Off-Script

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Their hoofsteps muffled by dust, two dainties climb concrete stairs toward a small industrial building. Behind them orange clouds settle over the sunrise, picturesque and positively cinematic.

    “You awake yet, Baggie?” Shay, the taller of the two, teasingly nudges their friend with one strong arm. Their blue eyes and big grin flash bright against their warm brown skin.

Baggie, quiet as usual, gives only a wry smile in response. Her dirty-blonde curls are haloed gorgeously in the early sun, but she’s rocking an obvious bedhead. Her small blue jumper might be on backwards.

“Well, you’ll get there,” Shay chuckles. They smooth a stray curl sticking up past Baggie’s little horns. Shay’s own mane is tossed back in a multicolored weave of knotted and braided yarn. The ends dangle playfully over their mint-green tee. Between Shay’s yarn hair and Baggie’s flowered, patched brown stockings, they look like two pieces of a charmingly eccentric patchwork quilt. To complete the combo, several fabric flowers (gifts from Baggie) adorn Shay’s plain tan stockings.

“Ready?” Shay asks. The pair arrives at the top of the stairs. A glass door with several security panels faces them. “Don’t worry, I’m sure this new job won’t be too—”

“Good, I’ve been expecting you two. Come in.” A tinny voice interrupts,  crackling unexpectedly through a small speaker in the wall. The sliding glass door buzzes open unceremoniously.

Sharing a look of nerves and mutual reassurance, Baggie and Shay walk in together.

---

After a few minutes and a few more doorways, the two friends find themselves in an undecorated room that looks like it could be used for conferences. Perched on one of the tables is a pale, blonde dainty in a lab coat. She’s tapping quickly on an electronic tablet, her dark eyes darting over the screen. 

“Shay and... Baggie, yes? Excellent,” she says, her long lop ears flopping as she looks up at her guests. “You’ve come highly recommended by an associate of mine so I trust,”—she abruptly holds out the tablet—“that you can follow instructions?”

Shay takes the tablet with attempted confidence, but nervous glances at their friend undermine their facade. Is this normal for a job? Baggie, understanding their wordless question, can only give a tiny helpless shrug. Her hands fidget with her jumper, trying to suppress her anxious habit of covering her face.

    The stranger reaches into the cuff of one of her dull-green stockings, and pulls out a keycard. Unphased by Baggie’s frozen look, she presses it into her hand. 

“This will give you the access you need,” the scientist briskly declares. “ If a door doesn’t open, it’s not somewhere you need to be.” Pausing, she finally seems to register her guests’ growing consternation. She sighs, clears her throat, and makes an attempt to relax her tense posture.

“Pardon my manners. You may call me Io.” She still speaks quickly, but her tone has softened. Io distractedly pulls a mangled paperclip from a coat pocket, and threads it through her piercings to pin her long ears behind her head.  “I am in the middle of a very sensitive experiment and have no time for pleasantries. Please read and follow the instructions exactly. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Shay grips the tablet. Baggie nods, hesitantly. Apparently satisfied, Io gives a wan smile and turns to practically sprint out the door. Her fading hoofsteps leave the two would-be janitors alone to puzzledly consult their orders.

“...These aren’t too hard,” Shay finally remarks, tilting the screen toward Baggie. “It looks like it’s all pretty normal cleaning stuff in some sort of warehouse, and the instructions are very detailed.”

“Mm!” Baggie’s curls bounce as she nods and makes a small sound of agreement.

---

One glorified janitor’s closet later, the patchwork pair are the proud new custodians of a bright yellow cart full of cleaning supplies. Shay’s strength easily keeps the bulky cart rumbling along. Baggie perches atop the built-in mop bucket. Soon the pair arrives at an elevator door, and Baggie reaches from atop her makeshift taxi to poke the button. Ding!

    As they go in, Shay suddenly can’t shake a weird sense of being watched. Maybe it’s the close walls. Maybe there’s a security camera? ...Probably just new-job jitters though, Shay muses to themself. The wall panel light blinks steadily downward, counting the floors. After what seems like ages, the elevator hums to a halt. The doors slide open. 

    Baggie and Shay step out into a massive room.

    A warehouse? Baggie can hardly believe her eyes. A warehouse this big, all underground?!

Metal warehouse shelves stretch out in eternal rows, concrete aisles carved between them like canyons. They’re hulking, industrial shelves. Baggie mentally calculates that it would take four—no, probably five—Shays stacked on each other’s heads to reach the top. No wonder Io needed extra help cleaning this! How much stuff does she even have down here?

    “Why not start with this one?” Shay suggests. They start the cart down an aisle, craning their head to check for dust on the shelves. “It looks like there’s a ladder we can—”

They don’t finish their sentence. Without warning, a violent tremor wracks the building. Dust blizzards from the ceiling. The tops of the shelves lurch—alarmingly—with a squeal of straining metal. Shay huddles over their friend while boxes and crates tumble around them. As the shaking stops, they’re both relieved to realize that the massive shelves are securely bolted to the floor. They’re less relieved when the lights of the warehouse flicker and die.

“You okay?” Shay asks, fumbling for the instruction tablet. The screen blinks on, casting a dusty circle of flat white light. It’s the only light visible except for the dim, distant reflection of a single red emergency marker adrift somewhere in the total darkness.

Baggie can only give a muffled whimper in response. She’s practically superglued to Shay’s hip, face smushed into their t-shirt. Her hands clutch an imaginary mask for comfort. Hastily, Shay rummages their free hand in the maintenance cart and fishes out an empty paper trash bag.

"Will this help?" they offer gently. Grateful, Baggie punches a few holes in the paper with shaky fingers and slides it over her head. It rustles as she gives a slight nod.

Better.

The two huddle together and wait for their eyes to adjust to the sudden dark. After the chaos, the warehouse is eerily still. Hushed. Neither of them had noticed the low hum of the fluorescent lights before, but its absence feels wrong. Drifting dust mutes the disembodied groans of settling metal. The faraway walls are non-existent in the void. Baggie can’t help but shiver, feeling like a tiny, paper-helmeted astronaut lost in space.

A sarcastic voice unexpectedly floats across the tense silence, too faint to break it. 

“Oh, of COURSE the lights went out. The lights always go out for this stuff!! Has nobody ever heard of emergency lights?”

“Is someone there?” Shay calls out, startled. The ghostly voice says nothing more. The eye holes of Baggie’s paper-bag mask peer confusedly up at the taller dainty.

“Nah, it’s... nothing.” Shay shakes their head like it will dislodge the chill curled around their spine. “Let’s just hit the elevator and come back later. Io will have plenty of work left for us, what with all this mess.” Shay manages to keep their voice reassuring, though their stomach is fluttering like the dust in the air. It still feels like someone is watching them.

Baggie stiffens abruptly. 

“Shay..?” Her voice is soft, hesitant. She stares intently at what looks like the blurred silhouette of someone standing between them and the elevator.

    “I see it,” Shay murmurs, suddenly afraid to call to the stranger. It doesn’t matter, though—the shadow definitely sees them, and it’s growing closer. Clearer. Its legs don’t move, but somehow it approaches with uncanny speed. An oppressive aura seethes from it. The air feels more and more suffocating...

    “Seriously? You’re just going to stand there while the ookie-spookies stroll riiiight up, and grab a big slice of your booty like it’s a freakin’ cupcake sample at Costco?”

    A voice—again? Is someone talking to me? Shay freezes, a deer in headlights, until Baggie’s small hands shoving against their back and shrill “GO GO GO!!!”  jolt them forward. Panicked, the pair sprints. Hooves clatter on concrete. Disorienting echoes scatter. The light in Shay’s hand swings dizzingly, slinging shadows aside like splashed oil. The rippling sound of disturbed and disintegrating debris chases close behind them.

    “Shut up!”

    “Zip it, idiot!”

Left. Right? It’s hard to think—there are words blurring in Shay’s ears. People shouting, complaining? Desperately, Shay tries to remember the direction they had started in. Where is that emergency beacon, or where are the walls? The two dainties dive through an empty shelf into the next aisle. Baggie’s short legs rattle out an adrenaline drumroll. Somehow, improbably, she keeps up with Shay’s long strides. 

Forward. Right. A blind corner later, there’s a toppled pallet pile blocking the way. 

No time. Without another thought, Shay hoists Baggie under one arm like a football. Shay leaps—soars—and clears the heap with a foot to spare. (If “running for your life” ever becomes an Olympic event, the first gold medal awarded will have their name on it.) The oily shadows stretching for their ankles grab empty air. Then wood. Unnatural force launches the pallets against Shay’s heels, sending them and their passenger sprawling.
    “Yeah, called it. They always fall down and--”

    Shay can hardly hear the ghostly commentary (or the remarkably un-ghost-like booing that follows it) over their own deafening heartbeat. Baggie is clinging to their chest. Neither dainty can tell which of them is trembling so hard.

There’s nowhere to run, Shay realizes. In the dimming light, their terrified eyes flash white against their dark skin. Relentless shadow crawls in around them, and over the cracked screen of the dropped tablet. The last meager light from Io’s tablet snuffs out. Baggie cries like a frightened puppy. She can feel the hateful darkness closing in to smother them...

And then, lightning.

Daylight. 

Like the fluorescent gaze of a guardian angel, the warehouse lights suddenly glare down. The darkness writhes and slithers away. Squinting, Shay and Baggie cling to each other in a dazed cold sweat. The hum of a distant generator has never been so welcome.

“Hey!”

Io’s voice calls out, sharp. Stressed. Rapid hoofsteps echo into the massive space.

“Are you two in here? Answer me!”

Shay somehow manages to find the words to reply, although their voice feels distant in their own ears. “We... we’re over here!”

The scientist appears from behind the shelves. In the blinding light, Io’s white lab coat is nearly too bright to look at.

“There you are...” Io sighs. She beckons for the dainty duo to come. “This way.” Tears of relief leave soggy streaks in Baggie’s paper mask, and her hand squeezes Shay’s. The two friends scramble shakily to their feet to follow their savior.

“Oh, COME on.”

The faint, mocking voice is back. Clearer. Louder. This time, Baggie’s hand clenches tightly on Shay’s fingers—she heard it too. Muffled shushing and complaining filters through the aether, but the voice, a girl’s, only laughs.

“Yeah, great plan! Let’s just follow the obviously suspicious mad scientist wherever she wants. Sure, she literally doesn’t have a shadow, but it’s all cool! She’s definitely not gonna, like, turn us into voodoo-zombies or anything.”

 They can’t help it. As though drawn by a magnetic force, Shay’s and Baggie’s eyes turn to the floor. And it’s true—to their horror, Io’s feet cast no shadow on the concrete. It looks wrong, like a photo cutout pasted uncomfortably into reality.

“There’s no time to waste,” Io says flatly, turning to look back at them both. She doesn’t seem to have heard the voice. “Are you coming?” Something cold stirs in her words. Her eyes look dead. Sharing a loaded glance, Baggie and Shay make up their minds in an instant. 

Run. Hand in hand, they bolt. They don’t dare glance back, even as a twisted scream of rage echoes behind them. The lights above are shaking, flickering. Darkness oozes under the shelves, trapped—but for how long?

Baggie urgently tugs her friend’s hand. She points across the warehouse, her mind racing even faster than her feet. That red emergency light. It has to mark a way out! She tries to lead the way, but it’s like trying to follow a speck of dust that’s stuck in her eye. The more she tries to focus, the more it slips away. The two weave between the massive shelves, but they’re slowing down. Panting. Baggie’s legs are wobbly.

The warehouse is dreadfully silent as Shay and Baggie slow to a walk. Their ragged breathing is painfully loud. They shuffle forward as quietly as they can.

“I think we lost her for the moment,” Shay whispers, mouth close to Baggie’s ear.

But that also means we don’t know where she is! Baggie shudders, and decides not to say it out loud. The little dainty scans the aisle ahead. There? Gently, she pulls Shay’s hand, and together they cautiously approach the red light. There’s nothing attached to it. The light is disembodied, floating. It doesn’t belong in reality.

Bewildered, Shay paws at the red mirage glow. Their hand unexpectedly touches something solid. A camera!? Shay can’t believe it—suddenly, a video camera on a tripod is as solid to their eyes as it is to their touch.

“Ayyyy, nice closeup!”  The girl’s voice from before is loud in the dainties’ ears, like someone is right next to them. Baggie jolts and frantically looks for its source, but there’s no one. Shay, stiff with alarm, peers into the lens of the camera—and freezes.

“Who... how..?” gasps Shay. Their voice wavers. Wide-eyed, they gaze through the lens into another world. Staring blankly back is an entire audience in rows of theater seats. Shay can hear the buzzing of someone’s phone left on vibrate, and even smell oily popcorn butter. The faces of the shadowed audience are lit solely by what must be a movie screen.

“What is this?” Baggie chokes out. Her hand has joined Shay’s on the side of the camera.

“A movie, duh,” that familiar sarcastic voice pipes up, coming from a nonchalant dainty sprawled atop several seats near the front. She picks a popcorn kernel from between her teeth with one painted-black nail, and flicks stray locks of dark hair over her shoulder. A silver nose ring glints above her bored grin.

“A movie,” Shay repeats dumbly. It doesn’t make sense. “You... you’re the one who’s been talking to us?”

“Wait. What?” Now Shay has the stranger’s full attention. Her red-and-black stockings slide off the seatbacks as she sits up incredulously. “You’re not seriously talking back to me, like, in the audience!? You—Shay—the character in the movie?” The other audience members are too stunned to say anything, let alone complain (again) about her talking in the theater (again).

“...Yes..? Movie? I don’t...” Shay stumbles over the words, beyond confused. They can hear themself echoing through the speakers in the theater. Baggie frantically motions for them to keep their voice down.

“Sick,” the black-haired girl says, awe creeping into her voice. “Name’s Frankie, nice to... meet you, I guess.” She shakes her head. “—Right, anyway. Uh. Get moving, guys? The creepy violins are revving up, and that always means bad news.”

The looming shelves and ceiling lights shudder ominously, as if to confirm the warning. Shay hastily yanks the camera off its tripod. The dainty pair cautiously peek around the edge of the closest shelf, and shuffle as quickly and quietly as they can.

“Can you tell us which way to go?” Shay whispers into the camera. Baggie takes the lead to check the next corner as Shay slows down.

“I’m Googling it!” an audience member yells helpfully, and a short dainty with curled blue horns and bright ginger hair pops up in the back of the room. He taps furiously on a smartphone. The other people in the audience share nervous glances and scattered mutters.

“Got it! I found the whole script for Possessed by the Dark!” He enthusiastically holds up the phone, although there’s no way Shay can read the tiny screen. The dainty’s small wings vibrate excitedly as he turns the phone and skims its contents. “I guess it’s spoilers, but oh well. It says, hmm. Chased by the scientist, then she comes around—so you go to the corner...” He rambles out loud as he finds the right place. “Ok!” he says, now with more certainty. “You have to go left! Io’s gonna come from the other side of that shelf. Also she has like...” he squints. “...Evil darkness tentacles. That’s kinda cool actually.”

“Dude, focus!” Frankie hops out of her row into the main theater aisle, making a ‘gimme’ gesture. The other dainty bounces toward her with the phone, still chattering the whole way (“Hi, I’m Comet! Is this your favorite movie? I hope they make it out okay!”).

“Ok, so—” Frankie presses up next to Comet, and grabs his hand to steady the phone screen. “—First. Watch your feet” she instructs. “Don’t step on the broken glass two shelves down. You’ll also buy more time if you turn left.”

“You’ll have to get around Io for the elevator though!” Comet chimes in.

Shay nods, shakily. We can do this. A small flicker of hope warms their chest, as their unexpected heroes continue to pore over the movie script.

---

Even with supernatural help, escaping the warehouse is a walk on a razor’s ege. More than once, Baggie and Shay nearly stumble into the possessed scientist. They’re both grateful that she doesn’t hear the audience screaming warnings. Comet and Frankie scour the script tirelessly, issuing instructions like a two-man command center. Left. Right. Hide behind that box! Now run, RUN! 

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time they reach the elevator undetected. Another eternity riding it upward. Baggie nearly collapses from exhaustion and fear, but finally the two friends stumble out the front door and into the sun.

“We’re... out,” Shay mumbles, blinking in the golden morning glow. Cheers erupt from the camera cradled in their numb hands. Baggie, pulling off her paper mask, bursts into tears.

“Hey, we made it. It’s gonna be ok now,” Shay soothes. They scoop their friend up onto their shoulder. Turning to look into the camera, they can barely hold back a few tears of their own.

“Thank you,” Shay chokes, “I still don’t understand it, but you saved us.”

“Awww, I’m so glad!! I was so scared and—” Comet gushes nonstop as the rest of the audience offers a chorus of congratulations.

“Happy to help,” Frankie adds in, scuffing her hoof on the carpet awkwardly. The ‘low battery’ beep of the camera drowns out the rest of her less-than-eloquent response to the emotional situation.

    “Good luck out there!” Comet yells, as the video camera starts shutting down. “I’ll make sure to come back for the sequ—” He’s cut off when the battery dies, leaving the rest of his message a mystery.

    The camera goes quiet in Shay’s hand, leaving only the sound of Baggie’s sobs and distant birdsong. Gently, Shay sets the device down and wraps their arm around their friend.

    “Let’s go home,” they murmur, carrying the exhausted Baggie down the stairs. “I’ll make us some pancakes?”