Host of Sheets (shyan)

Chp. 9 Threads

Ryan ran.

No thoughts this time; he was beyond the hows and whys and wherefores. Just the pounding of sneakers on tile and breath in his ears as he panted. He needed to get out, Shane had told him to get out, but he was on the third floor, too high to go through a window— elevators too slow— did they even work right now with the lights going out? He didn't have time to find out the hard way.

He flew down the stairs, the supernatural serpentine threads (he couldn't even begin to guess what they were) at his heels, everything even remotely familiar about his workplace rapidly disappearing, walls rippling to black and pulsing with a weird sort of life to them.

A thread darted underfoot, squishing wetly, slimy under his sneakers and Ryan caught the bannister in panic as he slid and had to catch his feet. The stairs were slowing him down and he nearly tripped on the second flight, skidding on too tight of a turn. He was gonna break his fucking neck if he wasn't careful—

He squinted when a bright light flashed over his eyes, before realizing it was a security guard shining his flashlight up the darkened flight of stairs.

"What's going on?" He called up sharply and Ryan flew past him without stopping.

"RUN!" He shouted, throwing open the door for the both of them. But the security guard was still looking up, his flashlight playing over the thready veins. "What the h—"
—And then he was gone, the vines rushing over him and swallowing him whole. Ryan saw him sink into the walls, limbs blackening, arms flailing, before he slammed the door shut.

He ran across the lobby— the lights were all out here too, weak sunshine filtering through the blinds— but the vines were obviously faster than him, sweeping over the large room and already twining over the front doors. He tried anyway, flying across the room faster than he'd ever moved to grab onto the door handles and yank.
The smallest of tendrils played along his fingers, cold and sharp against his nails. The door held fast. It was nearly all glass but as Ryan watched, the clear surface was turning smoky, opaque.

Vines wrapped around his wrists and pulled. He could feel his hand sink into the blackened mass, ice cold, his fingers numbing instantly. He screamed and yanked back, falling flat on his ass when the vines ripped. He scrambled back to his feet. There were other doors, windows—

He knew the one behind the lobby was usually left open to catch the crossbreeze and he went there next, but it was already gone. The whole hallway a black dripping mess. The floor was wet with a half inch of brackish water and with every pounding footstep he splashed, sneakers sucking wetly.

The back entrance was gone, too. He moved back to the windows; they were big, maybe that made them weaker? He dragged one of the waiting chairs up over his head and brought it down hard as he could against the glass. Everything collided with a heavy thud that reverberated through his wrists, but it held fast, and then started to cloud over.

Ryan could hear the hiss of the vines behind him— this was the last pristine corner of the lobby. He gave the window another blow, and then another before the veins caught up, wrapping around the chair as he brought it down one last time. He let go with a frustrated noise as the vines dragged the chair from his grip.

It was done, somehow. There was no longer anything he recognized; he was surrounded by darkness and glistening, thready vines. They were still moving, but no longer seemed to feel the need to rush wildly around him, taking their time to twine together and settle in.

Ryan backed up from the walls as they reached for him. There was nowhere else to go. He was out of ideas. The keening sound that left his throat was unrecognizable, a miserable little whimper.