled, surprised. "Haunted's not off the table."

Sasha smirked. "Let me guess—Josiah gave you the handshake that felt like a dead fish, and Harris stared at his screen like it holds the secrets of the universe?"

"Exactly."

She leaned against the sink. "It's always like this on Mondays. Or full moons."

I raised a brow. "You serious?"

She shrugged. "Depends. Are you a skeptic?"

I hesitated. "I believe in weird vibes."

Sasha tilted her head. "Then you'll fit in fine."

She turned to leave, but she looked back at me before she did. "Just... don't stay too late on Fridays. Or ask too many questions about who used to work at your desk."

The door clicked shut behind her.

By the end of the day, I couldn't shake the feeling.

The place was beautiful. Efficient. Polished.

But it wasn't right.

As I grabbed my bag and headed toward the elevators, I noticed something strange on the wall near the stairwell—a half-faded framed photo. It showed the office, maybe years ago, a company group photo.

And standing in the middle, looking the same as he did this morning, was Josiah Hughes.

Same eyes. Same clothes. Same faint smile.

The caption read: Founding Team – 1997.

My blood went cold.

As I turned away, I thought I saw movement—something just beyond the glass of the stairwell window. A flicker of a figure, watching from outside.

When I blinked, it was gone.

Just Salem's dusk.

But the feeling stayed with me, even as I got in my car and drove home:

Something in that building was watching.

And I had no idea what I'd just signed up for.