Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27405707-20151215214133

 Evening, friends. I'm new to this, so if I'm doing it wrong, please let me know. Got a long one here, please be as harsh or as gentle as you see fit. Here we go....





             I knew there was a problem as soon as I rounded the corner and saw the driveway. I had my hopes up during the drive when I saw that the streetlights were still on. As I passed each one and got closer and closer to the rink, I became more and more certain that everything would be okay. But then that corner. I’ve come to use that corner as a sort of mental barrier. The drive to work is short and I don’t have much time to get in “the zone,” so to speak. You know, that mood or mindset or whatever you want to call it, where you have to put on a happy face and deal with upset customers and pushy bosses. But when I reach the bend in the road, I know the time to work is upon me. It’s a neutral feeling, at best. I don’t love my job, but who does? It’s a decent way to pick up some money and I need that more than ever these days.

                This time, the turning of the corner was definitely a disheartening occasion, nothing “neutral” about it. The road is lined on both sides by trees, so you can’t see very much other than a wall of green, so I can’t see the rink’s exterior until I’m almost at the building itself. I passed the final tree and saw…nothing. Well, almost nothing. It was just complete, and total darkness, outside of what my car’s headlights were illuminating. Along the side of the road, the streetlights were out, forcing me to reduce speed so I wouldn’t miss the driveway.

                The power outage wasn’t completely unexpected, but that didn’t make seeing the darkness any less unsettling. I remember my boss warning me the night before that the local power company would be doing some work on the phone lines and needed to cut the juice for the whole block while they spent the night fixing the problem. They allegedly promised my boss that everything would be back to normal a little after three in the morning, but clearly that didn’t happen. After a few seconds of squinting, I located the driveway and pulled in.

             I’m going to pause here for a moment to talk about both the layout of the rink and the more important rooms and equipment, as well as my own story that led me here. I’ve been coming to this rink since I was a child. It’s where I learned to skate, where I played hockey for the first time, and where I got my first summer job. Jump forward several years, and now I’m one of the more trusted employees. That’s not really saying much, because most of the people who work here are either drop-outs or still in high school. It doesn’t take a lot of brainpower to work at an ice rink, so anyone who is modestly intelligent and willing to work hard can move up the ranks pretty quickly. About a month ago, the old guy who handles all the morning shifts went part-time, so they needed people to start opening the rink on weekends. I was “promoted” since I was one of the few people who both had access to a car and knew how to drive the zamboni, and as my reward, I got to open the rink on Saturdays. The place opens to the public at 6:00 A.M. sharp, but I’d been arriving as early as 4:30 to get things in order. Counting money, checking on the zams, making sure the ice is the right temperature, all these small tasks really add up to a lot of time.

                The complex sits on a hill, with the rink at the bottom, meaning the driveway and parking lot are “above” the building on a gentle slope, leading downhill until the surface flattens out. The rink is owned by the county, so luckily we don’t have a problem with overnight loitering by any shady individuals. I work in a fairly affluent area, so the most serious security “threat” would probably just be a homeless man looking for a place to sleep, but the park police monitor the grounds and do a great job of securing the area. The rink is a simple, beige structure, completely rectangular except for the pointed roof (think of the roof of a tent, it makes it easier to regulate the temperature). At the front, there’s a row of ten or twelve glass doors for the public to use, along with some benches and a table or two for people to relax and meet friends.

                At the bottom of the parking lot, the driveway resumes and snakes along the side of the building to the back, where there’s a back door that serves as the unofficial staff entrance. I use the back entrance for two reasons: one, because it lets me feel all cool and important, and two, because it allows me to work my way through the rink and do a quick sweep to make sure everything is in order. The back doors lead into what’s called the “zam bay,” where the zambonis sit when they’re not in use. The rink has two zams, one for the Olympic rink and one for the NHL and Studio rink (I’ll explain this in a second.) When Zambonis clean the ice, what they essentially do is cut away the rough ice and lay down a new, smoother layer. Once a driver finishes his cut, he has a tank full of snow, and he needs a place to put it. The solution is a big pit in the middle of the room (with a grate over it, obviously, so no one falls in). After a cut, the top part of the zam lifts up and you dump your snow onto the grate, then hop out and use a shovel to push the rest of the snow through the grate into the pit. We call the pit “The Hole” as a little joke among employees (again, these aren’t the cleverest people around). On the far side of the room, across The Hole is the engine room, where all the machines that control the ice and facilities are. I wish I could give a better explanation of how it all works, but I’m not a mechanic or an engineer. My training with the room was more or less “If anything goes wrong, go talk to the boss and he’ll fix it.” Fine by me, I’m shit with my hands so you wouldn’t want me fixing stuff anyway. There’s also a small desk full of training manuals and maintenance logs tucked away in the corner, but management is pretty lax about logging our time on the ice. As long as it’s a smooth sheet, they don’t really care.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">Stepping out of the zam bay, the Olympic rink is to the right. Olympic ice sheets are slightly wider than “normal” NHL rinks. Most people don’t notice the difference, but those extra feet can really make a difference when you’re out there resurfacing. We mostly do figure skating and public sessions on the Olympic rink, if anyone cares.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">On the other side are the NHL and Studio rinks. As I said, the NHL is slightly smaller than the Olympic and we use this rink almost exclusively for hockey. The Studio rink is a smaller, half-size rink, barely 40 x 100 ft. The smaller surface is ideal for private lessons and parties, when someone needs their own space but doesn’t need an entire rink. The area dividing the two main rinks is filled by locker rooms for hockey teams and figure skaters. The two rinks then converge on the warming area (basically a lobby). The warming area is split into two tiers. The lower level is just a vast flat space, with several benches for people to sit on when putting on their skates for public sessions or waiting for their kids to come out of the locker room. If you’re entering the warming area from the Olympic side, the rink’s front desk is on the far left corner, and next to that is the skate rental booth. Beside the front desk is a keypad-locked door that leads back to the staff offices and employee break rooms. The upper level is not really “upper,” it’s only a small ramp separating the two tiers and if you’re on the upper level you’re maybe five feet higher than the lower. This level has the snack bar, as well as some tables and chairs for people to sit and eat. The warming area is lined with big windows, so you can see both ice sheets very easily.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">Now, like I said, I start in the back when I open the rink because it lets me canvas the whole building. After about a month of doing this, I had a routine that was both efficient and easy; I was sweeping through the whole place in less than thirty seconds. But on this morning, I was rather hesitant to get started, due to the power being out. On top of the obvious concerns with the alarm system getting messed up, I also clung to the hope that maybe I could just go home if the power didn’t come back. Word of advice: you never get used to waking up that early. Maybe it becomes less shitty, maybe you find a system to better deal with it, but unless you’re willing to completely overhaul your sleep schedule, getting up at around 4:00 is just always going to suck. I knew it was highly unlikely, but I thought that I might be able to go back home and just fall back into bed. I pulled out my phone and dialed my boss’s number. He didn’t answer; probably still asleep, I figured. I put my phone back in my pocket and climbed out of my car. I took a look around, remaining still and hoping to see if my other senses would become stronger now that I could barely see anything. It wasn’t scary being alone in the dark, it was just…different. I’d grown accustomed to parking in the same spot (just underneath a streetlight) and hearing the hum of the air-conditioning. But now, there was a complete lack of stimulation. The moon was waxing but not yet full, offering a little light but being swallowed up by the trees in the surrounding forest. Growing up in the city, I often forget just how dark our world can be when there’s no artificial lighting. I remember my dad used to scare my siblings and me back when we were young by killing the car’s headlights when we were driving in a really isolated stretch of road at night. I still do that to myself sometimes when I’m out in the country. It’s fun now, going from safe and bright to instant danger and fear.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">My hearing didn’t seem to be any stronger but I could pick up a distinct cracking sound coming from somewhere on the other side of the building. My best guess was that it was coming from somewhere near the front doors. It sounded a bit like someone cracking sticks, but not by stepping on them. There was no brushing sound that you hear with footsteps, it was as if someone had a handful of twigs and was snapping them one by one. The woods around the rink are full of animals, but nothing dangerous: squirrels, chipmunks, foxes, and on very, very rare occasions, coyotes. We’re too close to the city for bears or wolves, so the sound didn’t worry me. I figured it was most likely some little rodent building a nest or trying to break into our trash cans. I thought of the lawyer in Jurassic Park, “Maybe it’s the power trying to come back on” and laughed to myself. Then I noticed the cracking seemed to be getting closer. The original noises were definitely coming from the front of the building, but each *snap* seemed to be coming just a little closer, moving along the side of the building towards the rear.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">My phone rang, startling the crap out of me. I remember telling myself that it was just the loud noise that scared me, not any type of anxiety surrounding the noises along the side of the building. It was my boss on the line and I filled him in on the situation: no power, no sign of it coming back soon.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             My boss was insistent: get the place up and running as best as I could. If the power came back, the rink would need to be ready for business, even if that meant opening the place in the dark.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             A little disappointed that I wouldn’t be going back to bed, I dutifully packed up my stuff (phone, keys, a sweater) and unlocked the back door. The outage meant that the security system was still off, and I remember being calmed by the silence. The shrill screaming of an alarm is ten times worse this early in the morning, so it was nice to come in and not have to deal with that.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             Using my phone’s flashlight, I made my way across the zam bay and stepped out towards the Olympic rink. The first group on the ice is the speed skating club at 6:30. I like them, if only because they’re highly self-sufficient. They don’t use locker rooms so I don’t need to give them any keys. In fact, they’ve barely said a word to me since I started opening the rink. Fine by me, I’m not a social person. Their only request is that we provide dividers for their sessions. I don’t know how familiar you are with ice rinks, but you’ve probably seen them at some point, maybe during the Olympics or something. The dividers are long, rectangular pieces of foam covered with coated vinyl; they’re like big padded logs. The speed skaters line them up along the boards to make falls safer. Those guys can really move when they get up to speed and they wear those skimpy little track suits that have basically no padding, so all it takes is one little slip to send a skater flying into the wall towards a potential injury. I’m sure the dividers still hurt, but it’s certainly better than flying into the hard boards of the rink. We keep the dividers stacked against the wall near the zam bay, and I set to work hauling them on to the ice, one by one. Pick one up, carry it to the door, plop it down, slide it out onto the ice. Repeat twelve times. Hey, no one said working at a rink was glamorous. I do feel like a big shot when I’m out driving the zam, but most of the time I’m shoveling snow or lugging hockey goals around.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             After the first few dividers, I began to take notice of just how quiet the building was. Sure, it’s not very noisy when you’re the only person there, but usually there’s the whirring of the compressors and the buzzing of the lights. Background noise, the sort of noises that are always there but you don’t notice until they’re gone. Just think about where you are right now. Maybe you’re in your bedroom or in a library or a classroom. Take a second and listen; pay attention to the background noises. You’ll probably hear your A/C kicking on and off, the fridge humming, the person sitting across from you breathing, or a car passing by outside. These are the kind of noises we don’t really notice until they’re gone. The rink was silent in the truest sense of the word, except for the noises I was making. As I worked, I started to notice that every step of the hauling process had its own unique sound. The zip of one divider sliding along the other, the thump when I set it down, and foosh as I pushed it out onto the ice. I had a little fun by changing my pace and exertions, and creating little rhythms: ''zipTHUMPfoosh ZIPthumpFOOSH. ''It was like I was making beats for a song in my head. Kinda lame, but hey, you have to find ways to make the days suck less when you work here.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             The rink has around twenty dividers, fifteen of which we actually use with the remaining few acting as back-ups. I was just picking up the last divider when I noticed that something was wrong with one of the back-ups. We rarely use these, so they’re in near-perfect condition. The logo of the company that made them, printed on the vinyl, was still clearly visible on each divider. We stack those guys five to a pile, and the one on the top was what caught my eye. First of all, it was slightly askew, hanging over the edge of the others beneath it. It looked like someone had stood on the far end and tugged the divider, so that the one end started sagging towards the ground. What’s more, the divider was definitely torn. I put down the one I was holding and walked over for a closer look.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             The tear was a pretty bad one, relatively speaking. To be honest, any tear would be bad, as we try to keep everything in good condition, but this one was in the “potentially unfixable” range. I didn’t care about getting in trouble. My boss was an understanding guy, plus I had clocked out at 5 the night before and the divider definitely wasn’t torn then, so there’s no way I could be blamed for it. What troubled me was two things: the style of the tear, and the foam on the ground. The tear was more of a gash than anything else. This cut wasn’t made with scissors; it was more savage, aggressive. Like someone ripped it with their hands. The foam that had spilled out was piled up in a small mound, and that mound was hidden in the crux of one of the support columns that lines the rink’s back walls. What unnerved me about this was that I know the night manager (cranky old thing named Selma) and she’s ridiculously, annoyingly thorough. Something as obvious as this would certainly not go unnoticed when she was doing her final inspection before closing. Regardless of how the divider got ripped, the foam should have been detected and removed. The small, cached pile looked like someone was trying to hide the foam. It didn’t add up. Even if an employee ripped the divider by accident and tried to hide the mistake, Selma would have noticed the tear and the hastily concealed mound. This left two possibilities: either Selma got lazy and missed all this, or it happened after her final inspection. The second possibility put me on edge, because it implied the incident occurred after the building was supposed to be locked up for the night.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             When I went to work setting up the dividers, I had placed my phone on the lip of the boards, face down so the flashlight would shine up and provide me with some light. While I was bent down looking at the foam, my flashlight turned off. The sudden darkness was debilitating;, I was more or less blind without it. I stumbled my way back to my phone and saw that it was ringing. I hadn’t known this, but apparently the flashlight app shuts off when a call is incoming. I don’t know why, my phone isn’t that great and I probably need a new one. In any case, my phone was ringing. It was a local number, but not one that I recognized. I can give a completely accurate recap of the dialogue because I’ll never forget this conversation (I edited out the names, obviously):

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Hi, is this [my name]?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Yes. Who is this?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Hello, [name,] my name is [blank] and I’m with the Park Police. I got your number from [my boss]”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Oh, hi, how are you?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Good. I’m just checking in to make sure everything’s okay at the rink.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Yeah, I’m fine. In the dark but everything seems normal enough. Why? Is there something I should know about?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “No, no! I’m just calling because I got a call from the guys from the power company. Seems like one of the guys working on the phone lines saw someone hanging around the rink. I’m not on the scene, but I figured it was probably just the person in charge of opening the place up and I wanted to double-check. I called your boss and he gave me your number.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Oh crap, I’m sure he wasn’t very happy about being woken up…but yeah, guess they saw me pull up. I’m inside now and everything’s normal.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Looks like that must be the case. I can’t explain it, they’ve been a jumpy group. These guys have been working up and down the road and you’d figure that they’d be a group of quiet, tough guys, but for the past couple of nights they’ve been reporting all types of events.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Really? Like what?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Everything, honestly. One swears he saw a bear, the other claimed to have heard weird snapping noises. They’re really on edge. All they saw was you testing the front doors and that was enough for them to call us again.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Testing the front doors? Is that what they said?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Correct.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “That’s…it’s just, what else did they say I did?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “They say you were testing the front doors and then walked along the side of the building. You spent several minutes hunched over in the northeast corner, and then you went around and disappeared out of sight near the back of the building.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “And when did they report this?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “I’ll be honest, it was almost half an hour ago. Maybe even forty-five minutes. It wasn’t very urgent so I wasn’t exactly in a rush.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “That wasn’t me. When I arrived, I drove straight to the back. I was never near the front doors.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Oh..When did you get to the rink?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “About twenty minutes ago.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             A long pause.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Okay, now calm down. If it makes you feel better, the other reports coming in from the power guys have all seemed unrealistic. I mean, a bear? You know we don’t get bears around….Sorry, got off track. That being said, for your sake, we need to assume that their report is true. Now, based on the timing of the report, this other person, if there was one, would have been there before you. Did you see anyone? Or notice anything strange?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “No, no one. And nothing.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Okay. And I know the alarms are off, but did you see any signs of the door being forced? Any windows broken?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “No.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             Another pause. I thought I heard a scratching at one of the windows, but my memory isn’t clear enough to confirm if I truly heard anything.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Sorry about that, I was just sending a car out in your direction. Again, there’s a good chance this is another case of the power company workers being too jumpy. But, if I may offer the most likely scenario, it looks like another homeless man was looking for a place to spend the night. Maybe he noticed the power was out and thought that might offer the opportunity to sneak into the rink undetected. Whatever he was thinking, he circled the building and couldn’t find a way in, so he wandered back to the forest.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Okay. Sounds reasonable.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “I’ve just dispatched a car to patrol the grounds, so that should discourage anyone from hanging around. Besides, the night is almost over and you’ll have the rink opened soon, so I doubt anyone will be trying to get back in.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Thanks for your help.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “No problem. Give me a call back if you have any more problems. Oh, and the power guys said they’re almost done, so you should get your power back pretty soon.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             “Thank you very much. Bye.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             Just typing that up gave me a few shivers.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">               I checked my phone; it was now just past 5:15. The rink was still in the dark, but there was still a lot to do before the doors could be unlocked. I had never felt more exposed, all alone in the dark with someone potentially lurking outside. At least they hadn’t gotten inside. Then my brain started putting the pieces together. The ripped divider! Did that count as a sign of someone being here? How could it? What purpose would a homeless guy have for tearing into a divider? Homeless people aren’t known for rational behavior, maybe he was hoping to use the foam would keep himself warm? But it’s not that cold outside, and besides, the door wasn’t forced open so how could he get in?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             The door. I’m not too proud to admit it, when I thought of the door I almost fell to my knees. I hadn’t locked the door. I mean, I had no reason to, there’s never anything dangerous, but now… I’d been in here working for about ten or fifteen minutes, and all the while that back door was just sitting there, completely unprotected by the disabled alarm. It may as well have been wide open. My first instinct was to run back to the zam bay and lock the door, but I had trouble finding the courage to do so. Locking the door would prevent any future danger, but it would also be placing myself closest to any potential danger. If someone was inside the building, they probably wouldn’t have traveled far. Or would they? Would you want to stay near the exit and provide yourself with an easy escape route, or would you want to work your way further into the building and away from the employees? Employee. I had to lock that door. I had to be sure that if I was the only one here, it would stay that way. And if someone else was already inside, well…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             I opened the door to the bay and stepped in softly. My light flashed off Blue, the closest zam. We have two zambonis, Green and Blue. You can probably guess how they get their names. Blue was blocking my view of the door as I inched around the machine. I’m not very experienced in sneaking, but I moved slowly and tried to stay on my toes. For once, the silence was beneficial. It was eerily quiet, but that meant that the slightest sound could be heard. By moving slowly and surely, I could hear everything. I reached the hood of Blue and whipped my head around. I held my light far behind my body, so that it wouldn’t shine on my face. I didn’t want to present a target.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             The door was still closed. I blew out a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding. Quickening my pace but trying to remain quiet, I strode towards the door. I know it doesn’t make sense, but being this close to sealing out the danger made it seem more likely that something bad was going to happen. I know, that door had been open for at least ten minutes, but still. The last few seconds, when I was so close to closing it, were the scariest. Dashing across The Hole, reaching for the handle… The back door had two locks, a deadbolt and a smaller lock on the door handle. The door handle had one of those standard locks that you probably have on your bathroom at home, or maybe you’ve seen it at a friend’s house: a little button built into the handle. Push it down and the handle won’t turn on the other side, but you can still open it instantly from your end. I opted to use this lock because the deadbolt required a key. If I had to make a quick escape, I didn’t want to get caught fumbling for my keys. I pushed the button in. The door was thus locked from the outside, maybe not the most resistant lock, but strong enough to prevent someone from barging in. The building secured, I steeled myself to perform the other tasks that I needed to complete before six.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             There was no way I was going to do my usual sweep of the rink. It was too dark to see anything, and I was feeling way too vulnerable. That left only one tasks: counting the money and filling in the whiteboard. At the end of every night shift and the beginning of every morning shift, the manager on duty checks the balances of each cash register to make sure they add up. In the lobby, we have a big whiteboard that tells the teams which locker rooms they’ll be using. Managers are responsible for reading the schedule and using a marker to fill out the locker room assignments for the day. The thought of standing out in the lobby, facing the wall with my back to the unknown was unappealing, to say the least. But then I realized I didn’t have to do the board until later. The speed skaters are the first ones on, and they don’t use rooms. I racked my brain and remembered that the first hockey slot was at 10:20, meaning I would have several hours before the teams showed up to fill in the board. There were a few other tasks, but all of them required the power being on, so that just left counting the money.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             Of course, the safe room is in the front of the building, near the management offices. It could not have been further from where I was standing. I was staring at a long, dark walk. Fighting off panic, I briefly considered going outside and running around to the front of the building. But the fastest route involved going closer to the source of the snapping noises, the place where “I” had hunched over for several minutes. I also realized that going outside meant that I was admitting that I thought there was someone inside, and I didn’t want myself to come to terms with that idea. I concluded that the best route would be to walk through the Olympic side. Since arriving at the rink, I hadn’t left that side and I hadn’t seen or heard anything, meaning that if there was any danger, it would be on the NHL side. Of course, something could have snuck in on the NHL side, run through the lobby, and come out on the Olympic side, but I didn’t consider that at the time. I’m glad I didn’t because I don’t know if I could have made the journey if I was thinking about that.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             I opened the door to the Olympic side, oblivious to the drop in temperature. The constant use of my flashlight meant that my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark very well, so visibility was still limited to the area illuminated by my flashlight. You might imagine that I moved slowly, jumping at every shadow and wincing at the slightest noise. In reality, I walked at a normal clip. I wasn’t moving quickly, but I wasn’t taking my time either. Best to just get it over with, right? That was my approach, and it made the walk slightly less terrifying. Like ripping off a band-aid as opposed to peeling it off slowly. Halfway down the path that runs parallel to the ice surface, there is a door that leads over to the NHL side of the rink. The small hallway is lined by locker rooms and is a convenient way to get from one sheet to the other. I noticed my pace slowed here, involuntarily. I peered through the window on the door, not sure what I was expecting to see. Nothing. I forced myself to speed up when suddenly

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             WHAM

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">             THUMP 

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">             <span style="font-size: 12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">I recognized the sound instantly. In the area where I was originally working, the dividers were falling. No, not falling, being thrown. The last thing I remember before taking off was the familiar zip of one divider being lifted along another, followed immediately by a violent slap as the divider hit the ground. They weren’t falling. They were being thrown down.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"">             I ran. Sprinted. Didn’t look back once. I threw open the door and crossed the lobby in what must have been a maximum of ten strides. Next to the front desk is a door protected by a keypad. Hundreds of times, I’d keyed in the pass code and I was merciful for my ability to dial quickly. 0741258. It didn’t take me more than a second to get the code in, and just as quickly, I threw the door shut behind me. Not safe enough. The door was sturdy, but I was still exposed. To my right was the area behind the front desk, a rectangular space that splits off in each corner to a different area. The only thing we used to block the front desk was one of those metal pull-down gates. Not safe enough. On the far side of the rectangle was the money room. I pulled my keys out of my pocket as I crossed. No keypads or buttons here. This was the room with the safe inside. Deadbolts, all the way. I pulled out my thick key and slid it into the lock, pushed open the door and practically dove into the room.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">             <span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"">I slumped against the door, head back and gasping for air. I can’t describe my thoughts because there were far too many. My mind was racing and I couldn’t hold onto anything for more than an instant. Images of monsters and goblins and other childhood fears flashed in my head, followed by more sinister and realistic threats. A knife. A disheveled man smiling in the dark. The falling divider shattering the silence. I had about a hundred other images and scenarios come to mind, but I can’t remember them.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">But I was safe. The money room was one of the few places where management didn’t skimp. You can let everything else fall apart, but you always, always protect the money. The door was heavier than the others, and the handle was permanently locked, meaning you couldn’t get in unless you had a key. I thought of the deadbolt and reached above my head, turning the lock and adding another layer of security to the reinforced door. Minutes passed. My head began to clear, slightly. I swore to myself that I would not leave the room until the power came back on. The speed skaters could wait in the dark parking lot if they had to. Besides, I couldn’t let them on the ice if there was no lighting, so I could technically hide here all day without repercussion, so long as the rink stayed dark. The money. The money still had to be counted, and I had to assume that everything would be back to normal soon. Again, I’m not the most loyal or dedicated worker, but I take pride in myself. If someone trusts me to do a job, I consider it my duty to see that job through to the end. Plus, the task would require brainpower, and anything that could take my mind off the terror in the Olympic rink would be a welcome distraction.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">The money room is more of a closet, really. It’s longer than it is wide, with the first half consisting of a desk and the other side a collection of various office supplies. The safe is stored beneath the desk, and I spun the dial and opened it. One of the benefits of being the morning guy is that “counting the money” is really code for “verifying that last night’s money isn’t missing.” At the end of the day, the closing manager counts the day’s profits and fills in a chart that lists the amount in each register. We have registers all over the rink, a couple for the front desk, one for the pro shop, one for the snack bar, and so on. Eight, in total. It sounds like a lot for such a small operation, but it keeps things simple (it’s better than having to scramble and deal with long lines.) All the morning guy has to do is confirm that the totals from last night are still there. I’ve gotten pretty good at rifling through the registers. I don’t need to count every single coin or dollar, I can just eyeball it. Receipt says there should be two dollars in quarters? Instead of counting them out, I can quickly glance at the tray, make sure there are eight quarters, and then move on. After a month of doing this, I can fly through all the registers in about five minutes, but I was much slower on this day, for obvious reasons. I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder at the door, looking and listening for any attempts at intrusion. My phone told me it was 5:51. Almost time to open up.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman""> The small part of my mind not focused on money turned back to the snapping noises and tried to pinpoint where they came from. When I was out back, they came from the side of the rink that touches the forest. The workers claim that I was hunched in the northeast corner. I’m terrible with directions, but I guessed that the northeast would be on that side. That made sense, given that the figure was at the front door and then moved to that side of the rink. I pictured the corner in my mind and tried to discern what part of the rink that corresponded to. If I was facing the rink from the front, the figure would have spent its time in the near right corner. On the inside of the rink, on the opposite side of wall, is the break room. I tried to think of why that might be significant. There was nothing special in the break room, just a table, a fridge, and some lockers for staff members to store their stuff. Those lockers would have been on the other side of the wall where the figure was; maybe he was trying to find a way to break through and get into the lockers? That didn’t make sense, why would he want those? It’s not like we keep money there or anything valuable. Would he even know the layout of the rink?

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">I’m not sure what I expected the power coming on to be like. At my house, there’s an audible *pop* followed by the appliances restarting themselves. The microwave beeps, the stove clock chirps, and so on. It’s like there’s a sudden surge of life, but that was at home. I had no idea what an entire rink turning on instantly would sound like. As it turns out, there’s hardly any sound. One second I was counting the pennies for the pro shop, and the next thing I knew, I was bathed in light. The overhead lights in the money room came on instantly. I turned off my phone’s flashlight and finished counting the final two registers. As I closed the safe, I began hear the rink coming back to life. A low buzz, a deeper hum. The machines that make this place work were waking up slowly, but I could hear them and I knew everything was back to normal. Well, almost normal. There was still the matter of the intruder.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">The light switch for both the front desk and the lobby was located immediately outside the money room, and once again I decided that speed was my friend. Going slow was only prolonging the agony, so I prepared to make my move. I threw open the door, only to be greeted by more darkness. With my eyes locked on the lobby, I reached for the box and mashed the buttons. Staff room, warming area, lobby, snack bar. One by one, each area was lit up. I’m not sure if I wanted to see anything, but the lobby was empty. My brain had conjured an image of some shaggy monster with burning red eyes, resting in the lobby, waiting for me. Nothing there, though. I was close to being done and I was on a roll. No time to stop. I walked to the computer by the front desk and booted it up. While it was loading, I lifted the grate off the front desk and out of sight. I checked my phone. 5:56. Screw it, the doors would open a little early. I didn’t think that letting people in would be putting them in danger. If anything, I thought the opposite: safety in numbers. I peered out through the lobby at the parking lot. Several pairs of headlights gradually extinguished and I heard the slamming of car doors. The speed skaters were coming. They must have seen the lights come on.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">I felt relief. I felt happy. I wasn’t alone anymore. I needed to unlock the front doors. I opened the keypad door and tried to push it open but met with some resistance. Something was blocking the door. With a little effort, I shoved open the door. At my feet was a small pile of something white-gray. It looked fluffy, like the inside of a cushion or mattress or…

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">A divider. It was the foam from inside the divider. I froze. It didn’t make sense, there wasn’t enough foam in this pile to account for all that should be missing. I looked around and saw the answer. A trail of foam, starting by the Olympic rink and leading right to the door. Exactly as I had walked. I had been followed. Chased. The intruder came after me and gave up once he couldn’t get in the door.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-indent:.5in;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"">The rest of my shift was uneventful. After me, the first employee to get to the rink usually arrives at around 7:30. I took my break almost as soon as he arrived, and then went back to cutting ice and shoveling snow for the rest of the day with no new developments. I got back to my apartment and passed out almost immediately. I’m typing this now, after waking up from my nap. I go in again tomorrow, but not until 10, when the place has been open for a while. However, next Saturday is only a week away… <ac_metadata title="Story For Review"> </ac_metadata>