Clinical

Short Story Based on a Nightmare — Literal and Otherwise

She followed the sound of elevator bells pinging and was surprised to find no one there waiting. Just a few people walking away muttering to themselves.

Seemed strange, but she was relieved not to have to share a car with a bunch of sick people.

A ping sounded and a light came on above one of the sets of stainless-steel doors. She positioned herself in front of them slightly off to the side to allow passengers — if there were any — to disembark.

The doors slid open, revealing not an open elevator but a mini fridge mounted on a wall. Inside it were plastic bottles of Coke.

She set out in search of a stairwell, thinking there must be one nearby. There usually was.

Around the corner, she spotted a glowing red exit sign above a door. Resigned to descending seven flights of stairs, she pulled open a white steel door — to see a man and small boy, about five, standing there. The kid cried uncontrollably.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” the man said apologetically. “This isn’t like him.”

Suddenly, the boy doubled over and heaved a wave of putty-colored vomit onto her shoes and the rubberized floor.

“Guess I’ll have to take the fucking window,” she said, kicking the puke off her shoe.