Jordane blew on her hot coffee, her mind elsewhere. In front of her, the computer screen had already switched to sleep mode, granting her a brief respite from the dizzying job search. The first thing she had done upon returning home, after of course indulging in a long, very long hot bath, was to draft her resignation letter from Tales of the Crypt: she had tossed her article draft into the trash bin, and this time inspiration had come swiftly for her farewell letter. Indeed, she hadn't needed long to decide she wanted to mourn her terrible experience in Duli, which included turning the page on several aspects of her life that had become, in the blink of an eye - the duration of an evening -, trivial.
No more playing the competitive game to secure a few miserable pages in a magazine, no more thriving in an environment that didn't suit her just to prove she could handle any kind of pressure. No more investigating mysterious and nonsensical stories - though, in her quest for monsters, she had indeed found some...
However, as thrilling as this wind of change and opportunities was, she had to admit she felt mostly terrified: she would have to question herself, adapt to the unknown, and, worst of all, prepare for possible failures.
She heard a knock at her apartment door: probably the delivery person bringing their enormous sushi platter. He was early, and she imagined the chef furiously slicing fish, thinking he was serving four people. She turned to look at Raphaël, who pretended not to hear. He lay on the couch, working on his laptop resting on his stomach, typing slowly. If one thing hadn't changed, it was that he was still by her side, and if the nightmare they had each endured taught her anything, it was to appreciate her luck and feel grateful.
She tore the page from her notebook, which bore only a small list of crossed-out publishing houses and magazines, rolled it into a ball, and threw it across the room towards her friend. It arched beautifully over the glass coffee table and crashed onto the laptop's keyboard before falling to the floor.
“You just deleted the entire payroll database of the multinational I'm auditing,” he said nonchalantly.
“You told me if I called, you'd get up to fetch them!” she laughed.
“Come on, Jordane,” he replied, “you can't make guests do the work, can you?”
She rolled her eyes and volunteered to open the door. She crossed her living room, always impeccably tidy and carefully arranged, to reach the entrance hall. Her stomach growled as she touched the door handle, which she opened without further ado.
No one.
She peeked her head into the building's corridor and looked both ways: the building was empty and silent. Had he already left? No, he hadn't had time to reach the distant stairs, even if running. Was it a prank?
She looked down at her feet and saw a small object on her doormat. A glass bottle with a rolled-up parchment inside. She picked it up, opened the cork, and pulled out the paper. Unfolding it, she read the note in silence:
YOU HAVE RUINED OUR MEAL
AND WE ARE VERY ANGRY
WE WILL GIVE YOU ONE LAST
CHANCE TO SURVIVE
TONIGHT WHEN THE MOON IS AT ITS HIGHEST
YOU WILL BE IN DULI
WAITING FOR INSTRUCTIONS
IF YOU REFUSE
YOU WON'T SPEND A NIGHT
WITHOUT SEEING US IN YOUR DREAMS
YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO BLINK
WITHOUT CATCHING A GLIMPSE OF US
OUT OF THE CORNER OF YOUR EYE
THEN OUR PATIENCE EXHAUSTED
WE WILL EAT YOU
THE END
