Writing Prompt You work on the 9th floor, what's the secret behind that one piece of floor in the hallway that sounds different...

XianPiete

Bad Fiction Author
Joined
Apr 16, 2019
Messages
154
Points
83
You work on the 9th floor, what's the secret behind that one piece of floor in the hallway that sounds different...
 

ArcadiaBlade

I'm a Lazy Writer, So What?
Joined
Dec 23, 2018
Messages
880
Points
133
The floor 9 was just a normal floor which prepares the invaders what the boss room's difficulty was. I set the floor to be the most difficult (as in Sekiro and dark souls difficulty) and let the invaders experience how dreadful the floor is. Well, there is the easier path to the next floor(for those who are pussies) but you need precise movement there or else, you would get transported to the secret piece of the floor where there's nothing but a single item which blocks incoming sounds in the room. Onced entered, it would play the shrieking sounds of the painful sounds which would drove anyone insane and the invaders would fight for the single item as once there was only one survivor left, it would open a path to the next floor.
 

HURGMCGURG

That Guy
Joined
Jan 22, 2019
Messages
364
Points
133
John was snickering again this morning.
A bad sign.
I've worked with John for three years now and whenever he's acting like that, there's some kind of practical joke to be had. Some prank he set up and is waiting for one of us to fall for.
Honestly, his bad habit puts me on edge each time I hear it. He hasn't gotten me with a prank yet. He's gotten close, but when he tried to spike my coffee with hot sauce, my nose burned before I put it to my lips.
Getting me has become a personal challenge for him.
So, it's time for me to be really fucking paranoid.
I set my briefcase on the floor and took out my hazmat suit.
Oh, by the way...
Not getting caught in one of his pranks has become a challenge for me too.
And from the way he's snickering...
It's gonna be a big one.
A real big one.
So it's better to be precautious.
The rest of the office saw me put on my suit to get ready for work. Honestly, most of these guys like watching the show. John's pranks are funny, so long as you aren't the one being pranked.
I checked my chair for anything and say down. I looked carefully at each and every object on my desk.
Nothing.
I took out an unfolding stick, and backed away from my desk. I reached out and ever so slowly opened my desk drawers. Nothing popped out.
Okay. I can do my job until the danger starts.
I walked over to my chair and I heard it. Right bellow me.
I looked down and I noticed the carpet had been moved slightly. My foot sank just a little bit into it. And the sound.
THBPPPPPPPPPPPPPT--
Someone stuck a whoopie cushion under the carpet.
 
Last edited:

YuriDoggo

Angery Doggo >ᴗ<
Joined
Mar 23, 2019
Messages
729
Points
133
There was always that one tile in the hallways that sounded different. Each time someone stepped on it, the sound seemed to get higher and higher until your old ears couldn't hear it anymore.
Your company decided to put into effect a new rule--workers could bring in their pets--to deal with the increased amount of stressed.
Whenever someone stepped on that tile, all the animals in hearing range collectively looked up, snarled, barked, or what have you, but no one ever took notice.
Until one day, with your puppy in your arms, you walked down the hallways you had done countless times. Suddenly, the puppy began to struggle, whimpering. "What's the matter?" you ask, patting it on its head. But the puppy showed no sign of stopping. You never asked again either.
 

Llamadragon

Active member
Joined
Jan 19, 2019
Messages
171
Points
43
The Ninth Floor in the Old Town was named after the Divine Comedy. The pub itself was located in a basement, and to enter, one first had to descend a flight of stairs from he street level, then walk down a corridor made of the same stone the old medieval houses had been built from, the walls of which were painted with scenes from the nine levels of Hell. At the end of that corridor, the doorway that led into the pub itself was painted to look like the gaping mouth of the Devil, frozen in that lake where he eternally chews the corpses of traitors. Above his ugly mug were painted the words of a bar joke, shining golden in the light of the fake electric firelight: A satanist, a new age fluff pagan, and a Christian walks into a bar to discuss religion.... and because they are mature adults, they have a respectful conversation that ends with them all leaving as wiser people, having walked safely together across the abyss of hatred into which lesser men are doomed to fall.

It wasn’t until I died that Iearned that the words weren’t just literal, but actually a warning. See, the place attracted people who were interested in discussions on theology. It was part of what drew me there. It was a rare culture of mutual respect, in which people from all sorts of paths met and broadened each others horizons. Satanists, Luciferians, Christians, Muslims, pagans of more kinds than I can name, lefthanders, righthanders, cultists from different paths... it was always a delight to sit down and hear out what these bright minds had to say about life, death, and their philosophies on how to live. Sometimes, weirdo fundies would show up and stir up drama, but they never returned more than once, so as a whole it was a safe space to be part of a religious minority. I felt at home there. So when I died, still in a daze, chocked and not yet completely aware of why I had looked down on my badly twisted corpse just moments before, I returned there out of sheer habit. The bartender sent me a look of sympathy, patted me on the shoulder, and served me one on the house. I was so chocked by my death at the time it didn’t even register how strange that was until after I had finished my beer... heh.

Because of the nature of my death, I was.. shaken. Badly. I didn’t feel ready to move on. As luck would have it, since they knew me and thought I was trustworthy, they decided to hire me. I became a bouncer there. As to why they needed a ghost as a bouncer... well... remember that the floor in the hallway corridor was made of stone? Yet, one spot always made a strange creaking noise when people walked over it.

”Hey, Kyle,” the horned, fork-tailed woman next to me said as we watched an angry man holding a Bible stride down the stairs. ”Isn’t that the guy who showed up last week and started yelling about how everybody needed Jesus?”
”Oh, yeah. I remember him. So...”
We were holding this discussion right next to him, but, well. Dead people. He couldn’t see us.
”Yeah, his kind is not welcome. Pull the level, Kronk!” she said, her voice rising into a dramatic flair.
”Please remain seated, and keep your hands and legs in at all times!” I grinned, returning the joke.

The man passed over the creaky spot in the floor, and I pulled the level. A vague orange glow came from the abyss that opened up beneath his feet, and he was swallowed by it before he had time to scream. He was a lesser man, and so, he was doomed to fall. He really should’ve heeded the warning...
 
Last edited:
Top