Count
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By S.W. Hagen
One-hundred-fifty-two steps forward. Pause.
Eight white lines on the zebra crossing. Cross. Eight large steps. Turn right.
Sixty-four steps forward, one more than yesterday. I had to avoid bumping into a stranger. Turn right and now two-hundred-seventy-seven steps and it is there. Work.
Twenty-five windows, twelve large ones, seven small ones, and six basement windows. One entry, two doors. Twelve cars today, one more than yesterday. Everything is all right. Exactly five to nine. I can go in.
I get to my desk on the first floor, third window from the left from outside, second large window. I look outside and see the thirteenth car arrive. Johnathan. He is always late even though he is the boss.
I press the power button on my computer, exactly for one second and wait the thirty-two seconds for it to boot up. It’s getting old as it was twenty-seven seconds two weeks ago. I see the familiar background of the monitor, sink into my chair and find my comfort. It’s now time to start the four hours of work most find tedious, but that I revel in: finances. Filling in numbers.
Johnathan comes in and everyone greets him.
“Hi Terry, how are you?”
“I’m good John. Nice weather today. How are you?”
“I’m just grand!”
He keeps walking, seven steps, and then pauses.
“Good morning Steve, our star player, how are you today?”
“Everything is all right this morning Johnathan, thank you.”
“Good to hear, son.”
He walks off, thirteen steps, and then enters the stairway to the top floor where his office is, third window from the left, dead centre above the building’s entrance.
Lunch is the worst time of the day, but I eat my lunch at my desk, go over all of my plans for the evening and the next day, and continue working after a half-hour break, starting work before anyone else.
I see the digital clock on my computer turn from 16:59 to 17:00 and save my document. One-thousand-seventy-three entries. Twenty-three more than yesterday. Today was a great day.
I pack up my things and head down the same stairs I came up eight hours and six minutes ago and I head home.
No one got in my way today, so after exactly five-hundred steps, I get to my apartment building.
Twelve windows, ten large ones and two basement windows. One entry, two doors.
I enter the code to the door and head in. Three steps forward, two to the right, five steps up, two to the right, another five steps up and one forward and I’m home.
After exactly eight hours of sleep, I wake up and start my morning routine. I brush my teeth, take a shower, dry my hair, get dressed, eat breakfast and start my walk to work.
Today, I almost bumped into two people, so the walk took 505 steps. When I get to the building, I count the windows. Twenty-six windows.
I count again. Twelve large windows, six basement windows, eight small ones. Twenty-six windows. This cannot be right.
I count the windows again and again and again. Twenty-six, twenty-six, twenty-six. I hear a car coming from behind me and step out of the way. It’s Johnathan.
He opens the window and yells out to me. “Hey Steve. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at your desk?”
“How many windows are in our building?”
“Sorry?”
“How many windows are in our building?”
“Uhm…” He looks towards the building. “One, two, three… Twenty-six?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” I turn around and walk home. While on the seventy-sixth step on the first stretch homewards, I mentally picture the building. Six basement windows at the bottom, then three large windows, the doors, three more large windows. Above that, one small window, and then six large windows. Above that are six small windows. Why were there seven? Wait, what step am I on?
I look up from my thoughts and realise that my surroundings look unfamiliar. Where am I? I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, people around me looking at me weirdly. I look around to see familiarity, but I see none. I walk back the way I came from to find the road home. As I walk, a car passes me, driving too close to the sidewalk. The wind brushes my hair, and I look towards the car. Three windows. It goes into the street to the right and I see the right side of the car. Two windows.
How?
I can feel my heartbeat pounding on my skull as I increase my pace, something I haven’t done in years. I walk and walk and walk and walk and walk. I can’t see it, I can’t see it. Suddenly, I’m there. It’s there. I’m at work. I stop in front of the building, the familiarity washing over me and giving me peace. I stop dead centre in front of the building and start counting, bottom left to top right. Six basement windows, three large windows, the doors, three large windows, one small window, six large windows, six small windows.
It is right. Twenty-five windows, they are there. I head in at 09:25.
After seven hours and thirty minutes, Johnathan comes up to my desk and tells me to go home.
“I have only worked seven hours and thirty minutes. Thirty-one now, actually.”
“Head home Steven.”
“Steven?”
“Yes, head home. You’re always right on time. So what you are late one day? Just go home.”
“Steven? That’s not right. Don’t call me Steven. You’ve never done that.”
“Okay, Steve. Go home.”
“No, I have to work twenty-nine more minutes.”
Johnathan hesitates. “Alright, I’ll give you a key. You’re usually earlier than me anyway. Just make sure to lock up when you head home and take care, okay?”
“Yes.”
At 17:30, I save my document. Nine-hundred, ninety-two entries. A bad day. A horrible day.
I head home, carefully counting my steps. After exactly five-hundred steps, I’m home. I stop in front of the building and count the windows. Twelve windows, one entry, two doors. Everything is okay. I enter the code, but it gives an error. I enter it again, but the door doesn’t open. I try again, but again it refuses my code. My head starts feeling hot again and I can feel my heartbeat rising. I dig through my pockets to find my keys. It has a fob that will open the door, but I love numbers so I usually use the code. This time, I’ll have to use the fob for perhaps the first time ever. While looking for the keys, I feel an unfamiliar item in my pocket. The keys Johnathan gave me. Oh no.
One-hundred-fifty steps forward. Pause. Eight white lines on the zebra crossing. Eight large steps. Sixty-three steps, right, two-hundred-seventy-seven. It’s not here. How is it not here? I look at the familiar carpark, but the building isn’t there. Nothing is there. No windows, no entries, no doors. Just an empty space.
Two-seventy-seven, left, sixty-three, eight, one-fifty. Home. Ten windows. Where is the basement? Where are the basement windows? No.
148, 8, 60, 272.
Nothing.
234, 48, 4, 126.
No basement.
402.
Nothing.
387.
No.
350.
No.
Nothing, no, nothing, no nothing nonothingnonothingnonothingnonothingnonothingnonothingno.
A sudden ring calms me momentarily. My phone. I realise it’s light again and pick up the phone.
“Steven?”
“No.”
I throw the phone on the ground and hear a sharp crack.
I go the only place I can.
500.
Six, three, one/two, three, one, six, seven.
Seven, seven,sevensevenseven
I enter the door, go up the stairs to my office, and walk on to the left side of the building. There’s a door. I go in and there’s just a window, a small window which now looks so immensely large from the other side. That’s where I stay, looking out from the room that shouldn’t exist.
S.W. Hagen is a researcher of horror and trauma and writes on similar themes in his creative writing. Originally from the Netherlands, S.W. Hagen often tries to convey messages of underrepresented or horrifying realities in frightening, stressful and confronting forms of fiction. Research is his calling, creative writing his passion and all other forms of horror his habitat.