Here is the beginning of a new tale, let me know what you think…
File 7, Copyright 2016, James R. Colbert, Jr. House of Darkness Publishing
There is a building, near the center of the complex, building forty-two. It sits a little apart from the others around it. Most of the other buildings are within twenty feet or so of each other, but not building forty-two. When it was built, the surveyors made certain that the distance was no less than fifty feet from any other structure. None of the buildings stand out for their architectural style, least of all building forty-two. All of them appear to follow a certain drab style, utilitarian, grayish white in color, ranging from three floors to as many as eight floors in height, all approximately with the same floor plan, each level containing the same number of square feet. At first glance, building forty-two seems much like the others, except for the extra distance from the other structures. It’s painted with the same plain, grayish white color scheme. Its height within the typical range, the dimensions of it’s outer walls also appear to give the impression of sameness with the rest of the complex, just another building, nothing seems very different about it.
Except that if you could get close enough, if you spent some time in building forty-two, you would see a few differences. They are subtle; easy to miss in the first few hours and days you spend there. The initial thing you’d likely take note of is the fact that the main entrance has a supremely heavy-duty door. More like something you might find in a bomb shelter. Of course, since everyone that works in building forty-two has to hold a level four or higher security clearance, you’d probably figure that a building filled with such high level personnel would be likely to have such a door. It would make sense. So would some of the other things you’d notice. The thick, tempered glass windows that don’t open, the separate elevators that only service a single floor, the fact that the outer walls are thirty percent thicker than the rest of the buildings in the complex, all these could be justified, it is, after all, a high security building. No, what would truly make you realize the building was a very special and very dangerous place, the one thing that would pique your senses that something was different about building forty-two was stored on the fifth floor. Room 502. Where records were stored. Where file number seven was kept.
I know what the media has told you, that file number seven doesn’t exist, that such talk is pure conspiracy; what else would they say? To admit such a thing would ruin everything their masters have long been working toward. The puppet-masters can’t allow that! I would expect nothing less. There was a time, only a couple of years back, that I would have been just as skeptical as you are. Look, I understand this is hard for you to accept, but that doesn’t make it any less real. I was there dammit and I know what I saw, what I learned. The facts are the facts. Believe me, I’m the first person who’d want this to be different, for the truth of what I’ve seen to be untrue. I wish I’d never set foot in building forty-two. I wish I’d never been assigned to the Department of Records. I wish I’d never mistakenly unlocked Room 502. And most of all, I wish I’d never opened file number seven. Once I explain what was in that file, what I read, what I saw–God forbid that anyone should learn that such evil exists–once you know what I know, then you’ll understand why I did what I did. It had to be done, I had no choice, none. I know you’ll see then.