Harry stopped and wiped a fleck of blood from his eye as he listened. There was a noise coming from further along the corridor. A faint metallic banging sound. He crept along the corridor with the shotgun primed and ready to fire. He strained to see beyond the meager illumination thrown out by the flashlight.
The banging grew louder as he moved. He pressed an ear to the wall. It ceased.
Harry continued along the wall until he came to the door. His hand slipped around the handle. An image of Lydia's skull being cracked by a rusty hammer ran through his mind. It was difficult to get rid of the image, but he told himself that it hadn't been that kind of sound.
The room contained four rows of lockers. Against either wall they were just a few inches shorter than him. The lockers in the center were smaller, stacked up three to a column. They were all pretty beat up and had faded to a rusty red color, some with tatty pictures on.
The noise started again. More urgent now. Something was trying to force its way through one of the metallic doors, trying to get out. The longer lockers against the wall were not stirring, but one of the small ones was banging furiously, battering the feeble lock. Training his weapon on it, he slowly moved his hand towards the catch. As if it understood, the inhabitant of the locker ceased all movement and waited patiently as Harry released it.
Backed up in the enclosed space, looking battered and distressed, crouched Torrance. The Mason family cat had been stuck in a locker in a strange town miles from home.
"Come on girl. It's me, Harry." he cooed.
She shifted timidly toward Harry. He took her up and cradled her.
"How did you end up in there?"
Torrance mewled in reply. Harry was pleased that she appeared to be fully intact and not overly traumatized. She had, after all, been dead for five years. Yet there she lay, purring contentedly in his arms. He closed his eyes. He was at home...Cheryl was two, playing at his feet. Torrance slept while Harry held her. A dark haired woman pointed a camera at the three of them. He couldn't quite see her face. Couldn't remember. How he wished that he could.
A dull thud from one of the lockers shook him from the daydream. The cat leapt from his arms and bolted into the shadows. The locker next to him burst open. A body lurched towards him. He stepped back and it crashed to the floor. Harry studied it, trying to discern who this poor soul was. If it had ever been anything other than this unidentifiable mess. Charred, peeling and raw…nothing distinguished this victim from the other unfortunates he had encountered.
As his torch swept over it, the light caught something around the neck of this poor soul. It reflected the light back at him. He stooped to look at the object.
A bunch of keys. They were blackened and had melted, some stuck to the body through heat. Most of them were useless. One key appeared to be intact, perfect in fact. Still gleaming as if it had just been cut. It had been spared from the extreme heat that had rendered the others useless. The tag on it said 'Library Reserve'.
Harry was being shown the path to follow. Nothing here was as random as it first appeared. He stood up. There was no sign of Torrance. He was alone again.