Shadows in the Hartwell Building
I thought it would be a simple errand. Just grab the folder Daniel had left on the counter at home and drop it off at his office. I had done this countless times, weaving Ethan into his car seat, glancing back at him with a smile as he pressed his small hands against the glass window, eagerly watching the city go by. It was routine. Ordinary. Safe.
Except, that day, ordinary was gone.
The building greeted me with a silence that didn’t feel right. Dusty windows reflected the fading afternoon light, and the corporate logo that should have been emblazoned above the entrance was gone. A chain crossed the front doors, and cones blocked a corner of the parking lot. Even the street smelled off—like metal and neglect. I parked anyway. Perhaps renovations. Perhaps a floor move.
“Can I help you?”
The voice startled me. A security guard emerged from a small booth, tall, wiry, his eyes squinting like he had seen too much.
“Yes,” I said, forcing calm. “I’m looking for Hartwell Solutions. My husband works here.”
He shook his head slowly. “Ma’am… that company went bankrupt three years ago. This building’s been abandoned since the shutdown. Only occasional inspections happen.”
I laughed nervously, brushing imaginary dust off my jacket. “Three years? No, that’s impossible. My husband was here this morning. In a meeting. I saw him leave.”
The guard’s frown deepened. “I’m just telling you what I know.”
My phone trembled in my hand as I called Daniel. “Where are you?” I forced my voice to stay steady.
“In the office. In a meeting. Can’t talk now,” he replied, calm, precise. Too calm.
I looked around frantically. Then Ethan tugged at my sleeve. “Mom… that’s Dad’s car.”
I froze. Black SUV, headlights off, parked neatly in the ramp that led underground. Daniel’s car. It shouldn’t have been here.
I swallowed. Logic screamed at me to leave. But something else—fear, stubbornness, hope—drove me toward the stairs. Each step echoed off the concrete walls like a warning. My heart pounded in my chest as I followed the ramp down into darkness.
The air smelled of mildew and oil. My hand gripped Ethan’s tightly, and I realized how small and fragile he looked in the dim light. I should have turned back, I knew that. But a strange force pulled me forward.
Halfway down, the fluorescent lights flickered. A low scraping sound echoed from the shadows. My stomach twisted. Something was moving. Something alive. Something waiting.
I called Daniel again. Straight to voicemail. I tried texting. No reply.
Then I noticed it: the folder I had brought. I opened it reflexively and froze. Inside, among the papers, was a photograph I had never seen before. Daniel was in it—but not as I knew him. His eyes were vacant, almost hollow, standing in front of the very building that was supposed to be abandoned. Behind him, the shadows were not shadows—they had shapes. Faces, perhaps. Or silhouettes that moved.
Ethan whimpered. I looked down. The flashlight from his toy illuminated the ramp. Something shifted in the darkness, low and deliberate, moving toward us. My blood ran cold.
I bolted. Instinct took over. I grabbed Ethan and ran, the concrete walls echoing our frantic steps. Around a corner, I stumbled upon a door I had never seen in all my years visiting Daniel’s office. It was heavy, metal, sealed with a lock. But as I approached, it clicked open.
Inside, the air was warm, almost normal. A stark contrast to the damp underground ramp. And there, sitting behind a desk that looked brand new, was Daniel. His expression was calm, serene even, like nothing was wrong.
“Daniel!” I gasped. “What’s going on? This building—”
He raised a hand. “Shh… you’re not supposed to see this. Not yet.”
“What do you mean? Why is the building abandoned? Why… your car—”
He sighed. “I didn’t leave you any clues, I know. But you’re too late to pretend this is normal anymore. I’ve been… working on something. Something they can’t know about.”
I frowned. “Working? On what? Daniel, people think this company is gone. The building—”
His eyes softened. “It’s not really gone. Not completely. They only think so. Hartwell Solutions… it was never a normal company. I’ve been part of a project that… alters perception. Reality, even. People think the building is abandoned because it’s meant to appear abandoned. But inside… inside it’s very real.”
My head spun. “What do you mean, alters perception?”
Before he could answer, a sharp metallic clang echoed through the room. The lights flickered. Shadows elongated unnaturally across the walls. I turned—and froze. Behind Daniel’s desk, shapes moved. Not human. At least, not entirely. Limbs stretched in impossible angles, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
Daniel’s calm expression didn’t waver. “They’ve found us.”
I stumbled back. “Who? What?”
“They,” he said simply. “The ones who don’t want anyone seeing what’s beyond the ordinary. They’re… persistent.”
Suddenly, the shadows surged forward. Daniel grabbed Ethan and me, dragging us through a hidden door at the back of the office. We ran down endless corridors, rooms filled with technology I couldn’t comprehend. Screens showed moments from our lives, our fears, decisions we’d made. A map of the world, overlaid with points of light I didn’t understand.
“Where are we going?” I yelled, panic rising.
“To safety,” Daniel replied. But his tone was tight. Determined, yet scared.
We reached a final door, a small hatch leading to a staircase that spiraled upwards. As we climbed, the shadows began to follow, but slowed as if something beyond the ceiling blocked them. Finally, we emerged into daylight—not the city, not the street—but a place that seemed like a cross between a park and a laboratory. Reality bent subtly here; the colors were off, the sounds slightly distorted, yet it was safe.
Daniel knelt, brushing Ethan’s hair from his forehead. “I can explain everything. But not yet. They’re still out there.”
I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the truth of the day weighed heavily. Daniel wasn’t the man I thought I knew. Our lives, our reality, the building—even my errand to drop off a folder—had been a prelude to something far bigger.
And then, from the edge of the park-lab hybrid, I saw it: the SUV we thought was parked in the abandoned ramp… moving on its own. Doors opening, shadows spilling out, figures stepping forward. They were coming.
Ethan clutched my hand. “Mom… they’re here.”
I swallowed hard. And I realized that the world I had trusted, the ordinary life I had known, was gone forever.
And somewhere deep inside, I knew the real story—the one that could explain everything—was only just beginning.
Sarah clutched Ethan’s hand, her mind racing. The SUV was moving on its own, shadows spilling out like liquid darkness, stretching toward them across the warped park-lab hybrid. Daniel’s calm façade had cracked for the first time; his jaw was tight, his eyes scanning every corner as if the world itself was watching.
“They can’t enter here… fully,” he said, “but they can observe. And they can manipulate what you see.”
“What do you mean? Manipulate?” Sarah demanded, her voice trembling.
Daniel’s hand hovered over a console with glowing panels. He tapped a few keys, and holographic screens floated in midair. Maps, charts, and unfamiliar symbols blinked at her. Then, one screen froze, showing her living room… her apartment, just hours ago. A shadow stood near her front door.
“They’ve been watching us for months,” Daniel explained. “Hartwell Solutions wasn’t just a company. It was a front. The project… we call it Perceptive. It can alter reality—or at least what you perceive as reality. Most people never know. Those who find out… rarely escape unscathed.”
Ethan tugged at her sleeve. “Mom… what about the car?”
Sarah turned. The SUV was no longer parked in the ramp. It hovered now, hovering a few inches above the ground, wheels spinning, as though gravity had forgotten it existed. From the driver’s seat, a shadow shifted. And then… a familiar voice whispered from the dark:
“Sarah…”
She froze. The voice was Daniel’s—but it wasn’t him.
Daniel grabbed her shoulder. “It’s a projection. They can mimic voices. They can bend perception to trap you. You must trust your instincts, not your eyes.”
Sarah’s instincts screamed at her. Everything in this place—the colors, the air, the light—it was wrong. Yet the path ahead seemed tangible, the only route to safety. She moved forward, Ethan at her side, heart hammering.
Suddenly, the floor trembled. The walls rippled like liquid mercury. Sarah caught glimpses of herself in mirrors lining the corridors—but each reflection moved independently, smirking, mocking her, hinting at secrets she didn’t know. One reflection whispered a chilling truth: Daniel isn’t your husband anymore. He never was.
“What… what are you saying?” she stammered.
Daniel’s eyes darted to the reflections. “It’s true… I was part of this project long before I met you. The man you love… may not exist outside of Perceptive. The memories you have—our life together—some are real, some… constructs.”
Sarah stumbled backward. Ethan clung to her leg. “No… that’s impossible.”
The lights flickered violently, and when they returned, Daniel was gone. The corridors had shifted. What had been a straight hallway now twisted impossibly, staircases leading to nowhere. Ethan whimpered. “Mom… I’m scared.”
A shadow separated from the walls again, taller this time. And the voice returned—Daniel’s voice—but distorted, echoing:
“You can leave… if you want to, but he cannot. Choose wisely.”
Sarah realized the horrifying choice. Somewhere in this labyrinth of perception, Daniel—or the being she thought was Daniel—was trapped. If she tried to escape with Ethan, she might never see him again. If she stayed, she risked being consumed by the project, her mind altered forever.
Panic surged, but Sarah forced herself to think. She noticed subtle inconsistencies: the shadows had weight, the reflections flickered differently than reality, and one console on the far wall blinked like a heartbeat. It was a control panel.
“This could be it,” she whispered to herself. “This is how I fix it.”
Ethan tugged her sleeve. “Mom… hurry.”
As she approached, the shadows lunged. The corridor distorted. Reality twisted like taffy, and for a moment, Sarah felt herself splitting into two, her mind torn between what she saw and what she knew. She slammed her hand onto the console. A wave of light erupted, and the world snapped violently.
When her vision cleared, she was standing in a room she recognized: her living room. Ethan was beside her. Everything seemed normal—except the silence. Too perfect, too quiet.
Then she saw it: a folder on the couch, marked in Daniel’s handwriting. She opened it. Inside were photos—hers, Daniel’s, Ethan’s… all from this week. And at the very bottom, a note:
“Perception is never reality. Trust what you fight for, not what you see.”
Her heart raced. A shadow moved in the corner of the room. She spun, ready to fight, but the figure froze. Familiar face. Daniel. Or what she thought was him. He smiled faintly, a flicker of hope in his eyes, and whispered:
“Sarah… now, you understand. But this… is only the beginning.”
