The walk into the office was strikingly cold. I pulled my cardigan tighter around me and thought lovingly of my thermos that was safely tucked away in my bookbag. In a way, the cold was welcome. It was as cold as it was going to get outside in Phoenix and despite the mild temperatures my nose still had sunburn.

"There's my little red-headed truffle," whispered Hank, hulking over the cubicle separator like a naughty schoolboy. I rubbed my arms trying to get some warmth back into them. "Will you be needing my coat again, Sarah?"

"Oh no thank you Hank," I answered softly, sitting down and revealing my secret, tea-filled thermos. He cracked a conspiratorial grin, and I had the sudden image of a mischievous leprechaun.

The day went by slowly. Besides the odd flickering of the lights which had been a problem for several weeks, it was dreadfully boring. I bit my lip in anticipation. The clock was creeping and I couldn't wait to get home where my floors were splattered with color and the air was sharp with the smell of acrylic paint. I thought about the project I had started just the night before. The base coat should be dry maybe tonight I'll start on the flowerbeds. Or maybe the stars.

"See you tomorrow my sweet," said Hank, knocking me out of my daydream. He and everyone else were herding themselves towards the door and I quickly followed- eager to get back to my painting. I had just made it to my car in the parking garage when I realized I'd left my thermos. Well shit.

With a growl I stamped back into the building, cursing my own stupidity for only buying the one canister. I jogged up the stairwell, my heavy breathing a reminder of how horribly out of shape I was. The elevator was an option but with the lights still sputtering I didn't trust it. I work on the sixth floor. Should've just taken the damn elevator.

I heard echoes of footsteps a couple floors below me and felt some trepidation. My heart was already pounding from the physical exertion of racing up the stairs but this stepped it up a notch. I swallowed down my paranoia and pushed the door. It's nothing. Stop being such a scaredy cat. But my thermos still slipped through my sweaty palms when I found it in my cubicle. It had been a few weeks since I had felt so panicky. When my neighbor across the hall briefly said hello and his face moved strangely. Almost like there was a face under a face. It lasted a nanosecond, but that moment caused a week's worth of nightmares.

I could have brushed it off, but he wasn't the first. Before him there was Jan the hostess at the café across from my apartment. And before that was Nathan, the seven year old kid who liked to practice skateboarding on the sidewalk. There were so many sleepless nights where I would stare at the bedroom door, just waiting for someone to barge in. Then, finally, it stopped. I had gone a whole month without seeing anything out of the ordinary. I deleted the number of the shrink I started seeing and cropped it up to having an overactive imagination. Something my mother had accused me of having countless times.

But now, that fear was back. It was almost like I could sense something was wrong. My throat closed shut and my eyes frantically scanned the room for danger. Nobody followed me in but I just knew I wasn't alone. Feeling sick to my stomach and a little stupid I decided to just make a run for the elevator and hope for the best. Like a child who was scared of the dark running to climb back into the safety of her bed. Why did I delete the shrinks' number? I have clearly lost my mind.

Despite realizing I looked delirious I still made a run for the door. A hand gripped my upper arm and abruptly stopped me. I felt a scream rise in my throat and turned to do the heel-to nose technique I vaguely remembered from Ms. Congeniality and stopped short when I saw it was Hank.

"Jesus Christ Hank," I blurted out. A wave of relief washed over me even as I scolded, "Don't do that! You scared the hell out of me!"

"Did I?" he replied, still gripping my bicep tightly. He was deceptively strong for a sixty year-old man. He smiled widely and stared down at me, inching closer. My stomach clenched. This wasn't right. I'd known Hank for two years and while we were friendly we'd never been especially close. Besides his paternal sort of demeanor towards we never really got past the niceties. My arm was really starting to hurt.

"Let go of me Hank," I said, my voice wavering. He chuckled darkly. Then I saw another face beneath Hank's homely one. A disgusting, rotting face, and I trembled.

"Sorry princess," he said as his eyes went black. "We've lost you once already, and the boss wasn't too happy with us. This time you're going somewhere where you can't weasel out".

I stopped breathing. This wasn't Hank. Hank had four grown children and was on the verge of retirement. He spent two hours last week sending me emails filled with pictures of his first granddaughter. The most interesting thing he did was add ketchup and cumin to his macaroni. This is a monster.

Feeling dizzy and terrified I started scratching at not-Hank's hand trying to get him to release his hold. Even when my nails began drawing blood he still didn't let go. My vision was blurring. I couldn't help the tears from forming. I pulled my free hand back, formed a fist, and closed my eyes. I didn't want to watch myself punch Hank full on the nose. "Best you stop fighting you little chit," said the dark-eyed imposter. "Maybe save your energy for the big man downstairs. I'll bet he has a lot of fun things planned for you-" he stopped abruptly when my fist connected with his face and a sharp pain raced from my knuckles to my shoulder.

Ouch. I shook my hand out. I'd never punched anyone before; it hurt a lot more than I thought it would. Hank had let go of me, clutching his bleeding nose. "YOU BITCH," he cursed at me, putting his hand out towards me and flinging me across the office into the wall of a cubicle. My head hit first and I felt it crack. The pain in my hand was forgotten in response to the agony that ripped through my skull. My vision was going dark and I couldn't pick myself off the floor. I couldn't move at all.

I tasted blood. I heard Hank's voice laughing evilly when I heard the door open suddenly. Before I passed out I heard a rushed voice say, "Excorzamus te, omnis immundis-!"

Then darkness.