Thursday 24 September 2015

The Dead Hour

Nobody thought that an hour would make any difference. Nothing ever really happens between the hours of 7 and 8am, people wake up, have breakfast, get ready for the day and not much else.

It's a dead hour. One resigned specifically to work/school/appointment preparation, a grey slot of time where nothing significant ever really happens. And besides, these were students living in this hour, the only major event occurring in their lives between the hours of 7 and 8am were hangovers.

The night security team would leave at 6:50am, allowing enough time to lock up the office and do a final sweep of the outside facilities. The reception staff would once again bring life to the office at 8:02, allowing enough time to get their morning coffee exactly right.

Nobody could have anticipated the carnage that greeted them that morning, following the - rather aptly named - dead hour.

******



Jamie had been hearing the heavy slam of doors all night. The walls of her halls block were thin, and the corridors created this weird echo, so the noise always seemed to channel right to her doorway.

Jamie was a pretty light sleeper, and if there was one thing she couldn't stand it was an early wake up call, the first few times she was willing to let it go, but now it was the fifth time she had begun to drift back to sleep only to be jerked awake by a slam.

She stomped over to her door and flung it open as best she could, the fire-safety mechanism somewhat impeding her dramatic face off with whoever was ridiculous enough to be up at 7:15.
Jamie was met with a full force blow to the head. She never caught a glimpse of her attacker, her eyes had still been adjusting to the gloom as he silenced her. If she had been able to muse about her situation, her first thought probably would have been;

"7:15am... he must have had at least 15 minutes of practice..."

******

Dan was running late for his jog. Even though his morning run was supposed to be a leisure activity he never seemed to be able to escape the need for a strict routine. His hall block had been strangely silent this morning, so his usual alarm call of a snore or a score or... whatever else happened around there hadn't arrived, meaning he had overslept and now he was late.

He had usually left the building by 7:10 at the latest, but the clock was now running upsettingly close to 7:22, meaning Dan didn't even look into the face of his death as he shrugged his coat on and locked his door.

He only felt the pain from his head wound for a couple of minutes before he blacked out, for a second, he forgot that he was dying, and smiled at the blissful feeling of a valid excuse for missing deadlines, as he reached out forlornly to press what he assumed was a snooze button.

******

Holly was ecstatic, her master plan to make her house-mates love her was all about to unfold. She laid out six plates along the kitchen counter and began to fry her key weapon. Soon enough the block would be filled with the delicious scents of bacon and happiness, and it would all be thanks to her.

She realised she had been too subtle before, sneaking soap cakes in to the bathrooms so no one else had to buy them, offering tea towels at the exact moment of a spill, but no longer! Today she was just going to lay her cards down, today she would just say it; 'Hey! I'm Holly Able and if we can be friends I'll let you have some of this delicious bacon!'.

She hummed happily, but quietly, to herself, not wanting to wake her house-mates too early without fried goods but also unable to contain her excitement. She worried that she may have started her project too early, it was only 7:35 now and she had already cooked six rashers, would anyone be pleased at her gift? Or would they simply slam their doors in her face for a few more hours sleep? Upset, but now unable to turn back without leaving cold bacon and empty plates, she turned to the fridge to find her ketchup.

Holly wondered how loud her humming must have actually been. She couldn't figure out how she hadn't heard the kitchen door open and fall shut. But it must have done because now she was laying crippled on the floor unable to scream for help, and her bacon was burning, if it left a bad smell in the kitchen then surely her house-mates would be mad at her...

******

Cameron wasn't in the mood for anymore room-mate pranks. There had been a gentle tapping at his door for a good minute now, it was following a slow, spooky pattern, that he imagined his neighbours could continue for a good while longer.

His phone screen read that it was 7:43 and the sun was annoyingly beginning to stream in at his window. He suddenly jolted upright and flung his duvet away from his legs, determined to take a stand - literally and metaphorically - against this kind of juvenile behaviour. The people had already taken his dignity, but he'd be damned if they managed to take his sleep without a fight.

Cameron flung open the door ready to face his foes, but was instead met with a mallet. As his head collided with the hallway floor he noticed the bodies of his house-mates, lying in their doorways just as his was. And in that moment all he could concentrate on was how awful he felt for having blamed them for the same trick they had obviously fallen prey to.

******

Sharice had only woken up when she'd heard the screams. At first the flats had been totally silent, but when the screams had started they were instantly piercing and hysterical.

Without build up or practice they permeated the thin walls of the building until almost all of the surviving occupants were leaning over stair rails and out of doorways, with dressing gowns or blankets hastily wrapped around them in their desperation to see what was happening.

She had just managed to blearily stumble to her door when she noticed that the handle was loose, as if someone had attempted to force it open while the lock was on. Still being half asleep, she figured it must have been her friend next door mistaking the room numbers, and made a half-hearted mental note of calling the maintenance team.

It was only as she closed the door behind her that she noticed the bodies lined across her hallway. All of them were lying in a pool of blood surrounding mainly their head, and all of them, she unwillingly recognised, were her house-mates.

Unable to scream Sharice fell to the floor trying desperately to push any sound past the growing lump in her throat. She could only guess how many others had been victim to such a brutal and meticulous attack.

But judging by the screaming that was gradually erupting throughout the sections of the house, it must have been a lot...

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