... although, it is, of course, rather tempting to jump in at the middle and leave the beginning to fend for itself. However, that would be unfair to the ending, because an end aught to end something properly begun. So, a beginning it is.
It was a Thursday, and as everyone knows, nothing strange or exciting ever happens on a Thursday. At least, that's what Brandon thought when he woke up that morning and ate his customary Froot Loops and read the sports section of the newspaper. He stopped thinking about in when he reached his well-paid, regular-hours, dead-end job. Brandon was a smart guy. He knew he was smart. He'd been brilliant in school and college. But once he got into the calm, comfortable pace of his average life, he hade stopped putting his mind to work.
And he was right about Thursdays, or at least mostly right. Nothing unusual happened at work. Or on the way home from work. Or while he was microwaving dinner and watching television. Not when he brushed his teeth or put on his jammies, or turned off the lights, (making sure to plug in his night-light first). Nothing unusual happened until he had slipped beneath his cool sheets and closed his eyes.
Thursday was over. But Thursday night had barely begun. And, although Brandon didn't know it--anything can happen on a Thursday night.
He didn’t notice anything unusual at first. Except that it was darker than normal. Hadn’t he plugged his nightlight in? He sat up to see. No, it was not glowing from its outlet by the door. Sighing, he pushed the sheets aside and stood up. The floor was carpeted!
No, he thought, it must just be a sweater or something on the floor. He walked toward the place his nightlight aught to be, expecting at any moment to stumble over his pile of clothes. But he didn’t. And there was still sweater/carpet under his feet.
I must be dreaming. If I go back and lay down, I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. With that thought in mind, he turned around, walked back through the darkness to his bed, slid once more beneath the covers and closed his eyes.
He laid there for what seemed like a long time, his eyes tightly shut and his mind willing itself to sleep. But it was too dark and he was not tiered enough. He opened his eyes again. He knew that he aught to see at least a little light through a crack in the door, or coming through his curtains. But there was nothing.
Without even giving himself any warning, he panicked and sprung from the bed, dashing towards where the door should be, but wasn’t. He felt frantically along the wall till he felt it give way and a door swung open before him.
“Help!” he shouted as he stumbled through the doorway into a dimly lit, empty hallway. Yes, 'help' is a pathetically normal thing to shout when you are frightened, but in many ways, Brandon is pathetically normal.
The hallway was not his hallway.
“Does the good master need assistance?” asked the friendly voice of an old man who now appeared, coming down the hallway toward Brandon, a smile on his face and a huge dog by his side.