We lugged the carts further down the stairs.

In addition to the buzz cut Franklin and blonde McCay, I had some good muscle with me: The dreadlocked Jamaican Brooks, bald, mustached Ortega, and freckly, red haired Montgomery. Couldn't have gotten those carts down the steps without them.

"Franklin," I grunted. "By chance, would you know if this building has a front lobby somewhere?" Some kind of fire door or emergency exit, perhaps?"

"Sorry, ma'am. I've never seen one."

I sighed in frustration. "Remind me. How did you get recruited for this job to begin with? I mean, before you ended up in the FBC?"

The man became lost in thought, silently hefting the carts, one by one, to the next staircase landing. "I...don't remember. One day I was going through a training course with the police, the next day I'm waking up here."

"Same here." I blew a raspberry. "I was hoping you knew something different."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Mister Boogity trailed us down the staircase.

"That thing doesn't look very imaginary to me, Pope," said McCay. "How do you know it's harmless?"

"We used to watch Tiny Toons and play together. Little girl stuff. Like tea parties."

Mister Boogity's eyes narrowed in a wink. "Yeah. Tea parties."

I cleared my throat, trying to draw everyone's attention away from the comment. "At any rate, Mister Boogity would never hurt anyone...unless you consider inappropriate touching hurt."

The creature purred. "Emmy! I didn't know you still cared!"

"I don't, Boogity. I just think shooting you is a waste of ammo."

"Ouch."

At last we set all our carts at the foot of the staircase, rushing them across the tile and concrete dining area floor, to avoid...Tasmanian Devil Thing. Boogity kept climbing to the top of the carts and going "whee" as he rode them into the cafeteria.

No Hiss agents. So far we'd been lucky.

Basic corporate cafeteria. The place resembled a school cafeteria in many respects, but the fare, when they had it out on the buffet line, generally a little more adult in terms of taste (sometimes we had sushi), and they had more coffee related beverages. More junk food available, too. Plus, the cash register accepted both regular money and salary deductions from a special corporate card we all carried.

Someone had left a radio playing on the counter.

You couldn't get too many channels in our building. Most of them came in super faint, and we, for the most part, feared using radios for entertainment purposes, because we all believed the Hiss could get to you through the static.

One channel that came in loud in clear: AM Talk Radio 710.

I've listened to that station for years. I know its format. Coast to Coast only runs from 10 P.M. to 4 A.M, not all damn day. Since I came too work in this building, I've learned more about Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monsters than the real world and current events.

Tonight's' program: A demon possessed television that played nonexistent episodes of classic television programs. For example: Columbo only has a total of 69 episodes, but somehow the television produced an additional 40, not counting the alternate' versions of episodes that actually existed, variations where the detective failed to apprehend the murderer before his allotted one to two hour time slot concluded. All those times Columbo cheated and pretended to solve the case, to bluff the killer into confessing...didn't work. That lie he told about the tooth and the liquid bluing, for example.

Yeah, I know, who watches Columbo anyway? Still, I guess this was more interesting than the Coast to Coast about the computer they programmed to predict the future through Internet trends.

We retrieved food from the refrigerators in back, loading it in carts. Mister Boogity kept diving into the refrigerators and eating shit. I tried to pull him out, but he'd only tongue me in the ear, or stick his paws under my Kevlar and try to reach into my blouse until I let go.

"You want me to shoot that thing?" Franklin asked. "I will if it's troubling you."

"N-no..." Honestly, too ashamed to admit: The most sexual action' I'd had in months. Shuddering, I placed him on the floor and shoved him back with my boot. "Let's...just get these carts filled and back upstairs."

Another relay race' ensued, a much slower one, since we had all these carts loaded and full of food.

We'd gotten all but two of them to the staircase when hands reached out of the swirling mini-tornado, drawing doors on the concrete floor, pillars, and thin air.

Lopsided, crooked doors, all of them looking like they'd been somehow fashioned by a small child.

One by one, these doors swung open, their contents obscured by darkness, fog, or glowing red light.

Something moved. Franklin, McCay and three other soldiers drew their assault rifles as immense, lumbering, inhuman shapes emerged from each doorway:

An overgrown crocodile thing with glowing red eyes, its gigantic maw baring rows of serrated yellow teeth.

A shapeless mass of tentacles with a glowing red cyclops eye.

A towering Kodiak bear thing with no eyes and horns.

Shadowy man figures emerged from the other doorways.

Mister Boogity climbed up on my shoulder. "I got bad news for you, Emmy. This hasn't been a mere social visit. Our son has been misbehaving."

I swallowed hard, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I thought we got rid of him!"

"I thought so too!"

Franklin and McCay nearly opened fire right then, out of pure shock. In fact, all my companions now gaped at me.

Franklin scoffed. "You? And that thing? Had a baby?"

I shook my head, blushing furiously. "It's not like that! The baby was just a stupid pretend game I played when I was eleven!"

Boogity giggled. "A stupid pretend game where she went to an actual hospital and actually horrified her real parents!"

Franklin tried hard to fight down laughter.

"Is that true?" McCay asked.

My face and ears felt like they'd burn up from embarrassment. I whimpered, "Um-hum?"

"How? He's only two feet tall!"

"I was eleven. Let's just say he was the right size."

Boogity snickered. "Especially in places where it counts!"

The squid monster flailed a whip-like tentacle, and fish hook things shot out.

Ortega shrieked as the barbs pierced his face and body, and the thing yanked him through a doorway like a fishing boat reeling in a trophy swordfish.