You tell the receptionist that an emergency has come up, promising to return soon and leaving without further explanation. You plan to drive immediately to 1275 Main St.

.Alright, you say to yourself, I've had just about enough of this farce. Whoever these jokesters are, they obviously don't realise that this isn't funny. After making up a quick excuse, you dart out of the office and head for your car, the address firmly fixed in your mind. Someone was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

The drive was shorter than you expected it to be, a mere five or six minutes tops. 1275 Main was a rather nondescript place of reddish brown bricks and peeling paint. It almost looked abandoned and you might have turned around right then and there if the sound of voices hadn't convinced you that the place was, in fact, in use. Stepping up to the door, you noticed how ornate the knocker was; made of what looked to be heavy bronze it didn't fit with the look of the place at all. "What kind of a place doesn't have a doorbell, anyway?" you mutter, trying to peer in through the dirty window to your right.

A part of you felt extremely foolish as you lifted your hand to the knocker and thumped it against the door a few times. The sound of voices ceased but the door didn't open and you frowned, wondering what to do now.

The End

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