My Nightmare

Rows and rows of instruments were lined up all throughout in the parking garage, barely leaving enough room for one body to move between them. “You’ll have to wait ‘til we call your number before you can pick up your instrument, sorry guys.” The attendant says. The crowd starts to groan in response; the instruments fill the entire garage, both the main and underground levels. I sit down at the edge of the stairs to the basement, using the railing as back support. Finally, numbers begin to be called, and after a few hours the crowd and clutter dissipates, allowing people to maneuver around the garage easier. Tentatively, I approach the main attendant and ask if I could look for my trombone.
“Sure Dearie, just be careful ‘cause they’re in the basement. Weird things have been happening down there.”
“Well,” I start, “what are the chances that I’ll be alright?”
She pulls out a piece of paper and looks at me grimly. “One in fifty-thousand.”
I gulp and take a deep breath, trying to remain calm and composed, if only on the outside. “Hmmm. How many people have gone in so far?”
The attendant analyzes her paper once again. “Fifty-thousand.” A bit of a smile creeps upon her lips. “You should be good. “
I let out my breath in a quick whoosh and stand a little straighter. Just as I’m about to take the first step, I notice a gentleman approach the attendant and present the same question I did. I do not hear what instrument he is in search for, only that it, too, lies underground. He looks at me and smiles. “You goin’ down there too?”
“Unfortunately, I am. But I don’t want to go in by myself.”
“We should stick together then.” His pinky laces around mine. I can see the fear swirling around his eyes. “We’ll meet back here in 2 minutes.”
My breathing is becoming more labored, every sense heightened, every hair standing on end. Pinkies crossed, we slowly head down the stairs. I search desperately for the trombone cases, their shape bringing me slight relief in the overwhelming darkness. The man and I look at each other. His instrument is to the right, mine is to the left.
“2 minutes.” He repeats, and heads in the direction with more light.
Taking another deep breath I walk quickly to the section in the corner with the trombones. There are only a few left but none of them are mine. It might be in the batch upstairs. God, I hope it is. Worry starts to take over, so I force another deep breath.  As I spin clockwise to head to the stairs, a bright flash coming from another section blinds me. A few seconds pass before the bright blind spots disappear, leaving me trembling and sweating. I do not even care to know what or where that came from; I bolt towards the stairs. I barely notice the open door on my left, as my focus is drawn to the pure darkness on the other side of it. My body doesn’t take notice, my legs continue sprinting on. Relief washes over me as I reach the first step, only to be met by sharp pains in my right leg and a face full of cement. I am sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs that are now stained with the blood gushing from my nose. I feel myself being dragged down, towards the door. I look back but see nothing. I certainly feel it, whatever it is. Its grasp on my leg is excruciatingly painful, but I try to kick and wriggle my way free. The panic has hit me, and hard. I scream out in terror, attempting to claw my way closer to the stairway, but no matter how hard I try I continue to be dragged in the direction of the open door. Tears flood my eyes and fall freely. I scream out once more, a last attempt. Both the man and the attendant hear my last cry. They rush to my aid, pulling relentlessly on my arms to free me of whatever has hold of my leg. It won’t let go. It does not even seem fazed by their effort. As I am waist deep in the darkness I see it in their faces. They’ve given up. I nod in understanding, one final tear slowly making its way down my bloody cheek. The moment they let go I get sucked in. The darkness completely consumes me, and I feel nothing.