Footsteps

Archival Knowledge

Stolen key chittering in his pocket, Samuel Kirkwood finished his trek to the Ottergrove Gazette's Headquarters.

He pushed the door, read the sign "pull" and pulled it.

Upon his entrance, his vision was immediately obstructed by a towering coat hanger laden with jackets and scarves. Samuel figured that journalists were extremely cold sensitive, because the sun was burning the pavement outside. He stepped aside and inched past the coat hanger, his nose brushing against the Mount Everest of fabric.

Sam was in a long hallway; walls tall, white and lightly scribbled on; floor dented and worn; ceiling arched and dusty. He stepped slowly, approaching a notice strung upon a wall on his left:

intruders welcome.

Underneath the strange saying, written directly onto the wall in a short, neat handwriting, were the words

please go to the main office (saves us time).

An arrow followed the sentence, pointing to a door that was so flat it blended perfectly with the rest of the corridor. It didn't even have a doorknob. Needless to say, this was a strange place.

Sam read the sign "push" and pushed the door.

Before him, a staircase twisted and turned downwards. The walls on either side were covered in flowery pink wallpaper, lined with fluffy glowing lampshades that resembled used tissues. The lasting effect was one of a passageway to a posh grandma's evil underground lair.

Ignoring the voice in his head telling him to run in the opposite direction, he began his descent, holding on to the footstep machine as if his life depended on it, which, in retrospective, might've been the case.

That exact same moment was eventful.
Gwen the zookeeper, watching a line of smoke dancing on the tree line, entered a number on her cell phone.
Garrett took off, his head spinning in indignation like the pedals beneath his feet.
Frankline tried the key.
And, further away, the Mayor answered the phone.

"Hello? Mr. Swanson speaking."
The person calling talked very fast, pausing to breathe at short intervals and drawing huge amounts of air. The mayor was afraid she was having an asthma attack.
"Fire. Here next to the birds. Ottergrove zoo."

A few words, and the line was cut, leaving the mayor disoriented. Why, when confronted with a life-threatening situation, would you call the mayor of your town? A very capable fire department was at a few dials' reach, why waste those precious seconds?
Seconds that Mr. Swanson, lost in thought, was wasting as well, until a sniff of smoke woke him. The fire was spreading. He shoved aside the conspiracy theories budding in his brain and fumbled with the telephone.

----

Frankline sighed. She tried unlocking the door one more time, and, facing defeat, looked up at her father. It was true, the guy was pretty weird, tripping over the counter and throwing himself between them when the moment came to pay. But a vicious, plotting thief who now owned keys to their home? She thought not. She hoped not. Frankie imagined him as a cooped-up inventor, a scientist gone mad, not as a scheming pickpocket. Although she didn't want to, she had to admit it; thieves are the best actors.

The wind whipped in Garrett's face as he glided, united with his metallic friend at last. Thieves are the best actors. He should've remembered. Garrett needed to get as far away as possible from his brother, the traitor. He needed to scream, to clear his head. He needed to think.

He turned a corner, jumped on the sidewalk and almost ran over a man and his daughter walking towards him.

"Sorry!" he hiccupped, hoping he didn't know them.