Alarming

September, or thereabouts.  2011…Every word of this is true.

It was a little before 11pm on a Friday when I decided to call it a day.

Late nights and long hours were typical for me back then; for lack of anything to do I threw myself into my work – most especially on nights and weekends. I never felt comfortable working late – never felt “alone” – but I warded off the heebie-jeebies by blasting the Hold Steady at decibels that could be heard and felt across the street.

The ad agency operated out of a converted Victorian on Milwaukee’s East Side built around the turn of the century. The Fall of the House of Usher cum Extreme Home Makeover. Three beautifully remodeled floors settled atop a basement untouched since the day it was constructed: hardwood beams, dirt floor and an uncomfortable amount of caved in doors and walls. We kept agency merch down there.

The neighborhood was nice enough, but not devoid of the occasional break-in or booze-fueled vandalism and as such the building was outfitted with a state of the art security system. Leave a door open or a window unlocked and the system wouldn’t arm itself. Getting in no later than 6am and staying late meant I was the one who most frequently disarmed the system in the morning and engaged it before heading home.

I gathered my things, made my way down the polished rickety stairs, careful to turn off lights and close doors behind me, and into the foyer where the alarm was. I produced the front door key from my bag and punched in the alarm code.

E-R-R-O-R,

rendered in calculator-esque neon green letters scrolled across the screen.

I’ve got fat sausage fingers.

Probably mashed a couple extra numbers into the keypad.

I punched the code in again, more deliberately this time.

E-R-R-O-R.

Oh, come on.

Now, on this particular system, three errors in a row caused the unit to diagnose the problem for the user. D-O-O-R A-J-A-R S-E-C-O-N-D F-L-O-O-R, or W-I-N-D-O-W O-P-E-N M-A-I-N that sorta thing.

I punched in what I was certain was the correct code for a third time.

E-R-R-O-R…

M-O-T-I-O-N D-E-T-E-C-T-E-D T-H-R-I-D F-L-O-O-R

…

My whole body went cold.

And then three huge booms.

Pounding.

The sound of fists on sheet metal coming from the attic upstairs.

That thing that happens in the movies? “Paralyzed with fear.” That’s real. I froze.

Three seconds went by? Ten? An hour? But when the pounding started again it was undeniably now coming from the second floor.

I left the office unlocked and ran, and I didn’t stop til I got to my car.

I’d like to think there’s some joy waiting for us when our time here is up. That there’s still opportunity for fun. Something. And maybe this was just some bored, mischievous spirit out to roust the scaredy-cat Art Director. Or maybe it simply had had its fill of Craig Finn. Whatever. I never worked late alone again.