I've been working as a cinema usher for three years. By now it's become obvious to me that my cinema's rules are a bit out of the norm. Okay, that was a lie. They're batshit insane. But you can be the judge of that yourself. My name is Sean. I'm 21 years old and I've been working this job for three years now.

There are two reasons why I ended up here and why I didn't leave after I realized just how screwed up this place is. The first is that not many employers will hire a high school dropout with a criminal record for petty theft and drug possession. I made some bad decisions early on in my life. Even though I'm on the straight and narrow now, my life has been marked forever by those unfortunate choices. The second reason is the pay. A cinema usher's job is checking tickets, cleaning rooms between shows, and checking that every movie runs smoothly. Usually ushers earn minimum wage if they're lucky. I, on the other hand, get the same pay as the manager of any normal joint. Although when you take into account the stuff I have to deal with every day, it becomes a whole lot less alluring.

But none of you really care about that, do you? You're here for the story and I won't disappoint. So here they are, the rules of my cinema. Rule number one: Never, ever open the door to room three once the movie has started. Sounds simple, right? This rule and the time I almost broke it were the first signs I got that the cinema wasn't a hundred percent normal. Even knowing about room three, you'll be tempted to go in. The room is clever and it'll try to trick you any way it can. You might hear something from inside. You might be addressed by someone wanting you to open it. But you should never, ever do so.

The first time I almost entered room 3 was a mere week after I got hired. I had read the rules, sure, and I had been confused by them. But I didn't question them. I needed this job badly. If I had to endure some extravagant mysterious rules to get my paycheck, then so be it. I was cleaning up the main lobby where the entrance to the individual projection rooms is when I heard it. The thumping of something on a hard surface and it was coming from room three. I rushed over to the door. It was clear something was wrong inside. A thin curl of smoke was coming from under it. The thumping was louder now, as if someone was hitting the door from inside. The handle was turning, rattling in its joint as the person on the other side tried desperately to get outside.

Hello, I yelled, pressing my ear to the flat surface of the door. Let us out. Help us, came a voice from the other side. It was a woman's voice, terror audible in every word. Underneath it I could hear a faint whooshing sound like a strong wind in a tunnel. It took me a second to realize what it was. Flames. There's a fire. The door's jammed. You have to let us out, the woman screamed desperately. The smoke coming from under the door was dark and acrid and I coughed as it caught in my throat. The beating of fists on the other side resumed. Let us out. Please let us out. I reached for the door handle. Any thought of rules in my head was gone. There were people in there who needed my help.

A hand reached out from behind me and grabbed my arm. I jumped in shock, twisting around. It was David, my manager. I'd only ever talked to him at my interview for the position where he struck me as a calm but distant man. Now he was furious, anger engraved in every line of his face. Rule number one. Never forget it. There's a fire inside, David. The door's jammed. We gotta get them out. A fire? Oh, it's clever today, David laughed to himself. Trying it on the new guy too. Then he turned serious again. There's a reason we have rules. Leave room three alone. Everything's alright in there.

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. The woman from inside cried out again. She was choking on her words now as the smoke invaded her lungs. Please help me, Sean. I can't breathe. Let us out. David laughed again. You can hear her, David. They're gonna die, I yelled, incredulous as to how he could be so heartless. Well, I wasn't going to let people die because of him and his batshit crazy rules. I reached for the door handle. David looked me dead in the eyes. How does she know your name? I stopped short. Had I told her my name? No. I looked at the door again. No smoke. No hammering of fists. I cautiously knocked on it a few times. No one answered.

David put one hand on my shoulder. You see, Sean, he said patiently, room three stays closed no matter what. In 20 minutes the movie will end and everyone will come out unharmed. I promise. But... but I heard her. I saw the smoke, I stammered, confusion taking over. You saw what it wanted you to see. Take it from me, Sean. Room 3 will try everything to get you to open that door. But it hasn't succeeded in 13 years and it damn well won't succeed while I'm the manager here. I won't have that happen again. He led me away from the door gently.

When the movie in room 3 ended 20 minutes later, a crowd of people walked out. Everyone was unharmed. I checked the room afterwards. There were no signs of fire anywhere.

Rule number two: If you see a man dressed as a movie character leading children away from the lobby, notify the manager immediately. You know how a lot of cinemas hire people in costumes or suits to promote new movies, like when a new Star Wars movie comes out and you have guys in stormtrooper armor walking around the building to hype people up. I hated that sort of stuff even before I started working here. One of the odd jobs I took up after dropping out of school was at a rundown amusement park outside town. I've had to wear a rancid unwashed fursuit of the park's mascot for eight hours straight, six days a week. Even seeing one of those things nowadays makes me gag.

Now rule two is a bit of a mystery. I've only ever had to follow it once and I'm not even sure what really happened. But it's an interesting, albeit gruesome story, so you might enjoy it. The day it happened was our premiere of Avengers: Infinity War. The manager had hired several cosplayers dressed as the main characters to walk around the lobby and take pictures with fans. Now I was generally okay with that despite my past experiences. The thing that made me nervous was how, before the shift began, David rounded up all the ushers and made us memorize the list of superheroes we had hired. He was absolutely adamant about it, insisting that we knew them off by heart. If it wasn't for the incident with room 3, I would have thought he was mad. But now I knew not everything was as it seemed in this place. It wasn't a long list, so I can remember it: Captain America, Black Panther, Dr. Strange, Thor. Retrospectively, the poor guy dressed as the god of thunder must have been devastated how fat his favorite character got in Endgame.

I knew something was up when I exited one of the projection rooms and saw a person dressed as the one and only Iron Man walking slowly down the lobby towards the garbage room. Getting closer, I could see there was something seriously wrong with him. His suit had been high quality once but seemed to be in disrepair now. It was grimy and scraped, some parts in danger of falling off altogether. He smelled horrible, like roadkill on a hot summer day. But the worst part was there was some sort of liquid seeping from between the joints of his costume. It was a sickening dark brown color, viscous, almost like drying treacle.

My heart stopped as I saw that behind him was a group of children. None of them could have been more than 13 years old. They stared vacantly forward, following the thread figure as he led them away from the crowds in a demented column. My ordeal with room 3 had taught me all I needed to know about the rules. I rushed over to the manager's office, tore inside, and yelled into David's room. Rule 2. Iron Man costume heading towards the garbage room. Three kids in tow. There was a bang from the office as David leapt from his chair so fast it crashed to the ground. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I should have known. I shouldn't have hired anyone. I shouldn't have hired anyone. Damn it, I should have known.

He was rummaging around in a drawer of his desk he had quickly unlocked. I caught a glimpse of what he was taking out before he hid it in a pocket of his trousers: a vial of some sort of clear liquid and a long jagged knife made of what looked like bronze. As he tore out of the office he stopped and grabbed me, pushing a crumpled piece of paper into my hand. Make sure no one goes into the garbage room. Don't let anyone inside, you got that? If I don't come out in a half an hour, hit the fire alarm and evacuate the building. Then call the number on this paper. There was no time for questions. David tore out of the room and I ran after him.

As we rounded the corner I saw that Iron Man had almost got the children into the garbage room. He was maybe three meters away from the door, the kids still following blindly. David tore past them and rammed open the door. Then in one clean movement he grabbed the costume thing, threw it inside, and slammed the door shut. The children twitched like puppets with their strings jerked up and down. Then they looked around confused. They probably didn't even know how they got there. So they did what any kid would do in that situation. They started to cry.

It was 23 minutes before David left the garbage room. There were dark red marks on his once clean shirt and a horrible stench wafted off him. He looked tired. Clean up in there, Sean. If you find anything strange outside a garbage bag, don't touch it. Just come tell me. He stumbled off to his office. The garbage room was a wreck. The stinking dark liquid stained the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling in some places. In the corner there were several black plastic bags. A wet patch of that noisome dark liquid was slowly spreading from underneath them.

Rule number three: If a man with a tattoo on his left cheek wants something from the lost and found, don't give it to him. Now this one isn't exactly tied to a story I personally experienced, but I still have something to say about it. After the rule 2 incident, David started treating me kinder. I guess he trusted me a bit more since he knew I'd learned my lesson and understood that the rules weren't there for benign reasons. They were there to protect us all. I was curious about rule three. After some time I summoned the courage to ask about it. So before one day shift I walked into the office and cautiously asked David, Um, I'm sorry to bother you, but uh, I was wondering if you could tell me more about rule 3 by any chance.

David smiled. Really curious, are you? Don't worry, I would be too. He began rummaging about in his drawers and file folders. Eventually he handed me several yellowed papers stapled together in the corner. Here. Read this when you're on your break. Hopefully it'll slake your curiosity. When my break came I sat down in our locker rooms and did exactly that. The papers were actually several newspaper articles stapled together. The first was 15 years old. Gruesome triple homicide. Family murdered in their own house. Sole survivor tells horrifying story. The neighborhood of [censored by me] was left in shock yesterday after police found a gruesome murder scene in the house of local residents, the Prescotts, a family of four. There was only one survivor, 13-year-old [censored by me] Prescott, who was found bound and gagged but otherwise unharmed in his family's living room next to the mutilated remains of his parents and older sister. Found on the crime scene was an umbrella which the survivor claims his mother had forgotten after the family's visit to the local cinema earlier that week. Cinema manager David told our reporters that the umbrella had been picked up by a tattooed man the day before the murder who claimed it was his. Police are looking into the possibility this man was connected to the crime, but so far their search has proved unsuccessful.

The next two articles were 12 and 5 years old respectively and published by different newspapers, but they told much the same story: a mass homicide. One mentioned an item from our lost and found being found at the scene of the crime. The other didn't, but David had written underneath in pencil: the same man. What does the tattoo mean? Need to make a rule about him. The last article was what really creeped me out though. It wasn't modern. In fact it was just a printed photo of an ancient looking page. The year printed at the top announced it to come from London, 1899. The writing was hardly legible, but the headline told me all I needed to know: Fear the stage. London theater shuts down amid murder spree as mysterious killer claims forgotten items.

Some rules are harder to follow than others and some come up more often. Rule 4 is one of the rarer ones and I thank God for that. Rule number four: If the lights go out while you're cleaning a room, take a seat. A movie will play. You have to watch till the end. Don't look away from the screen no matter what you see or hear. This is the rule that gave me the most anxiety when I read it. Having already had a run-in with rules one and two, I knew just how serious following our commandments, or failing to do so, could be.

My experience with rule number four happened when I was cleaning out room one after a movie. Without a warning it happened, the thing I'd been dreading for months at that point. The lights went out. There wasn't a pop like a light bulb going off. One second I was in a well-lit room, the next I was standing in pitch blackness. I froze. Even though I'd been mentally preparing myself for this for weeks, I froze. Take a seat, damn you. Take a seat. Finally my limbs obeyed my mind. I leapt for where I hoped the nearest row was and rammed myself down into a place just in time. The screen lit up, filling with static before resolving into the image of a dark dank cellar. The image quality was ancient, like some super eight millimeter film from the 90s. Through the grainy screen I could make out that there was a single chair in the center of the room. Tied to it was a young man. He was struggling against his bonds and I could tell he was injured. Narrow streams of blood streamed down his face from an injury above his brow and his arms were rubbed raw from the ropes. There was something terribly familiar about the prisoner. Not his face. I'd never seen that in my life. But his clothes.

I froze as I heard something move behind me. It was the creak of a cinema chair. My back crawled. Someone, something had just sat down behind me. It took all my willpower not to swivel around or to jump from my seat and make a break for the entrance. I fixed my eyes on the screen, praying for this to be over soon. The man on the screen had stopped struggling. He was looking at something behind the camera. It took me a second to realize he had to be watching the cameraman. I almost jumped from my seat as a voice whispered behind me. What an actor, huh? The voice was low, a practically inaudible whisper. It sounded human, almost. But I knew immediately it was anything but. I can't explain precisely how. It was something about the cadence of the thing's speech, almost as if its throat wasn't quite made for human language and it just did its best at mimicking what it had heard. Even worse, the voice was coming from slightly above me, not directly behind. Whatever was in the chair behind me, it had to be absolutely massive when standing up.

Should I answer? Should I just keep watching? The rules hadn't told me about that. I remained silent, gripping the armrest to stop myself from shaking, eyes fixed forward towards the screen. The camera was moving as the person carrying it approached his prisoner. The man in the chair was trying desperately to recoil, but his binds were too tight for anything but the slightest movement. And as the camera got closer I recognized what was so horribly familiar about him. His clothes. He was wearing a cinema uniform. My cinema's uniform. Where do you think they got the costumes? whispered the thing sitting behind me. Sadistic irony dripped from every word. It was playing with me. I didn't answer.

The movie went on for about half an hour. I won't tell you exactly what I saw. I don't want to think about it more than I have to. I'm not sure that stuff would be allowed here, not even in description. Suffice to say I wouldn't wish such a fate upon my worst enemy. At one point I wretched and vomited over myself on the floor as my stomach convulsed. I almost took my eyes off the screen and at that moment I felt the thing's hot stinking breath on my back. It wanted me to look away. It wanted me to give in. I looked up again, fixing my eyes on the gruesome scene playing out on screen. The thing behind me spoke only once more before the lights came on as abruptly as they had turned off. It sounded frustrated, angry even. You know the saying, Sean. Rules are made to be broken. Or at least that guy thought so.

I wish I could end the story there, but unfortunately there's just a bit more to it. Because the guy on the screen had been a worker here. Because he had died for breaking a rule. Because David hadn't told us everything, instead keeping us on some sort of need-to-know basis. Someone had suffered a fate worse than death because of his secrecy and I would have him explain himself. Still covered in my own sick and cold sweat, I stormed through the lobby, ignoring the disgusted looks of the customers there. I slammed into the office. David looked up calmly. Rule 4 or rule 11? Rule 4. Good, good, good. You knew what the risk was. You knew what could happen. But you didn't tell anyone. That guy I saw, the things that it did to him. You could have stopped that. David sighed tiredly. It's better this way, Sean. What? How can it be? Let me explain something to you, David said, getting up to stand eye to eye with me. There was a hint of steel in his voice now and a flash of suppressed anger in his look. I shut up.

Some things can be avoided if you know about them. Room 3 is like that. If you know what it wants and how it will try to get it, it's easier not to fall for it. But some things, Sean, some things only get stronger the more you know about them. You can avoid breaking rule number four with what you know right now. You just need to keep watching. But the more you know about it, the more direct the thing in that room can be in its attempt to get you to look away. In the last guy, the one I saw on screen, he knew too much. Even more than you do now. It was a mistake I will never repeat, a lesson I will never forget. There's a threshold, Sean, that I can't allow you to cross. If you know too much, no amount of willpower or strength will keep your eyes on that screen.

Rule number five: If you encounter a room where all customers are looking directly at you and smiling, inform the manager immediately. Rule number five is the one which raised the most questions in my mind about this cinema and my work. My encounter with it occurred about a year and a half into my time here. Something you should know about the work of a cinema usher: we need to check that every movie is running smoothly, with working subtitles and so on. We're only obligated to do so at the beginning of each projection. But if we have had some free time during our shift, we like to check in at random to make sure everything is all right. Unfortunately it's exactly because of this that I entered room 5 one day, only to have a heart attack as I realized that every single person inside was looking me dead in the eye, smiling eerily, taking care not to even blink.

I slowly backed out of the room. The customers never broke eye contact, not even a blink. The second I was in the relative safety of the lobby I ran over to David, who was talking with a customer at our small bar. Rule five, I said once I reached him. David went pale. The customer, a young attractive woman, looked over at him in confusion. Excuse me, David muttered in her direction before turning to me. Which room? Five. Follow me. We ran over to the room. Once inside, David gestured for me to remain at the bottom of the rows of seats. Stay here. He didn't need to tell me twice. The room full of customers was deadly quiet, every head silently turning to follow David as he walked in front of the screen and stopped in the middle of the room.

What do you want? he said to the room at large. Every person in the room opened their mouth in unison and said in a perfect chorus, Hello, manager. Long time. Cut the crap, growled David. I know your game. What do you want this time? The room laughed in chilling synchrony. Always so direct. I always liked you more than your predecessor, you know. David's jaw clenched. His hands were rolled into fists. I'd never seen him this angry. Just tell me what you want, he hissed through his teeth. Tell me what you want and let these people go. Ah, so impatient, so eager to get it over with, the crowd answered. I want you to open room three right now. David went pale. No. Ask something else. There are lines I will not cross. There are rules. The things behind the eyes of the crowd laughed as one. Ah yes, your precious rules. You think they can stop anything? They stop nothing, David. They only delay it, giving me information for free.

David said sarcastically, You've changed since last time we talked. I only tell you what you already know and my price does not change. You will open room three again. For the first time David hesitated, only for a second. But the things noticed and laughed cruelly at him. I've already told you I won't do it. That rule is never broken, he said finally. Do you forget your history after a mere 13 years? the crowd sneered. The fate of these people is in your hands, David. You know what happens to them when my price is not paid. Do you seek to atone with this meaningless resistance for the sacrifice that was made because of your mistake? I don't atone, David hissed, and I made no mistake with the one who you miss so dearly. Agree? I think not, the things intoned. There was a charged silence. Then the crowd spoke again. The price has been paid. These people are safe. David blinked in confusion. What? What price? Room three was never the price. The anguish, should your remembrance, as well as the unanswered questions that will now plague this servant of yours, were the price. You bastard, David whispered. David stormed out of the room without another word. The crowd followed him with their gaze and then fixed it upon me. A smile. A nod. Then the crowd looked up as one and shed their identical behavior. A hidden tension was released. They were free.



Rule number six: If a customer hears noises in the air ducts, assure them that you will look into it. Take one of the packages marked R6 from behind the bar, enter the air ducts through the garbage room, and place the contents of the package at least 10 meters away from the entrance. Leave the air ducts as fast as possible. This is one of the easiest rules to follow. Although the time limit is worrying at first, it's also one of the most commonly employed, usually coming up about once a week. Thankfully I've never seen anyone fail to uphold it.

The first time I had to feed the thing in the air ducts was a very busy shift. We had premiered The Rise of Skywalker a few days before and we were still being swamped by crowds of customers. I was cleaning up the lobby from the ever-present spilled popcorn when an angry-looking young man wearing a Star Wars shirt stormed over to me. Good day, sir. How may I— Yeah, man, whatever, he cut me off immediately. Could you fix your damn aircon, dude? There's something banging around in there near the grill in our room. I didn't pay for this kind of shit. I clenched my teeth to control my temper at the man's manners but managed to remain calm. Yes, sir, of course. Sorry for the inconvenience. David will probably forgive you for letting a room of people die at the hand of God knows what, but he won't allow you to be rude to customers. He's just like that.

After the customer had stalked off again, I got one of the marked packages from behind the bar. It was strangely heavy and I could feel moisture seeping out from inside it. Doing my best to ignore it, I crossed over to the garbage room and opened the grill covering the air ducts. I could hear whatever the customer had been complaining about: a fast tip-tap sound like fingers drumming endlessly against the side of the duct. My skin crawled. It was uncomfortably too close to the sound of dozens of long thin legs. I took a deep breath and crawled into the chute. The air inside was cold and jerky. The passage was tight and I was forced to go prone, propelling myself forward on my elbows and knees. Crawling forward, I could see by the dim light that there was a pile of something up ahead around the 10-meter mark. As I reached it I groaned under my breath. In the chute before me lay a pile of gnawed animal bones. With shaking fingers I undid the wrapping on the package and dropped a whole chicken under the top of the pile of remains. The sounds in the chute stopped. I held my breath. Then it returned, faster, louder than before, a frantic hungry staccato rhythm. Terror and adrenaline flooding my brain, I scooted back downwards to the mouth of the passage. How long had I been there? How long did I have left? 30 seconds? 20? The clattering of legs was mixed now with a scraping sound as something chitinous and heavy dragged itself down the corridor towards the food and towards me. And finally my legs met the end of the duct. Kicking frantically, I dropped down to the floor of the garbage room and slammed the grill shut. The clattering inside had stopped. Listening carefully, I could make out the sound of tearing flesh. And this is one of the easier rules.

One of the rarest rules we have is rule number seven. I've only ever experienced it once, about six months ago, and I sincerely hope I will never have to deal with it ever again. Rule number seven: If you notice shadows being out of sync with your surroundings, return to the last room you were in as quickly as possible, alone. Close the door. Then return to the lobby. Until you do so, do not touch your shadow under any circumstance. The biggest danger you can face in this job is becoming too used to the weirdness. That's the mistake I made with rule number seven. I dropped my guard. I stopped paying attention. I had walked to the other side of the lobby from room six before I realized that I had no shadow. Cold sweat covered my brow. I looked back the way I came. My shadow, completely disconnected from me, lay on the floor by the door to room six. And another usher, a man by the name of Liam, stood between me and it. He was looking straight in my eyes, a narrow grin on his face.

I had to think quick. Whatever was going on, I had to get back to room six. But with Liam in my way I had no route to get there, not without confronting him. Sean, is everything all right? David called from the door to his office. He sounded concerned, worried even. Could I answer him? Would that just make things worse? I ignored the question and started heading back to room six. The more I looked around me, the more clear it became how strange my surroundings were. Every shadow was thrown in a different direction, as if each item was illuminated by a different light source. I was nearing Liam now. I slowed down, walking in a manner I hoped would appear nonchalant. If I could just get past him and the door— David asked you a question, Sean, Liam said. The thin smile was still plastered over his face. He stepped in front of me, barring my way. I heard him, Liam. I just forgot something in room six is all. And what was that, Sean? What did you forget? He knew. I could see it in his eyes. Liam, the thing masquerading as Liam, knew what I was trying to do. It knew I wasn't fooled by its act. I heard the office door open behind me. Footsteps approached. Sean, asked David, what did you forget? He walked around me to stand next to Liam. I had to convince them I didn't realize anything was wrong. I couldn't get to room 6 otherwise. Even if I did make it there, the rule said I had to be alone. They couldn't follow me. I forgot to clean up a spilled drink. I'll just get some paper towels from the garbage room and go and finish it. I smiled weakly, cursing my quivering voice. It was a bad lie. I could see it in David's eyes. He wasn't convinced. Liam, help him out with that, would you? he said, walking away to the office. Liam smiled at me again. It was a horrible sight. Well, let's go, Sean, he sneered.

We walked to the garbage room. My mind raced as I tried desperately to think of a way out of this situation. Liam was watching me from the corner of his eye, waiting for me to make a run for room six. A desperate plan formed in my head. It was a gamble, and for all I knew the other rules of the cinema didn't even apply in this place, whatever it was. But it was the only way to escape that I could think of. We entered the garbage room. Liam wasn't even acting inconspicuous anymore. He was looking straight at me, still smiling that horrible grin. With Liam following, I walked to the back of the garbage room and punched him in the face with all my strength. The thing wearing his body stumbled backwards, surprised. And in the second of time it bought me, I scrabbled at the air duct in the back of the room, opening it at the last second. The thing's fingers grabbed me from behind and turned me around to face it. The look of humanity Liam had worn before was shedding off like a snakeskin. His face grew disproportionate, his eyes pools of shadow. He laughed in my face. I knew you weren't fooled. I knew it. Well, playtime's over. Time for you to meet your shadow, it said insanely. I hope you like it here, because you are going to be staying with me.

I kicked out desperately, fighting against the thing's strength as it gripped my arms. I managed to turn us around, ramming its back into the open air duct. It screeched in pain. Ever since your master has made his foolish rules I've been alone. Well, no more. First you, then him. Finally I heard what I'd been desperately hoping for: a sound coming from the air duct behind Liam. The scuttling of many thin feet. The thing had only a second to realize what I'd done. Its eyes widened. No. Then it was ripped backwards as a terrible force tore it into the vent. Bones cracked as its back and legs bent in angles they were never meant to. Then it was gone, screaming and cursing. I stumbled away from the wall. I had little time. As I ran across the lobby towards room 6, the thing wearing David's body tore out of the office. It screamed in frustration as it sprinted towards me. I reached room six. My shadow coiled on the ground, trying to reach me but coming just short. David was near, meters away from me, a cry of anger and desperation filling the air. I flung open the door, jumped inside, and slammed it behind me. Silence dropped like a stone. Cautiously I opened the door again. The lobby was empty. I looked down and heaved a sigh of relief. My shadow was once again at my feet.

Rule number eight: If a garbage bag begins moving violently or making noises, dispose of it in the special chute in the garbage room. Do not open the bag. One of the jobs we have to do here is clear out the garbage room after every shift. This means loading up all the trash on a trolley and taking it to the basement parking lot where a truck will come pick it up every week. Rule number eight is probably the worst after number four. It's not as mentally scarring, but it can still mess up your mind if you think too much about it. It certainly made me pretty miserable when I had to deal with it the first time, about a year back.

I was almost done with the trash that day. One more trip with the trolley should have done it. I was looking forward to the end of my shift and the warm embrace of my bed at home. That's when a garbage bag spasmed, dropped to the ground with a wet organic thud, and started screaming. Help me. Oh God, please help me. I screamed and jumped back. The bag writhed on the floor as whoever was inside it strained against the thick plastic. It cried out again in panic. God, please let me out. I can't... I can't breathe. My heart was pounding. With shaking fingers I reached for the bag to tear it open and free the person trapped inside. I grabbed at the plastic and froze. Rule number eight. The thing in the bag screamed in pain and fear. Is anyone there? Please, you have to help me. It started sobbing, the plastic shaking and curling in on itself. A chill ran down my back. This thing sounded human. It sounded as if it was in pain. It sounded real. But this place had taught me not to believe anything I heard or saw. Cautiously I took hold of the bag. A hand shot out of the writhing mass and grabbed my arm. I yelled and stumbled back, breaking the thing's grip. Help me. You... you have to help me. I can't move. I... I can't breathe. I can't. The arm had been real enough. I could still feel its grip where it had caught me. The arm had been human-sized, but no human could have fit into that bag.

I grabbed the twisted amorphous mass. The hands grabbed at me through the plastic as it screamed for help into my face. Staggering with its weight, I lurched over to the garbage chute and dropped it over the edge. It caught onto the edge with its hands. Please... please, it whimpered. I can't... I can't go back. Please don't. I brought the lid of the chute down on its fingers. It screamed, slid down the chute, and clawed at the sides as it disappeared into the dark and went silent.

Rule number nine: If anyone exits room three during a show, do whatever they ask. Inform the manager immediately. For all the wrong reasons this story isn't like the others I've told. This story will be different and I'm not sure I like that. I'm not sure where it will lead me in this cinema. Because this story happened yesterday. Even though David's warm to me in the time I've been working here, I think he might even trust me. He hasn't said anything about room three. To be fair, I've been too afraid to ask. So rule number nine has always been a source of mystery and no small amount of apprehension. No one I asked could even remember a time when they would have to obey it. Strange though it may seem, no one had ever exited room 3 during a projection, at least not in the years I've worked here. No one could remember David ever explaining the command or even talking about it. Rule number nine was as big a mystery as the room had concerned. So nothing could have prepared me for yesterday, when the door opened and a smartly dressed man walked out of room three.

I froze in my tracks. No amount of experience in this job could have prepared me for that. He walked over to me as I stood staring in amazement and fear. Good evening, sir, he said. His voice was flat, emotionless, a blank slate. But unlike the thing from rule number four, it was unmistakably human. Uh, good... good evening, I stammered finally. The man smiled in slight amusement. I wish to speak to the manager. Fuck. Right. Uh, right this way, sir, I replied, trying to fake a calm I didn't feel. I wish I could have told the thing to stay, that I could have warned David. But it was as if my brain was in ice, sluggish and unresponsive. We walked over to the office and entered. I didn't even have time to talk. David looked up, saw the man, and went a sickly pale. Rule number nine, Sean? Yes. Leave us, please. Wait for me outside. I obeyed. Nothing could have made me remain in that room. Absolutely nothing. I exited into the lobby and waited.

Time went by. I could hear the murmur of conversation from inside the office. Occasionally David's voice would rise in volume and I swear that at one point I heard him weeping. It was half an hour until David opened the door and walked out. He was even paler than before, like all the blood had left his body. His hands shook very slightly, but I noticed in the second before he closed the door. I could see the room behind him. It was empty. The man had gone. David, I asked cautiously, not knowing what to say. Is... is everything... what happened? David fixed his eyes on me. They were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Go home, Sean. Rest. Sleep. Prepare. Why prepare? For what? We're going to break rules 10 and 11 tomorrow.

Walking to work yesterday was the hardest thing I've ever done. Anticipation and fear mixed within me in equal measure. David's recommendation to rest and sleep had proven to be impossible to obey and I had spent the whole night dreading what would come in the morning. When I came to work I found the cinema empty. A sign at the entrance announced: Closed temporarily due to equipment malfunction. David was already there. He sat in his unlit office staring at the wall in silence. I walked in and stood at the door. I didn't have the courage to interrupt his thought. Eventually he looked up. Sean, he said, his voice hollow. I'm sorry. My mind was somewhere else. He got up and walked over to me. You said we were going to break rules today, I said. Yes. Rules 10 and 11.

Rule number 10: If you find a book bound in black leather on the premises, do not open it. Rule number 10, the black book, as we like to call it. You'd see it at pretty much every shift and overcoming the need to open it was one of the first things you learned to do on the job. No one knew what was inside its yellowed ancient pages. It moved and shifted mysteriously. You'd see it in the corner of the garbage room, propped up invitingly in the corner. You'd walk over to a room or to the office only to see it first on the ground in the lobby and then in the office itself, lying on David's table as if it had always been there. We'd never seen even David open it, it seemed. I was going to see that now. It took us an unusually long time to find the book, searching first the office and the lobby in the rooms. We then returned in defeat, only to find it sitting on one of David's filing cabinets. He snorted derisively and went to pick it up. Its ancient looking pages, yellowed by time, crackled as he opened it cautiously. From where I was standing I couldn't see the words within and moved to look at them over his shoulder. David slammed the covers closed. Not yet, Sean. Soon.

My temper flared. David, I don't know anything about what's going on. I don't know what we're here to do today or why we're breaking two of our rules. I don't expect you to tell me everything, but you've got to give me something. My anger receded as quickly as it had risen. I realized this was, despite everything, my employer. David smiled wryly. There was a second silence. You're right, Sean. You deserve to know something. I'm sorry. After 15 years in this job you begin to get used to not telling anyone more than they need to know. 13 years ago I made a mistake, Sean. Room 3 tricked me by using my affection for someone close to me. I opened the room and almost brought disaster on us all. It's ironic. Only the sacrifice of the person I thought I was saving helped delay disaster. Delay, yes, Sean. We borrowed time. Yesterday that time ran out. Unless we act, room 3 won't need anyone to open it anymore. It will escape by itself and I can't allow that. In the book, what is it? I guess you could call it a manual of sorts. The rules of the cinema are all in there. He looked down at the pages again. I could tell his impromptu informational talk was over. I could be happy for even the little I had gotten.

David turned some pages, scanning their contents before pointing at a piece of the page and smiling to himself. Sean, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room for a while. Just for a while. This shouldn't take long. I hesitated but obeyed. Standing in front of the room, I could see David's shadow on the drawn blinds of his office window as he moved around. Suddenly another shadow sprang up from behind him. It walked around until they stood face to face. Another joined it, and then another. Muted voices reached me. David sounded resolute and determined. The answering voices, many talking over each other at one time, were sharp but barely heard whispers, like the drawing of a knife across skin. The shadows gathered around David. He stood unmoving, his hands falling to his sides. The shadows left. They slid, merging with David's, and disappeared.

Not waiting for a command, I ran into the office. I crashed through the door. David stood at his table, leaning on it tiredly and gasping for air. But he was unharmed. What the hell just happened? I asked. What the hell were those things? David chuckled to himself. I guess you could call them messengers or task masters. Could you please not talk in riddles for once, David, I said, exasperated that even now I was being kept on a need-to-know basis. I called out to something that shouldn't be called, Sean. But this is a trying day and desperate times call for desperate measures. Let's go. It should be arriving soon enough and I'd hate to keep it waiting. He walked past me, still carrying the black book. After a second I followed in mute frustration.

Opening the door to the office, I saw what he had been talking about. Rule number 11: The lady in black. If a woman in a black dress offers you a drink, do not accept. A woman stood before us. She was tall, taller than either of us. Her pale face contrasted with her deep dark hair. She wore a flowing midnight black dress. In her hands was a carved wooden goblet. I had encountered the lady in black before. She, or it, walked around the cinema often, stopping ushers every now and then to offer them a drink from her goblet. The liquid within was translucent and looked for all purposes like clear water. Somehow I always doubted it was anything that harmless. Thankfully she never forces a drink on us, making her one of the least dangerous things you could encounter here. When you refused she would nod silently, understandingly, and move on. Now she was here. Will you accept my chalice? she said, almost whispering. Her voice was faint and unfathomably sad.

I made to refuse. It was almost muscle memory at this point, honed by dozens of encounters with her. But my word stuck in my throat when I realized she wasn't looking at me. She was talking to David. He was quiet for a second. I will, he answered finally. David, what are you— I began in confusion and panic. He cut me off. This has to be done, Sean. There's no other way we can stop what's coming. He turned back to the lady in black. It has been so long. She smiled faintly and passed him the cup. Drink. David took the chalice. He hesitated for a moment, wavering. His face hardened suddenly. He drank the cup quickly. Then he gasped, stumbled, and dropped it to the ground with a thud. He leaned on me heavily and I almost fell over under his sudden weight. His face was a sickly pale. He coughed and specks of red fell to the floor. You have paid the price, the lady whispered. I have, David replied, shaking with more bloody coughs. Now for your side of the bargain. Indeed. What is it you seek? She smiled sadly. I seek... I seek a way to halt room 3 from breaking free. David was choosing his words carefully. He only had one shot at this, I realized. The lady frowned. You will not like the answer, child, she whispered. Are you sure this is what you wish to know? I am sure, damn you, David whispered through clenched teeth. A thin red trail ran down the corner of his mouth. Tell me. The lady leaned forward to his ear. She whispered to him words I hope I never have to hear. Then she straightened her back again. The bargain is complete. Farewell, David. She turned and walked away from us as if nothing had happened. She rounded a corner. Somehow I knew she wouldn't be there if I looked.

David turned to me. Blood was now dripping from the corner of his eyes too. The black book fell from his fingers. David, what did you do? What's happening? I stammered. What did she tell you? I had to lean forward to hear his reply, his voice weakening with every word. Go. Go to the projection booth, Sean. Turn on all the projectors. Do it now. Quick. The command in his tone was absolute. I ran for the projection booth. I swiftly flipped every switch, moving from projector to projector. The whir of machinery filled the air. Empty though it was, there was now a show in every room of the cinema. I realized what David was doing too late. I realized. I sprinted back for the lobby, taking the stairs from the booth three at a time. I had to be in time. I had to.

He wasn't in the front of the office anymore. The black book lay open from when it had fallen to the ground, the only indicator he had ever even stood there. I ran over to it and looked around the lobby. Of course. David stood before room three. His hand was on the handle. He looked back at me, blood in his eyes. David, don't, I screamed. 13 years, Sean. Used them well, he called out to me. He smiled. Then he opened the door. The darkness on the other side was absolute, all light stopping the second it hit the door frame. David didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and closed the door behind him. I stood frozen. He was gone.

There was a rumble and the earth shook. The door to room 3 rattled in its frame as whatever was inside strained at the walls, eager to escape. But it struggled in vain. Whatever David had done, whatever his sacrifice had achieved, it had robbed room three, bound it again, bought more time. The rumbling subsided. The door stopped shaking. There was silence. A rustle of pages below drew my gaze. I looked down at the book at my feet. It was open on the last page. There was only one sentence on it, written in black ink. Rule number 12: There must always be a manager.