Chapter One – The Favor
707 Words
Ethan’s apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
He sat at the small kitchen table, staring at the bills stacked like little towers of judgment. The single lamp above flickered, casting long shadows across the peeling walls. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Just a few more days before payday—but a few more days wasn’t enough. Not for rent, not for groceries, not for his sister’s school fees.
His phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it. A message from his coworker, Lyle:
"Can you cover my shift tonight? I’ve got family stuff. Please."
Ethan’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. One night. Just one. He could manage. One extra shift would cover at least some of the bills. And besides… he wasn’t exactly busy tonight anyway.
"Sure. I’ll take it," he typed.
He stood up, stretching muscles stiff from a long day. Outside, the city hummed softly. Streetlights painted the roads orange and gold. People walked in pairs, laughing, unaware of the quiet desperation tucked away in apartments like his.
He grabbed a small backpack and slipped in a water bottle, a half-eaten granola bar, and a notebook he sometimes wrote in to pass the night hours. Routine was comforting. Survival, after all, was about preparation.
By the time he reached the building, night had settled over the industrial complex. The streets were empty, the occasional car passing like a fleeting thought. The facility was a warehouse-turned-storage space: rows of stacked shelves, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and the faint mechanical hum of the refrigeration units.
He swiped his keycard and entered. A guard gave him a tired nod without speaking, and he returned it. No one lingered in the night. It was just him, the machines, and the cold corridors.
“Cold room check,” said Lyle’s supervisor without looking up from a clipboard. “Just make sure the spill is cleaned. Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”
Ethan nodded. Routine. Easy. Done it before.
He walked toward the end of the corridor. The cold room door loomed ahead, steel and unremarkable, yet humming with icy menace. He paused for a moment, glancing at the keypad and the small glass panel in the door. Something about it always gave him an uneasy feeling, but he shrugged it off.
Inside the cold room, the smell hit him first—a sharp, sterile chill mixed with plastic and frozen food. He set his bag down and pulled on a pair of gloves, rubbing his hands together to warm them. A small box had tipped over, melting ice onto the floor. He grabbed a mop and began to clean, careful not to slip.
The hum of the refrigeration units was steady, almost comforting at first. But as he worked, the air felt heavier, the cold seeping through every layer of clothing. His breath came out in clouds.
He finished mopping and stepped back. Ready to leave.
The door didn’t budge.
He pulled again. Nothing.
“Hey!” he called, louder. “Hello?”
Still nothing.
He pounded on the metal. Knocks echoed off the walls. No response. His heart began to beat faster.
He checked his pockets. No phone. No keys. Only the notebook and a pen. The hum of the machinery filled the space around him. The outside world continued without notice, unaware that he was here, alone.
He pressed his palm to the door. Cold. Hard. Unmoving.
Ethan’s breath came faster now. He backed up, surveying the room again. Every shelf, every frozen pallet looked the same. Empty. Inanimate. But something had shifted in his chest. Not just the cold. A creeping realization that tonight, nothing outside could reach him unless he made it happen.
He took a deep breath. Survival was simple, he told himself. Stay calm. Think. Don’t panic.
But deep down, a small voice whispered:
What if no one comes?
The lights flickered. One of the cooling units groaned. And somewhere in the far corner, a shadow moved—or maybe it was just his imagination.
Ethan pressed himself against the wall, drawing his knees up to conserve warmth. The cold was patient. Indifferent. And as the door stayed firmly shut, he realized for the first time just how alone he truly was.
- Writer
