CLUNK.
It had been a very long time since he'd heard such a welcoming sound. As it was he had lost track of how long he'd been pressing buttons. He was sure at least two days had passed - his stomach was cramping and his mouth was as dry as the sand wastes in summer. Jason forced himself to his feet and pushed the heavy door until it gave way with a rusty screech and inched open.
He looked around the cheerfully lit hallway with the fresh white paint on the concrete walls. He took a moment to absorb the painful and surreal brightness before heading for the first door he saw, a friendly yellow against the harsh whiteness. He hesitantly turned the knob and peeked in to what looked like an absurdly… happy version of the breakroom at work.
He stood dumbfounded for just a moment as he stared at the formica countertop holding a pristine microwave and coffee pot, half full of steaming bliss, a bowl of suspiciously juicy looking fruit, a box of doughnuts he could smell from where he stood… This wasn't right.
Still, his stomach reminded him - two days. He edged into the room and looked around but saw no other people. He heard only the muffled sound of someone talking. He opened cupboard doors until he located a stack of clean cups brightly printed with a sun and the words Desert Bluffs.
What am I doing here? He frowned, pouring coffee as he devoured a doughnut. If they hadn't wanted this food eaten, this coffee drunk, they wouldn't have left it out without a sign, would they? The coffee wasn't all that great and the doughnuts were a little stale but it was all fantastic compared to nothing.
He took a bite of a jelly doughnut and froze, looking down at it. "Who uses orange marmalade as a filling?"
"Isn't it fantastic?" An enthusiastic voice asked.
Jason jumped, almost spilled his coffee and looked up. He thought Melissa had that creepy smile perfected but this guy with his carefully styled hair, too-white teeth and his wrinkle-free suit was a step above her.
"I… just wasn't expecting it." Jason said, trying to hide how unnerved he was.
"Oh, it's really the best. You'll get used to it. Ready to get to work?"
"Work?" Jason repeated, dumbfounded.
"Of course! You're already a couple hours late and they did warn us that might happen at first. I'm sure you'll do better in the future, though, won't you? You want to be a productive member of society, right?" The man pressed, his smile widened but did not increase in friendliness. If anything it made Jason more uncomfortable.
"I guess… What is it I'm supposed to be doing?" He asked, trying to remember whether anything had been said, whether he had even agreed to anything.
"I do hope this memory problem of yours clears up soon!" The man laughed cheerfully, walking over to wrap an arm tightly around Jason's shoulders and guide him toward another door on the far side of the room. "You're the new intern with the newspaper. It's not hard work, really, just errands and fact checking occasionally. It's a really fantastic and important job."
"I don't know my way around Desert Bluffs very well." He admitted uncomfortably.
"That's alright. We have a map and you'll do your very best to learn your way around quickly." He turned to look into Jason's eyes with that wide smile. "Won't you."
"Of-of course." He said nervously, resisting the sudden and desperate urge to shove the man away and run. There was something about his eyes… it was like looking into madness itself.
"Great! I'll introduce you to the staff. You'll be running errands for the writers so they don't have to leave their desks and lose valuable work time."
"Just the writers? What about the editors?" He asked. It made more sense to worry about the editors, didn't it?
"We don't talk about the Editors." He said as his cheerful smile momentarily became a nervous smile. "So, you know where the break room is…"
Jason tried to stay focused on what the man, Mr. Locke, was saying but there were so many unanswered questions it was hard to keep up. He was briefly introduced to the four writers, shown his new desk complete with typewriter, phone and the promised map of the city considerately laminated so it would not be ruined. It could also not be folded and was too large to carry with him conveniently. He would have to memorize his route ahead of time. New orders would be spit out from a handy slot in the wall over the 'In' box on his desk.
There were already three papers waiting.
The first was from Mr. Fleming, a portly middle aged man who had given up on combovers and shaved his head. He had given Jason that same wide smile he was starting to think was simply what passed for normal in Desert Bluffs. He wanted Jason to double check the scores from the last game the football team played. Sounded easy enough.
The second was from Ms. Ward, a lady who looked downright homicidal with that smile. That horrifying woman was in charge of classified ads and obituaries. She needed him to get the funeral dates for three people who had passed away the day before.
The third note was from Mr. Barker who handled the business section of the paper and wanted him to get a statement from the owner of the ice cream shop downtown. It didn't say what he should be asking about, just told him to get a statement.
Since Mr. Powell from the local news department didn't seem to need anything, he shrugged and sat at the map, plotting out his route and writing directions for himself so he wouldn't get lost on the way. The best order seemed to be to check the funeral dates, stop by the school then get the statement on the way back.
The newspaper headquarters was fairly central so it shouldn't take too long to do everything on foot. He assumed that was what was expected since no one said anything about a company car and his keys weren't in his pocket. He asked a couple of smiling people for directions to get out of the building, tried not to notice how condescending those smiles looked, and started off.
Desert Bluffs was… strange. Everything perfectly clean, everyone smiling and busily moving along. No children playing, no stray animals. Spotless sidewalks, streak-free windows, polished street lamps. It seemed almost unnatural. If not for the oppressive heat from the familiar sun he'd think he was on another planet.
Everyone nodded or waved and smiled, always smiled, when they saw him. No one stopped to talk even if they seemed to know each other. Every person walked or drove efficiently and with purpose. He felt awkward as he ambled uncertainly, looking around and referring often to his instructions.
Finally he located the funeral home with its stately columns and bright billboard outside stating 'The Smiling God Welcomes The Productive Employee'. He shook his head and went to find someone who worked there. The conversation was short and uncomfortable as the funeral director looked over the names, dug out their files, located their Productive Hour Count and referred to a chart in order to give him the time and day of the week for each. One with a particularly low PHC would be buried at 3am when no one was likely to attend. That little fact was related with a conspiratorial chuckle.
Notes taken, Jason quickly excused himself so he could 'get back to being productive'. What kind of insane city was this? He'd always known Desert Bluffs was backwards but this was just beyond rational thought. Not once had he seen a bloodstone circle, either. Where did these people do their chanting? Increasingly unnerved, Jason hurried to the high school where windows all showed room after room of students reading and writing as teachers sat staring at them. No one seemed to be talking. There was no sound of children playing, no shots from the school's gun range. What kind of school did they have that kids weren't enjoying breaks and receiving basic sniper training?
On the field he found the coach watching and nodding as the team practiced. There was no talk or laughter, just the constant sound of impact as they learned tolerance to pain. Another uncomfortable conversation followed as the coach questioned his right to privileged information but finally relented and told him what was to be printed. Whether it was the actual score or just what he wanted the paper to report, Jason wasn't sure. He didn't care enough to find out, he quickly got away from that disturbing place.
He wasn't sure how relieved to be when he got to the designated ice cream shop, Smiling Scoops. The bright, colorful building seemed almost normal for an ice cream shop. The smiling sun that was the logo seemed a fairly accurate representative in this town. He opened the door to the cheerful grins of two people behind the counter, colorful paper hats sitting jauntily atop their heads.
"Hello, I'm with the paper and came to get a statement from the owner." Jason said with as much confidence as he could muster. The girl who looked as if she should probably be trapped in that school with the rest of the teenagers slowly looked at the older man, her smile never faltering. His smile widened.
"Rattlesnakes prefer blueberries to strawberries." He said with almost majestic gusto.
"They what?" Jason stared at him, not at all sure how to respond. He was reasonably sure snakes didn't eat fruit at all.
"That is my statement. Would you like an ice cream cone?" He asked cheerfully.
"No… thanks… I better get back." He said with a weak, nervous smile. It was increasingly obvious that everyone in this city was downright insane.
"Have a fantastic and busy day!" The girl said happily before the door closed behind him.
The rest of the walk back to the newspaper office was quiet. Unnervingly quiet. Passing cars were the only sound at all. No birds, no insects… it made him queasy. He was happy to get back indoors though not much comforted knowing that everyone here was just as strange as the people elsewhere.
He got back to his desk, typed up the responses he had been given and went to deliver them to the appropriate people. Each one read over the text, nodded and got back to work without questioning him further. He returned to his desk where more papers were awaiting him but it was nearly evening and he heard some of the others heading out.
Before the man could leave he caught Mr. Locke. "Hey… uh… I'm not really sure where I'm supposed to go after closing. I mean, is there an apartment or something I'm supposed to be staying at?"
"Don't be absurd." Mr. Locke said with a laugh. "You haven't earned an apartment yet! The bottom drawer of your desk pulls out to a bed but the more work you get done the faster you will earn a place of your own."
"...You're joking, right?" Jason frowned.
"I'm not sure what things are like where you're from, Mr. Warren," He said with a tight smile. "But here we are all expected to pull our weight before we get benefits like houses and refrigerators. The break room is generously stocked for those in your position but it would not be wise to count on the kindness of the Editors forever. Your predecessor tried that and see where it got him?"
Jason nodded, not sure exactly where it got him but entirely content to remain ignorant.