Five Nights at Furries, Night 4

THURSDAY, 5:43 ᴘᴍ

Local Furry Convention threatened with “Toxic smell” - Attacker Not Found

In December of 2014, at the Hyatt Regency Hotel, the occupants of Room 963 complained of sickness and nausea after reporting a foul odor coming from the hotel, which was hosting the Midwest Furfest, a convention where attenders dress as anthropomorphic animal mascots.

Initially, five people were transported to Lutheran General Hospital due to breathing the toxic smell. Police and paramadics responded by 12:47 am, and by 1:00 am, firefighters discovered a broken glass bottle containing an unknown, white powder, inside the ninth floor stairwell - which was believed to be chlorine powder.

Symptoms of chlorine exposure includes burning of the eyes and mouth, choking, coughing, chest pain, headache, nausea, vomiting & trouble breathing.

Whilst officers investigated several suspects, the attacker was never found.

  “That’s just crazy . . .” I mutter to myself, scrolling through the phone as I read through the articles. “Why would anyone do that?”
I flick through three more similar articles as I walk from my car to the Doomben Convention Centre. I was trying to figure out more about that green cat fursuit and why it smelled so bad, so I looked up ‘furry convention’ and ‘smell’ online, but then found a lot of articles about a chemical attack. After a few minutes of reading, I realize that I’ve been standing at the pedestrian crossing for a full traffic light cycle, so I force myself to close the browser on my phone and put it back in my pocket.
I jog towards the convention centre, and can’t help but glance at the terrace as I approach, to make sure there’s nothing standing in that blind spot. When I head up the steps, I’m both glad and anxious to see that the furries are back tonight, so I can finally ask them what I couldn’t last night. Random internet searches have let me down, and kind of disturbed me, but I’m still nervous about approaching people to ask personal questions about their hobbies and smells . . . it seems rude, and it kind of is, but I can’t help but feel like it’s more rude to just assume they’re all weird for weirdness’ sake.
I head towards a group standing outside the centre, on the steps. There were six people, three girls in colourful shirts, one short girl with a tail around her waist and a hairband with ears, a young man in a leather jacket and two people in fursuits, a yellow mouse and a blue and red fox with rabbit ears.
One of the girls, with glasses, was telling an anecdote about a local burger place. I stand back for a moment to let her finish before intruding.
  “So, I just said ‘sure, just give me a vegan burger with cheese’,” she said, as some of the friends laughed. “I didn’t want halal, but my fursona eats cheese! What else could I say?!”
  “You could have just eaten vegan,” said her friend with the tail.
  “But I hadn’t eaten all day! I needed protein!”
  “Excuse me?” I say, stepping forward, having the group turn to look at me. “You guys are all attending the convention?”
  “Yeah,” says the girl with the glasses, “Are you lost?”
  “You can get a lanyard at the front desk,” interjects the guy.
  “No, I work here,” I say. “I’m just curious, y’know. I don’t really get . . . why you dress up as animals. I mean, I don’t want to be rude or anything, I just don’t really get it. I was wondering if you . . .”
  “It’s just for fun,” says the glasses girl, with a shrug.
  “Yeah, some people like Star Trek or comic books or Harry Potter,” says the girl with the tail, and she swings her hips to make her tail swish, “but, we like fluffy animals, because they’re cute!”
  “And for the cool books and art and other stuff, y’know . . .” says the glasses girl.
  “Yeah, but, the suits . . .” I stumble over the words.
  “Look, not all of us do the sex thing,” says the guy, sounding annoyed.
  “Hey, some people do it, that’s their thing, y’know, there’s no need to judge people for liking that. Love is love, after all, that’s not just a gay marriage thing,” says the other girl, wearing a bright shirt with Disney characters on it.
  “Yeah, but nobody here does it,” says the guy.
  “Some of them might,” argues the girl. “Just because they also like the family-friendly cons doesn’t mean they’re not into it. You don’t know.”
  “I know for a fact they wouldn’t,” says the guy. I can see I’ve resurrected an old argument, so I interrupt him before he continues..
  “No no no,I wasn’t asking about that. I mean, the smell. The other day there was a head, part of a fursuit, in Lost Property, and it smelled rancid. I mean . . .” I gesture towards the mouse. “Doesn’t it smell in there?”
  “No, not at all!” says the mouse, in a voice that is appropriately high-pitched and squeaky, and barely even sounds muffled by the headpiece. She even gestures animatedly as she speaks. “You have to wash, silly . . . but there’s also a really cool - Cass, can you hand me my bag?”
The girl with the tail bends down and picks up a large gym bag and hands it to the mouse. Cass kindly opens the bag, and the mouse rummages around before finding a small spray bottle. It looks like bug spray, but with a colourful label.
  “Here, look!” says the mouse, carefully stepping towards me down the steps. She holds up the bottle, and I see that it says “Citrusss - orange + lemon scented spray”, and it has a picture of a yellow and orange snake on the bottle, with ingredients below, mostly alcohol and some fragrance oils.
  “What is that?” I ask.
  “Suit cleaner!” says the mouse. “You spray it on your suit to stop it from smelling. I usually just use rubbing alcohol and water, that kills any germs, but I bought this today so I can smell lemony fresh as well, see?”
Sure enough, I can faintly smell oranges around the mouse fursuit.
  “Fursuiting is no different than cosplay, dressing like Batman or Master Chief” says the girl with the tail. “I only do ears and tail, but I love anyone that puts in the effort!”
She grabs the red and green cat-rabbit fursuit in a hug.
  “So, suits don’t usually smell?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
  “No, duhh . . .” says the mouse, shaking her head, exaggeratedly. “We’re not crazy, nobody likes to be smelly, right? People in the community share stuff about keeping suits clean and healthy. There was a talk just on Tuesday all about fursuiting.”
  “Then, what would make a suit smell rotten?” I ask.
  “Well, if someone isn’t part of the community, they might not know yet,”  offers glasses girl, “like, maybe they’re new or something?”
  “Or fake,” says the guy, “and they use their suit for something other than cons.”
  “Ugh, you’re gross,” says the girl with the tail, giving the guy a playful shove.
  “Okay, thanks,” I say. “Uhh, keep on . . . trucking.”
I wave awkwardly, and peel away from the group, then head inside the front door. I feel a bit anxious, since I’m still not totally comfortable around the costumes - they’re cute and fluffy, but the eyes still creep me out. But, I feel better now than the other night, at least it all kind of makes sense to me. Well, everything except what was inside that black and green cat fursuit the other night . . . and where it got to.
As I head up the escalator, I see that there are a lot of people, more than usual hanging around the reception area and chatting. I head around through the room full of chairs and knock on the security door. I wait for a few seconds, but the door doesn’t open. I knock four more times, a bit more slowly. Is anyone inside? I think to call out, but Phone Guy is usually inside, and I don’t really know what his name is. And I’m not going to call out “phone guy”, so I just knock again four times.
  “Come on . . .” I say. I bang on the door with my fist. There’s still no response, and I groan, loudly “How am I supposed to get-”
Suddenly, there’s a click and the door opens. Phone guy is standing there.
  “Hey, wow, Jerry? I didn’t expect you to be here so early,” he says.
  “Okay . . .” I say.
  “No, it’s all good. I’m kinda glad you came when you did. Come in, come in,” he says, waving me in. He steps aside and I head into the little office. As I do, I can faintly hear a soft, scratchy sound like a distant radio.
  “Did you not hear me knocking?” I ask.
  “No, sorry, it’s uh . . . it’s been a long night here for me,” he says, and he picks up a phone from the desk, attached to a set of hearphones. I realize the tinny, screeching sound is rap music, playing loudly through the little speakers. “After a week of staring at these monitors, it drives me crazy, so I listen to music.”
He switches the sound off and puts the phone in his pocket, then sits down in the study chair.
  “Hey, do me a favour. Could you check inside those crates in the back room?”
  “What’s the back room?”
  “Oh, just storage. We have extra chairs, tables, urns and stuff. It’s at the end of the hall, just outside,” says Phone guy. He hands me the set of keys and turns back towards the monitors again.
  “Okay . . . why do you want me to check inside the crates?”
  “Someone in administration was wondering what was inside the empty boxes back there,” he says, waving a hand to gesture vaguely behind himself. “I’d check myself, but we have a full house tonight. I can’t leave here.”
  “No, I mean, why do you want me to check the crates? What am I looking for?”
  “I think they’re looking for paper. Just tell me what you find, I’ll hold out here until you check.”
I head out of the security office, turn left and head towards the storage room. There's  a window looking upon the street outside, pure black from the tint and night sky.
I unlock the door and step into a somewhat cluttered storage room, switching on the light by the door. There are shelves to the left side, all along the wall and lined up in heavily-stocked rows; four whiteboards on wheels stored together as though to create a makeshift barricade down the middle, then stacked tables and chairs on the right side.
I see several blue, plastic crates at the bottom of the furthest shelf to the left, so I pull three of them out and open the lid of the first one. It's entirely filled with paper cups. I put the lid back, slide it away and open the next box. Inside, there are several plastic sheets for laminating, as well as a laminator and an extension cord. I put the lid on and open the next box full of teatowels, then I catch the hint of a smell hits me that makes me cough. The sour, musty smell of rotting meat. I stand up and get some fresh air, but the smell lingers in the air. I step back, take a breath, then kneel down again.
  “What is that?” I mutter, turning the box. I reach in and lift up some towels. As I do, I see something dark just under the edge of a towel and flinch, dropping them, thinking it's a cockroach. I peer down the side of the crate, but it doesn't move and there are no thin legs peeking out, so I lift the towels again. I stare into the box as I flip the teatowels over and put them on the ground beside me. In the box, there is a dead, grey mouse. It's shriveled up and its legs and tail seem crooked on its thin, rotten body, but there are still tufted clumps of hair on the thing.
I stand up to get some more fresh air, and I see that the towel sitting on it has a rusty-brown patch where the mouse had been.
Poor little thing must have gotten sealed in and died. I take a breath and kneel down, then carefully pick up the mouse by the tail. It feels dry and thin in my fingers. I place it on one side of the stained towel, then carefully fold it over, to cover it. I stand up and head back to the security office, knocking on the door. Phone guy unlocks it  and as I step inside and lean against the open door, he glances at me from the chair.
  “Any luck?” he says.
  “No. No paper. But, there was a dead mouse in one of the boxes.”
  “What? Did you say ‘dead mouse’?”
  “Yeah, under some teatowels. I should probably wash my hands.”
“Whoa . . .” Phone guy scoots the chair to the far side of the room from me. “you touched it? Definitely, yes, go wash your hands, man.”
  “Well, yeah, I mean, I was going to anyway. But I figured I should let someone know first, so they can handle th-”
  “-Uh uh, now!” he says as he stands up and picks up the phone on the filing cabinet. “I'll deal with that, but you go wash your hands in the bathroom. don't get any mouse guts in here. Go. Now.”
  “Okay,” I say. I turn and head out the open door, towards the elevator, to head down to the toilet.

I wash my hands twice, just to be thorough, then pass a crowd of furries on the first floor to come back up the elevator.
I head into the security office, where Phone guy is, somewhat aptly, on the phone to reception.
  “Yeah, no paper though,” he says. He glances at me and puts a hand over the mouthpiece. “Can you watch the monitors for a bit?”
I nod and he returns to the phone.
I sit and quickly flick through the screens. I see that both of the exhibit halls are packed. There are two presentations on tonight.
  “If it's easier, transfer me to Alex, I can explain it all. Thank you,” says Phone Guy.
I check the ballroom and see that the dealer’s den is packed as well. Mostly regular people, but with dozens and dozens of fursuits peppered through the crowds.
  “Hey, Alex! Not too busy? . . . Okay, my new guy just found a dead mouse in our storage room. I asked Will, and apparently all the cleaners have gone home . . . yes, I laid eyes on it, it was in a box of towels, they'll need cleaning as well . . . In my opinion? We can't wait overnight. That rotten smell could spread through the whole room and- . . . okay, thank you.”
I hear him hang up the phone.
  “Hey, Jerry. Can you hold up here until I get this sorted?” he asks.
  “Uh . . . well, I'm not in uniform, but if that's okay, yeah.”
  “Oh, yeah yeah, sure,” he says,  waving his hand lazily. “You just lock the door and get changed quickly. I've got to deal with this. Who'd have thought a freaking mouse would be such a big deal, right?”
I just shrug and Phone Guy heads out the door. I lock the doors behind him, then look back at the monitors.  Things seem calm. At least, as calm as they can be with a full convention centre. So, I quickly slip into the locker room, throw my shirt off and change into the light-blue short-sleeved shirt. I head out as I do up the buttons to check on the monitors, then run back and slip into my black trousers.
I return to the office, sit in the chair after zipping up my fly and I tie up my shoes as I watch the monitors.
Everything is still calm. The audience in the exhibit hall are getting a bit rowdy and laughing, but I think they're just enthusiastically enjoying the show. I tighten my belt, then sit up in the chair, prepared for a long haul.

The main halls of the exhibition centre start to become less crowded, returning to their usual peppering of attendees. I soon realize that the majority of the crowd is here specifically for the show going on in the conjoined exhibit halls. It surprises me, because rather than a stageshow, music or play like earlier this week, it's just a kind-looking old man wearing overalls telling a story, yet everyone is flocking to it. I thought it was a comedian at first, but some of the signs in the main hall advertise the event as: Furrytales - as told by Old Man Horsecollar
He is very animated when he speaks, but I still don't know why he got the biggest crowd. Maybe it's just a furry thing . . .
The monitor tours through several of the cameras. Camera 09, in the ballroom, where there are still quite a few people shopping in the dealer’s den. Several of the sellers have even hung around, for the huge crowds. Over to Camera 10, and I see the gamers are back in their corner, although there are less of them, and they appear to be playing a card game. The view switches automatically to Camera 11 upstairs, a packed up room for briefings with a whiteboard in the corner.
A dark figure enters the room. The monitor switches over to Camera 12, a nearly identical briefing room.
  “What was that?” I say, and I flip the monitor back to Camera 11. In the middle of the room, staring up at the cameras, is the Catsuit. Those neon green claws, ears, eyes and teeth are unmistakeable. It is looking straight up at the camera, standing perfectly still. Almost like it's staring at me.
I find myself staring right back at it. I wonder what is underneath that fur. I think I let my fear get the better of me the other night, I am not sure what I saw. But, I still can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong under that mask. I find myself taking short, shallow breaths, and I feel frozen. I don’t want to move or look away, in case it would see me flinch.
After what feels like a minute, the Catsuit actually looks away, and walks out of the room. I find myself sighing heavily, my throat dry. I take another quick breath and exhale when my breath gets caught in my throat.
  “Where did it go?”
I swallow to try to get rid of the dryness in my throat and I check through the cameras, frantically stabbing the ‘Next’ key with my finger like some kind of panicked Morse Code. I don’t see the Catsuit on any of the twelve cameras. I look on the left and right monitor and I see the thing on the upstairs camera, standing in front of the elevator. I scold myself for forgetting the upstairs fixed camera and watch as the creature waits there, back to the camera. As I watch the strange  thing on the camera, I remember something Phone Guy told me about the top floor, three nights ago:
“ . . . it should be empty. Of course, if anyone IS up there, radio immediately . . .”
I grab the radio from the desk.
  “Central to Security, we have an intruder upstairs. I repeat, we have an intruder upstairs, on the top floor. Over.”
The elevator opens and the creature steps inside. The doors slide shut.
  “Central, this is Doorman. What’s the situation? Over.” says Kelly over the radio.
  “Doorman, the suit that attacked me yesterday is back! Black cat, green eyes and ears,” I say. I quickly change the central monitor to Camera 02 with my free hand, to show the viwe just outside the Level 2 elevator, and I switch between watching it, and the fixed camera watching the ground elevator on the leftmost monitor. “It’s heading down now, over.”
  “Central, please repeat. I don’t understand what you’re asking. Over.” says Peter in his familiar accent.
  “Suspicious individual, wearing a black cat suit. Green eyes. Over,” says Kelly.
On the left monitor, I see the elevator door open, and the Catsuit walks out. It seems to walk in a slow but steady shuffle, barely lifting its feet.
  “On the first floor,” I say into the radio, “Keep your eyes on it. Over.”
The Catsuit walks off-camera, so I  press ‘Next’ on the controller to flick through the cameras on the centre monitor. 03 and 04 are upstairs, with nothing to see. 05 shows people wandering around the entrance, but I don’t see the black fursuit. 06 is inside the exhibit hall, as is 07.
Camera 08, showing the reception and just in front of the elevators, has several more people wandering around, but, I still can’t see the Catsuit.
  “Where did you go . . .” I mutter to myself. I press ‘Prev’ to flick back through the cameras. On Camera 05, I see it. I get a flash of green eyes just before the cat turns around and the dark figure heads up the escalator.
  “Kel- uh, Doorman!” I say into the radio. “On the escalator, nearest to you, over.”
  “Are you saying the target is still on the elevator? Over” asks Kelly.
  “No, escalator. I repeat es-ca-later. Should be right in front of you. Over.” I say.
  “I can’t see anything. Over.” says Kelly.
  “Can’t . . . see it?” I mutter to myself. I flick back to Camera 02 again, and I watch as the Catsuit heads up the escalator.
I feel a slight tightness in my chest, like a cold, dark hand is taking a firm grasp of my heart, and I can feel its every thump.
  “Hightower? Bouncer?” I say into the radio, “Can someone come here, please? It’s on the second floor now. Over.”
The Cat trudges past the water fountain towards the Hallway.
  “Guys. Now, please?” I say into the radio. I quickly jab the controller to switch to Camera 01, outside the door. I see the Catsuit as it heads down the hall, and I slowly turn to the door as I hear the thump, thump, thump of heavy, padded feet on the carpet outside. The latch is vertical, the door is locked. It can’t get in here. The sound stops. I glance at the monitor. The Catsuit appears to just be standing there.
I look back at the door. Outside, I hear the familiar, ripping sound from yesterday. Then a very soft, metal scratching sound that I don’t recognize at first.
With a clunk, the door latch turns and the door unlocks. My blood turns cold.
The door opens, soundlessly, as the Catsuit pushes open the door, its limbs scratching and ripping as it moves. Those green, neon eyes stare down at me from its height.
I can’t move.
  “ . . . Do you remember . . .” says the Catsuit, in a raspy, slightly muffled voice.
As I stare, I let out a soft, wordless exhale that sounds like a meek groan. My hands feel so empty. I just have the radio in my hand, grasped tightly between my desperately clenched fingers.
The Catsuit leans forward, reaching out its neon-green claws once more.
  “GET AWAY!” I screech. I jump up from the chair and smack it in the side of the face with the radio. It makes a dull thup noise, like punching a pillow.
  “ . . . hey!” says the Catsuit. And suddenly it grabs me by both arms, and stares directly into my eyes, barely inches between our faces. So close that I can smell the familiar, sour rot from before. “Remember, Jerry. Costume is not consent . . .”
  “ . . . What.” I say. I grab the head and tear it from the body of the Catsuit. “Phone Guy?!”
Underneath the mask is Phone guy’s sweaty, bald, black head. He has a cheeky grin on his face.
  “What the- what. What? Whuh-why?”  glance at the head in my hands, then put it on the study chair. Phone guy snorts and starts laughing.
  “Woo! Oh, man . . . the look on your face . . .” he says, then starts cackling some more..
  “What the hell, man!” I say, and I give him a shove. He just shrugs it off and keeps laughing “Wh- . . . what the . . . What the the actual Hell, man! You scared the crap out of me!”
That just makes him laugh harder.
  “Ohh, man . . . oh, despite wearing this thing, it was worth it,” he says, and he grunts as he pulls off the glove. There’s a sharp ripping sound as he does, then he detatches a wire inside and he drops it on the floor. When he does, I see the velcro around the wrist, and a red electrical wire.
  “Why is there wire in the glove?!” I say, a little louder than I meant to.
  “Oh, yeah yeah, it lights up,” says Phone guy. He reaches into the sleeve behind the other glove to press a switch. When he does, the neon-claws glow from little lights inside. “Cool, huh?”
  “Why the Hell are you wearing that? Isn’t that from lost property?” I ask.
  “Oh, no no,” he says. “Here, can you help me out of this thing?”
  “ . . . No,” I say.
  “Whatever,” says Phone guy, and after dropping the other glove, he pulls the collar of the suit forward, and more velcro opens with a ripping sound. He pulls his arms out of the sleeves, leaving the black body hanging in front of himself, and I am forced to step back from the overpowering smell of body odour.
  “Ugh . . . you smell,” I say.
  “Yeah, usually I just go for something less conspicuous,” says Phone Guy. “But I got this from a stall downstairs, so you wouldn’t recognize me.”
  “You bought that thing?” I ask. “But why? Why didn’t you want me to recognize you?”
  “Oh, just a standard test,” says Phone Guy. “You’re new to all this, and we need to test you out on the floor. I wanted to know how you’d act under pressure. I can’t put any of our patrons at risk, so usually, I just wear sunglasses and a hood, try to look like any other patron. Just my luck we hire a new guy when there’s a furry convention on, right? But, hey, you couldn’t tell it was me, could you?”
  “So . . . this was all a test?”
  “Oh, no no . . . “ he says, waving his hand dismissively, “Yesterday I was testing how you’d act on the floor, face-to-face. You were doing okay, then you freaked out and attacked me. I was a bit worried, but I figured it was probably because you were terrified. y’know, because of the whole mascot costume thing. So, rather than let the suit go to waste, I couldn’t resist scaring you.”
  “Couldn’t resist? You’re a jerk. I thought I was going to have a heart attack . . .”
  “Hey, it’s all good . . .” he says. “No disrespect. I’m just playin’.”
  “Whatever,”  I say. “And, you do know that furries clean their suits, right? They have perfumes and stuff.”
  “Huh, right . . .” says Phone guy, slipping off the suit and the paws on his feet. I have to admit, seeing how uncomfortable and hot he was in that suit does make me feel better about him scaring me. “Anyway, got to get back to work. We’ll save more field training for next week, alright?”
  “Okay, then.” I say.
Phone guy collects up the gloves, feet and suit from the ground and heads into the small locker room.
I go to sit down, then jump up immediately when I feel the lump in my chair. I grab the head and smack it onto the short coffee table by the wall, then slump into the chair.
  “Good grief . . .” I mutter.
I settle into my chair once more, take a calming, deep breath, and set the monitor to tour.

†

I jump at the sound of the phone in my pocket. I’d been staring at the screen, yawning, when the sound of Westminster Chimes brought me back to reality. I take the phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen:

12:00 ᴀᴍ -  End of Shift

I close the alarm, rub my eyes and stand up from my chair. Tonight was a long night, and Phone Guy creeping up on me in the suit got me so worked up, it tired me out.

Five Nights at Furries, Night 3

WEDNESDAY, 5:45 ᴘᴍ

I stop and flick up my screen so it’s right in front of my face. It’s not six o’clock yet, I’m making great time. Suddenly the screen goes black, there’s no power left. I drop the screen and look around.
“What? No no no . . .” I try to bring up the screen again, but it’s useless It’s eerily silent this late at night, until I hear a thumping sound in the darkness, of nearby footsteps. I go silent and look out the open door to my left. I can’t see the feet, but suddenly, I see a face. The rest of the body is in darkness, but the eyes and mouth are lit up, and I swear I hear a familiar, childish jingle, it sounds like a music box.
The pedestrian walks past, and I let out a sigh of relief. They didn’t even notice me as they’re busy playing a game on their phone. I think that’s the Candy Crush music, but I’m not sure. I hold down the power button on my phone hoping it will finally work, but it’s pointless. The battery is out of charge, and I don’t have my charger on me. I need to buy a phone charger for my car . . .
I put the phone in my pocket and head out anyway, locking the car door behind me and head to work, just around the corner. I’m fifteen minutes early today, and I don’t want to waste that extra time, I’m here hoping for answers. After yesterday, although I know that kid was just misguided, I still don’t really understand the whole furry thing. I mean, is it a sex thing? If not, why would people go to so much effort to dress up in those costumes? Is it just a very enthusiastic kind of cosplay? I thought about it myself, and I honestly don’t know . . . but, rather than just guess, I figured I might as well ask. I mean, I’m visiting a building full of furries every night, so if I have questions, why would I ask them to anyone else?
I get to the front of the building and run up the stairs, feeling a little nervous since I’m not really sure how to word my question, but I decide to ignore that for now, and I run up the stairs and . . .
“Where the hell is everyone?” I say.
Last night there were costumes everywhere, but tonight, the first floor is completely empty.
“FurWalk,” says an voice beside me, making me jump. I turn and see Kelly, the short security guard, standing with her arms crossed.
“Yeesh, warn a guy before . . . did you say ‘for a walk’? Like, everyone just went for a walk?”
“No, I said FurWalk,” she says.
“Fur. Walk. What’s that?” I ask.
“From what I’ve seen, they all dress up in costume t’ go for walk by the river,” says Kelly. Since this is the first time I’ve heard her speak, I’m surprised to learn that she has a naturally husky voice as well as her Irish accent, so it sounds like she has a mild cold, “I overhead some people talk about getting dinner and drinks too.”
“Do you know when they’re coming back?” I ask.
“Several hours . . . if that.” says Kelly with a nonchalant tip of the head. “We’re not licensed, so drinkin’s not allowed, and I won’t let drunks in here, no. So if you’re lucky, maybe you can go home early. Pete already left.”
“Yay . . . (!)” I say in a monotone. “Uh, hey, by the way . . . do you know the Phone guy’s real name?”
“Phone . . . guy?” says Kelly, raising an eyebrow.
“Uh, sorry, no . . . I just call him ‘phone guy’ because I don’t know his name, but he’s the guy who I spoke to on the phone when I first called here. Uh . . . the guy in the office . . . uh, operator? I don’t know what else to call him.”
“Are you talkin’ about Will?” says Kelly.
“Yes!” I say, clicking my fingers. “That must be it, Will, finally . . . thank you.”
“Don’t mention it . . .” says Kelly.
I head up the escalators to the next floor, and head around, towards the security office. But, it’s so weird walking alongside the chairs outside the elevator. I’m so used to hearing people chattering away downstairs, but it’s eerily quiet now. I head up to the Security Office door, and knock.
The door is instantly unlocked, and I open it to see the phone guy, “Will” sitting in the chair facing me.
“Hey, you’re early,” he says.
“Yeah, I was hoping to talk to some of the furries before work.”
“What for?”
“Y’know . . .” I say, gesturing vaguely, “to figure ‘em out.”
“There’s nothing to figure, kid. They’re adults that never grew up.”
“Well, yeah, but you know . . .” I shrug.
“Look, you don’t have to overthink this,” he says, standing up from the chair, and he gestures to make his point. “People are people. We look different, we dress different, sound different . . . but in my experience in this job, at the end of the day, we all run with two legs & cheat with hands behind our back.”
“Okay . . .” I say, not really understanding. “But, why do they do it in fursuits?”
He snorts with derision.
“You don’t need to know why, it doesn’t matter. So long as you know who, when and where, we can do our job,” he says, sitting down and slowly turning back to the monitors.
“Okay, Will,” I say, rubbing the back of my head, nervously.
“Hmm?” he says, glancing back. “What was that?”
“I said ‘okay . . . Will’?”
“And why would you call me that?” asks Phone guy, sounding confused.
“Uhhh . . . Kelly said she knew you as ‘Will’,” I say, feeling stupid. “Is that not . . . you?”
“Ohh, okay, no. Look, Kelly’s messing with you,” says Phone guy, smiling as he looks back to the monitors. “Nobody calls me ‘Will’. She acts all straight-laced when she’s on duty, but she’s a bloody prankster. Keep an eye on that one.”
“So, your name isn’t . . .” I mutter. I groan softly to myself, feeling embarrassed, and just head into the locker room to change, and to hide from judging eyes.

When I’m in uniform, I step out and Phone guy - not Will - turns right to me.
“Oh, hey, did I tell you that Peter - the tall New Zealander guy - went home early?”
“Yeah, Kelly told me.”
“Right, right, well just so you know, we have some procedures when we’re understaffed,” says Phone guy, standing up. “You’re here early, but I’ll get you on the monitors so I can head down, here, sit . . .”
I do as I’m told, and Phone guy stands by the door.
“Okay, look, we really need at least four people on the floor. It shouldn’t be an issue, but I don’t want to leave you in the dark like I did on Monday. Now, since Pete’s gone home, we only have three people on the floor, so if there’s a major incident, we may need you to head down and help out.”
“What . . .” I say, feeling my stomach drop.
“Hey, no, it’s fine - like I said, with this place mostly empty, it shouldn’t be an issue - but, technically, if we need you on the floor, you just set the monitors to tour, lock the door, and head down. Don’t worry if you’re not sure what to do, just listen to any of us experienced guards and we will tell you exactly what to do.”
“Okay . . .” I say, but I must sound terrified, because Phone guy steps forward and lays a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, it’s cool, Jerry. Like I said, you should be fine. I’m just telling you this because it’s procedure, and last Monday, you were thrown in the deep end because I didn’t tell you basic procedure. So, if - and I strain, this is a rare 'if' - but if we need you, it will be as a deterrent. Next week, we don’t have any cons, we’ll train you up in some of the basics of patrolling and maneouvres, but for now, think of yourself as a . . . a stop sign. You know, you won’t do anything but stand there, but your uniform means they’ll stop. Right?”
“Okay . . . stop sign. I can be a stop sign . . .” I say, feeling a little better. Phone guy nods and heads for the door again
“Okay, I’m heading down . . . and hey, I know it’s boring when there’s no one to watch. But, on quiet days, if you want to order a pizza or something, feel free - Kelly sends them right up. Listen to music, read a book, - wait, no.” Phone guy smacks his forehead. “Sorry, not read a book, you need to watch those screens. But, y’know . . . relax. So long as you’re watching the radio and the monitors, you’re all good.”
He gives me a thumbs-up and heads out the door. I lock it behind him, and turn to the monitors.

†

I thought that a quiet night would be easier, but I was dead wrong. Sure, watching people wander around in costumes, buy stuff and watch panels about writing and suit maintenance may not seem all that exciting, but it’s a million times easier than watching empty rooms.
Even that group who were always playing board games in the corner of the dealer’s den aren’t here. The only person in the Ballroom is Omeo; since there’s no point guarding the changing rooms, he’s slowly patrolling back and forth between the two doors leading into the Ballroom. Since he’s so big and heavy, I thought he might waddle or trudge, but he marches like a mountain on a mission - I think there’s more muscle than fat hidden within his size, so I can see why he makes a great security guard.
Phone guy has a huge patrol route, though. He goes from the middle of reception, then he walks through the door to Exhibit Hall 2. The partitioning wall between the two Halls has been retracted, so Phone guy walks towards the middle of the room, crosses between the two rooms, then heads out the door of Exhibit Hall 1, and back to reception. It takes over a minute to complete the full circuit, and every now and then he pauses in reception to talk to Kelly, or one of the two staff members behind reception.
Meanwhile Kelly herself, like usual, is by the door; but, rather than her usual firm and fierce, cross-armed pose, now she’s leaning against the door, and every now and then - but only when Phone guy is in one of the Exhibit Halls - she appears to be texting on her mobile phone.
But that’s it. There’s no convention attendants, no speakers, no stall salespeople, no costumes. We’re just a big, empty centre. It’s like watching the most boring and repetitive reality show ever made, and the only reason I’m bothered to do it is because I’m getting paid to do so.
I check on the upstairs, and see that there’s actually a lot of open, cardboard boxes left in the middle of the room, but I don’t know why and don’t really care. As for the second floor, where I am, there’s nothing to see at all. Chairs in the waiting room section, empty hall in front of the conference rooms and converted changing room & even the wind is barely blowing on the image of the empty terrace outside.
I glance around the security office. The first thing I notice is that the head in Lost Property is gone. Whoever owned the cat fursuit must have claimed it, and there’s just a folded up, grey denim jacket sitting on the table in its place.
I check on the monitors again, then stand up and look around the room. I find a corded phone sitting on top of the filing cabinet in the corner, hidden behind three large appointment diaries. I open the first one to the page marked with the attached bound bookmark ribbon, and see “FurzCon - Fur is Murder” written on the page. I put the book back and check in the filing cabinet. The first drawer is half-empty, with just a few suspended sleeves filled with folders. I flick through to see it’s mostly incident reports. At the back, there’s also a few printed out e-mails. I don’t know what they’re about, so close the first drawer. It’s then I realize there’s a label on the front that says 'Incidents/Correspondence'. The next drawer down is labelled 'Radios'. I open it up and, sure enough, there’s three spare radios, as well as some cables and what looks like little charging docks and spare battery packs. In the back, there’s also an old, blue mobile phone, just a cheap one with a green-tinted screen. I close the drawer and check the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, labelled 'Finance'. There are five more appointment diaries inside, and I see they’re labelled for several years ago, as well as a No Smoking sign and a rusty, old flathead screwdriver just rolling around in the bottom. So much for ‘Finance’ . . .
I close the drawer and stand up, then head over and grab the handle of the top drawer of the other filing cabinet, but when I pull on it it barely shifts, making a metal clunk. It’s locked.
I try the next drawer down, but it’s locked as well. The filing cabinet just has one small keyhole that locks every drawer at once. The top drawer is labelled 'Keys' and the middle drawer hasn’t been labeled at all. But the bottom drawer on the cabinet says 'Staff/Blacklist'.
“Damn it . . .” I mutter. I try to open the drawer, but of course it’s useless. Sure, I know it has keys in it, but we didn’t lock the cabinet that has spare radios in it and I’m sure you could make some money if you stole them. Besides, I just want to look at one file, just to see if I can find Phone Guy’s real name. Is that so much to ask?
I get up and head to the desk again, sitting in the chair to open the drawer in there. There’s the red logbook and three pens in the drawer, as well as a stapler, but no keys. Then I look on the desk, and see my keyring sitting there. I pick it up, and fiddle with the jangling keys. There’s nine different keys on the thing, so I scoot back in my chair and try them one by one, even testing them upside-down, but it’s useless. All of these keys are about same size, but the lock on the filing cabinet is a bit smaller.
I groan, annoyed, then set myself back in front of the desk and drop the keys on top. Resting my chin on my hands, I look at the screen.
Slowly, the screen passes through Cameras 09 and 10, within the presentation rooms upstairs. Then Camera 01, the hallway outside the security office. When the monitor switches to Camera 02, I’m surprised to see someone standing there on the floor. The camera can see that room full of chairs and the top of the escalators, but further behind the escalators, there’s someone in a dark black fursuit with short, pointed ears just standing there. The monitor then flicks to Camera 03, on the terrace outside. On the far side of the monitor, through the glass door, I can still see that dark fursuit on the edge of frame.
I stop the cameras from touring by switching to the previous view. Back on Camera 02, sure enough, someone in a cat fursuit is just standing there, perfectly still, staring.
“Wait a minute . . .”
I twist the joystick to zoom in on the face, as the camera focuses I see the distinct patches of neon green, and slit-like eyes. It looks like the same cat head that was in Lost Property earlier. It looks like it’s staring directly at the camera, but I’m sure that’s just an illusion from those follow-me eyes . . . I pick up the radio.
“Central to Operator, do you read? Over.”
I zoom back out of the face, not only is there some loss of clarity from the extent of the zoom, but it’s creepy how still it’s just standing there, staring. There’s no response on the radio.
“This is Central to Operator, please respond. Over.”
“Doorman to Central. I believe Operator has gone to the bathroom,” says Kelly. “What’s the problem? Over.”
“Hey, uh, Doorman . . . this is Central. It looks like there’s someone in a fursuit up here . . .” suddenly, the fursuit on the monitor turns around and heads towards the terrace. I switch to Camera 03 to follow them. “They’re just wandering around, I was hoping you could handle it . . . Over.”
“Central, I can’t leave my position,” says Kelly. “They’re probably just lost. Can’t you handle it? Over.”
The fursuit wanders towards the terrace camera and stares at it, the light nearby shining bright off the plastic whiskers as it cocks its head to one side and stares. I don’t really want to, but we’re understaffed and I guess this is part of my job. Phone guy did say, if in doubt, I should listen to the more experienced guards. And they’re right outside, this shouldn’t take too long.
“Sure, I’ve got this, Doorman,” I say. “Over and out.”
I put the radio on the desk and pick up the keyring. I head for the door, then remembering what Phone Guy said, I hit ‘Pre’ then ‘Tour’ on the keyboard before unlocking the door. I close the door behind me, then try the different keys, the ring jangling like Christmas bells as I sort through and try each one. On the fifth try, I identify the gold-coloured key with a lot of scratches on the head to be for the security office. I lock the door and head through the room full of chairs, turning round the corner. It’s so eerily quiet, the only sound is the soft humm of the escalator motor. I look over the balcony and see Kelly standing by the door.
“Hey, did you see them come up here?” I ask.
Kelly just glances up and slowly shakes her head.
“Great . . .” I mutter to myself, and I walk towards the glass terrace door, past a steep staircase with glass panels for railings, that leads upstairs. As I approach the door, I can’t see the fursuit standing in the light, but figure they may be around the corner, wandering around the camera’s blind spot. As soon as I open the door, I can hear the sounds of traffic outside. Honking, revving, the occasional beeping of pedestrian signals and the dying echoes of footsteps and yelling. It sounds alive, but so far away.
I step out, and glance up where I know the camera is. I’ve never actually had a good look at them. It looks like a black glass dome, and if I peer at the glass, I can see a little, red light on a large articulated lens. Because this one is outside and not attached to the ceiling, it’s set up from a tall, beige-coloured post so it looks like an alien streetlight.
I turn right, but I can’t see the fursuit anywhere.
“Hello?!” I call out, as I walk past the glass walls towards the corner, with the blindspot. “Ma’m - or, sir - do you need some help?”
As I stand just before the corner, I take a deep breath and step out.
Just a potted fern, and a No Smoking sign. Where did they go? I head back towards the glass door, but when I do, I see the black, furry form standing beside the bottom of the staircase, one hand resting on the glass panel railing inside. It looks like they’re staring at the camera again, facing away from me, and I see that they have a tail that touches the ground . “There you are . . .” I say to myself. I push open the door.
“Excuse me, can I help you?” I say, heading inside. I stand three metres from them and stop, so I don’t intrude on their personal space. I know they can’t see me standing behind them with that mask on. “Are you lost, sir . . . or ma’m? Everyone else is gone.”
The person doesn’t react. As the glass door closes behind me, the sounds of life outside disappear, replaced by the dull humm of the escalator, and silence.
“They’re on a ‘FurWalk’, and won’t be back for hours . . . do you need some help finding them? Hello?”
I assume the person can’t hear me, so I step forward to tap them on the shoulder. But, as I do, I catch a sniff of that rotten smell. Like a dead rat, drowned in garbage and body odour. It makes me take a step back and cover my mouth with my hand.
“Help me . . .?” says the thing, speaking in a thick, wet, raspy, voice. It begins to turn to face me, those eyes staring at me as it turns to face me. As it speaks, the jaw flaps mechanically up and down with each syllable. “You can’t . . .”
It takes a step towards me, and as it does, I hear a scratching, ripping and crackling sound that sends chills down my spine.
“It’s me . . .” says the creature in that decrepit voice. But as it speaks, I can only see blackness inside its mouth as though it were empty . . . but that’s impossible, right? It raises both hands out as it takes a step towards me, reaching out like a zombie. As it does, I smell that rotten stink from its mouth, and back away.
“Stay back, okay?” I say, but it ignores me, taking another step forward, the black tail dragging on the carpet behind it, and I start to panic “I said Stay BACK!”
“You can’t . . . save them . . .” rasps the creature. It raises its green claws towards my face. I feel the cold, glass door as I bump into it, and whimper, terrified. The creature gets closer.
“NO! GET BACK!” I shriek, and I grab at the nearest claw, squeezing it. The creature groans and steps back. As it does, I feel that the inside of glove, but I can’t feel a hand inside, instead there’s just something thin and sharp, like a bone, and as the creature backs away I hear a ripping sound, and see thin, shiny red strands like tendons and veins, stretching out from the dark stump of the arm, and hear them popping and snapping.
I scream, jump forward to shove the thing, and it crumples backwards, the head hitting the ground with another sharp, ripping sound. I stand there, frozen, staring at the collapsed body, the torn hand hanging from its stump and head sitting crooked and still. But, after a few seconds, it begins to shift. As it sits up, the head sits lop-sided on the neck, those eyes staring at me.
“Help me . . .” groans the beast in a deep voice.
Whining pitifully, I quickly run, jumping over the legs of the fallen fursuit, and race around the corner, towards the security office. I grab the doorhandle, but it’s locked, so I slam my fist on the door.
“Open, damn it!” I yell. After standing there, panicking, I remember the ring of keys in my pocket. I grab them out and find the golden key with the scratches. It takes a few tries with my shaking hands to insert the key, but I unlock the door, run in, slam it shut and lock it.
“Central, come in,” says the radio, angrily. It sounds like Phone guy. “Answer your damn radio! Over.”
I grab the radio and speak into it.
“This is Central, Over.”
“Central, for goodness sake . . . where the hell are you?!” he yells.
“Sorry. I went to check out something, and I left the radio here,” I say. “But, uh . . . there was something in a fursuit. It attacked me. I need you to check out the balcony, there’s something there. Over.”
“Something . . . on the balcony? . . . Over.” says Phone guy.
“Yeah. They were in a fursuit, but I don’t know what it was. Over.” I flick through the cameras on the monitor, to Camera 02. But, there’s nothing there. The suit, and whatever was inside it, is gone.
“Look, I’m in the carpark at the moment,” says Phone guy. “Meet me on the balcony. And BRING your RADIO this time. Over and Out.”
I pick up the radio, all the while staring at the empty floor on the monitor, and I head out the door of the security office, locking it. As I walk out to the balcony where I was, I hear a deep, heavy voice call to me.
“Little man!” I turn to the escalator to see Omeo, the big security guard, heading up the steps. “Y’good, man?”
“Yeah, just shaken,” I say.
“Kell told me to check you up. Heard you yellin’ out, man. Thought you were in trouble and all that,” says Omeo, stepping off the escalator, just in front of me.
“Central. Do you have your radio on you? Over.” says Phone guy, on the radio.
“Someone in a fursuit attacked me, but I’m okay now,” I say. Then I grab the radio. “Yeah, Operator, I have my radio. Over.”
“Are you on the balcony? Over,” asks Phone guy.
“Yeah, we’re waiting for you. Over.”
“Alright. Wait just there, Over and out.”
After about a minute, I hear the elevator door open, and glance back to see Phone guy stepping out, shaking his head.
“There was a suit-”
“-not yet . . .” interrupts Phone guy, “Om, why are you here?”
“Kell called. Said the kid was screaming and in trouble, so . . .”
“You’re done here. Head back to patrol, okay?”
“Okay, man,” says Omeo with a shrug, heading down the escalator. Phone guy sighs, then jogs to the top of the escalator that Om was heading down. “But you did the right thing, y’know? Coming to help out, that’s great stuff!”
“Yeah, yeah yeah . . .” says Omeo, waving his hand behind him.
“Right . . . okay, what happened here?” says Phone guy.
“I saw someone on the monitor, and went to check it out. I thought you or someone else could do it, but Kelly told me to do it myself.”
“That’s fine, I told her to let you have some time on the floor, if something came up,” says Phone guy, dismissively.
“Where were you when I called?” I ask.
“I was in the carpark,” he replies. “The guy on reception, Will, said there was a car down there that wasn’t meant to be, so I went to check it out. Anyway, why were you screaming and yelling?”
“They attacked me,” I say.
“Attacked you?” says Phone guy. “So, they punched you? Grabbed you?”
“Yeah, I . . . I mean, no. They just kinda reached out.”
“So, you attacked them?” says Phone guy.
“Yeah, but . . .” I try to say the words, but they’re caught in my throat. It sounds so wrong to say, but it’s the truth. “. . . I think it was a monster!”
Phone guy snorts, and starts to chuckle.
“It’s not funny, I’m serious!” I say.
“A monster? So that’s why you were yelling and screaming? You think a monster attacked the convention centre?”
“Yeah! I mean, they were wearing a suit to hide their-”
“Everyone is wearing a suit!” says Phone guy, but he’s not angry, he’s smiling. He thinks I’m being crazy. “Why would you think this one is a monster?”
“Because it had tendons or something that ripped out of its hand!” I say. “It made weird sounds when it moved, and I couldn’t see anyone inside of it, it was like it was just an empty suit walking around, or maybe something died inside of it.”
“That’s ridiculous, kid,” says Phone guy, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but where did it come from? And where did it go?” I say.
“Hmm?” he says.
“Yeah, where did it get to? It was right here . . .” I say, walking towards the bottom of the steep staircase. As I walk past the escalator and get close to the spot, I can still faintly smell that rotten odour lingering in the air. “And where did it come from?”
“Kid, look, it’s late. You’ve been staring at blank screens for hours . . . that kind of thing can get to you.”
“Hey, I wasn’t imagining it!” I say, getting annoyed. “I saw it, it had the same green cat head from lost property, and a black suit with green claws. It must have got in here, but how did it get back . . . the blind spot. Come with me!”
I start heading towards the Terrace door.
“What is it?” said Phone guy.
“We never saw it leave, right? It might still be here!” I say, pushing through the door, into the sound of life and traffic
“Look, kid, calm down. You’re getting all worked up,” says Phone guy, walking behind me.
I stand far back, close to the railing, and I run around the corner.
Potted fern. No Smoking. Nothing else.
“Where is it?” I say, looking around. “Wait . . . that car. Didn’t you say there was a car in the carpark?”
“Yeah,” says Phone guy, looking confused.
“What did it look like?” I ask.
“ . . . uh, purple.” he says, with a shrug. “I dunno, I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“Where is it now?!” I say.
“Hey, no, look look look . . . calm down. I’m sorry, alright, I didn’t know this would freak you out so much. Things got a bit real tonight, huh? But I think it’s time you went home.”
“Go home?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah. let’s call it a short shift. Clearly, you need some time to wind down.”
“But what about the suit?!” I yell.
“This is what I’m talking about,” says Phone guy. “Look, there’s no such thing as monsters. Calm down, go home, get some sleep and then come back tomorrow night, cool, calm and collected. Okay?”
“Okay . . .” I say, with a heavy sigh.
“And hey, next time you see any monsters, try playing dead. Y’know, go limp. That’s what you’re meant to do when you see a bear . . .”
“. . . what.”
“Sorry, never mind, it was a joke. I was trying to lighten the mood, so you’ll stop freaking out. It’s best just not to see monsters in the first place, okay? Come on, we'll sort this out; you pack up, you’re done for the night.”

†

I pack up, get changed into my regular clothes and head out, saying goodnight to Kelly. Then, I walk back towards my car, through the dimly lit streets. I parked just three blocks from the Doomben Convention Centre, but in the near-midnight darkness, every car on the street looks dark purple.

Five Nights at Furries, Night 2

TUESDAY, 5:53 ᴘᴍ

There’s nothing near me, so I slam the right door shut, and let out a sigh of relief, only to see that the light is still on. I don’t want the power to run out before the end of the night, so carefully, I open the door and check to make sure I’m still alone. When I see no one is around, I switch off the light and close the door again.
Last time I left my headlights on, I had to call home for someone to come give me a jumpstart, and was left waiting for hours inside a useless car on the side of the road. It’s bad enough that being in the city makes me nervous, but getting stuck here in the dark would really suck. I double-check that the doors are locked,  then begin to jog up the street.
Yesterday, I parked under the building, but because it's meant for customers, it cost me $30. It's bad enough that my secondhand car has crappy fuel economy without having to pay to park at work. Unfortunately, all the roads in front of the centre have no parking,  so I have to park down a suburban street, then run. It sucks, especially on a day like today, when I'm running late.
I glance at the street sign to remember where I've parked - Duke Street - then head down the road, and across the way to work.
Walking up to the Doomben Convention Centre at night, it's a beautiful sight to behold. Bright colours of red and blue, smooth and geometric concrete and tinted, polished glass all moulded into a modern three-storey building. However, running towards the same building when you're late for work, those colours stand out to taunt you how far you have to go; the stiff, square concrete looks cold and unforgiving & those dark glass windows stare at you like cruel, judgemental eyes.
Huffing and heaving, catching my breath, I run up the front steps of the convention centre, where there are several convention attendees chatting, gathered around one person in a red rabbit costume. I give them a wide berth, and head inside. I see the short, dark haired, female guard standing by the door.
  “Hey,” I say, still catching my breath.
  “Good evenin’,” she says with a thick, Irish accent, nodding curtly.
I run straight up the escalator, and head around, through the room of chairs, and knock on the door.
After a few seconds, I hear a click. After realizing that the door was unlocked, I grab the doorhandle, and open it. I see Phone guy, sitting at the monitor, watching it intently.
  “Uh, good afternoon?” I say, clearing my throat and slowing my breathing.
  “Hey, come here, check this out,” says Phone guy, pointing at the monitor. I step closer, and see he has Camera 10, the ballroom full of sellers and tables, up on the centre screen. He is pointing at a teenaged girl, standing next to a table. She’s quite thin and tall, with tidy hair.
  “Uhh . . . what are we looking at?” I ask.
  “Oh, yeah, I’ve got you baby . . .” he mumbles to himself, and he zooms the camera in. “THERE! Look, she still hasn’t put the doll back!”
The girl turns from the table, and sure enough, I see she’s carrying something dark, hanging her hand by her side. Phone guy grabs the radio on the desk.
  “Operator to Tower, do you copy? Over.”
  “Tower. Copy. Over,” says a Kiwi accent.
  “In the dealer’s den, there’s a teenaged girl on her own, brown hair in a cream-coloured hoodie. She’s stolen a dark orange . . . teddy bear? A plush toy. Can you handle that? Over.”
  “Roger, I’ll handle it. Over and out.”
The guy takes a logbook out of the desk, opens it up, and quickly writes in the timecode and details, then closes it up.
  “Right,” he says, looking at me, “all good.”
  “Do we need to call the police now?” I ask, and I turn around to look for a telephone. I see a motionless cat head sitting on the table by the desk, staring at me.
  “WHAT THE HELL?!” I scream and instinctively jump back, slamming into the door.
  “Whoa, hey hey, are you okay?” says the guy, standing up. I stare at the head. It’s the headpiece of a fursuit, mostly black fur, but with a bright, neon green nose; patches around the eyes and inner ear.
  “What the hell is that thing doing in here?!” I ask, pointing.
  “Oh, damn. You really are scared of them, aren’t you?” he says, smirking. “That’s lost property, mate. We found it in one of the rooms yesterday. Someone will turn up for it eventually.”
  “Okay . . .” I say, staring at the cat head. It’s bright and cartoony, but the slit-like eyes seem to follow me as I move.
  “Look, don’t worry about the head, man,” says Phone guy. He steps to the mask, and using one hand he turns it around the face the wall. But I get chills watching as it turns, the eyes following me and glancing out the corner of the eye to stare at me, before turning completely around. “There. Now, get changed and get started.”
It takes me a moment to move, still frozen and tense on the other side of the room, but by looking away, I head into the little locker room, and close the door.

I change into the dark pants and blue shirt, and I head back into the room, forcing myself to stare ahead, so I don’t glance at the cat head.
  “All done?” says the guy, glancing back. “Great. We’re good to go. Anything you need?”
  “Yeah, actually,” I say. “Uh, I don’t really know anyone’s name yet. It feels a bit weird. I mean, I only know your callsign.”
  “Oh, yeah yeah yeah, right . . .” he says. “Well, you already know mine, but Kelly, on the door downstairs? She’s ‘Doorman’. Om, the big guy outside the Headless Lounge, his callsign is ‘Bouncer’ . . . self-explanatory. There’s also the Kiwi downstairs, Peter, he’s called ‘Hightower’.”
  “Okay, Kelly, Peter, Om . . .” I say, and I realize that’s only three names.
  “Oh, it’s short for ‘Omeo’. I think it’s Japanese or something,” says Phone guy. “And before I forget, you were asking about the police before. Remember, we don’t ever call the police.”
  “. . . what? Wait, what if there’s a cri-”
  “Look, down here . . .” says Phone guy, and he gestures to me as he kneels down and points under the desk. “This is our panic button, if there’s any emergency that needs the police, press that.”
There’s a little, grey box screwed into the side of the drawer section under the desk, with a big, bright red button on it that says ‘PUSH’.
  “So, you push that if you see a crime?” I ask.
  “Well . . . yes and no,” he says, getting to his feet again. “Not any crime. Like, the thief before? Tower took her to the shopkeeper, and they call the police if they want to press charges. We don’t call the police on the victim’s behalf, unless someone is in immediate danger.”
  “Like yesterday?” I say as I stand up again, rubbing the back of my neck. “Does that mean I should have pressed the button when that guy attacked people?”
  “Look, maybe . . .” he shrugs as he sighs softly. “I’d need to check the tapes. You were calling in a blacklist, not an assault. And you did good under pressure, kid, don’t forget that. But in future, as soon as anyone is in danger, or it looks like something is going to be more than we can handle? Hit that button.”
  “Okay, got it. Danger, hit the button,” I say.
  “Exactly,” he says, as I stand up. “Oh, one more thing. I spoke to your dragon lady again-”
  “-who?” I say
  “ . . . you remember? Cranky chica? Called you a moron.”
  “Ohhh, right. Dragon costume, yeah.”
  “Right, well, in my follow-up, she told me that her attacker wasn’t wearing a horse mask, it was more like a dog. So, we’re still looking for our mismatched attacker.”
  “So, there were two guys in mixed up costumes.”
  “I don’t know,” he says. “He still had a purple tail. Guy could’ve just switched, y’know? Anyway, I gotta hit the floor . . .”
He steps outside and closes the door behind him. I lock the door behind him, then sit down at the monitors.
I quickly check through all the cameras, to be sure there’s nothing weird going on. All I see is that Peter is watching that girl as she talks animatedly to a shop owner, probably pleading for leniency, but of course, I can’t hear since there’s no sound.
Other than that, there’s a panel going on in the First Exhibition Hall about writing, I can tell because three people out of costume are sitting at a table with a banner across the front that reads: How to Write a Tail
Other than that, it seems pretty mild. So, I switch the monitor to Tour through the cameras, and try to relax.

†

I hear a light tapping sound, and when I lean back in my chair, I realize it’s my leg. My foot is bouncing, restlessly. I step forward with both feet, so they can’t bounce, but I still feel tense. I use the controller to flick through the cameras again, but there are dull images of people standing around chatting, browsing toys, pictures and products, sitting and listening to a presentation. There’s nothing going on, but I still feel tense.
I push back in my chair, and sigh. I feel like I’ve been running. I glance around, and I get chills when I look at the black furry headpiece, facing the wall behind me. It’s the head . . . I’m still wound up because of this stupid phobia of this stupid costume and it’s stupid, plastic eyes. I stand up from the chair, and walk up to the head. The coffee table it’s sitting on is only as tall as my ankles, so I bend over and poke it.
It squishes under my finger, making me step back and shake my finger.
  “Ughk, it’s soft . . .” I cry out. I was expecting it to be hard, like a safety helmet with fur on top. I reach out again and poke it. It actually morphs a bit under my hand, and squishes, kind of like a couch cushion. I poke at the ears, and they are a bit harder, like the plastic from a cheap, plastic folder. So, it moves, but it’s rigid enough to keep the ears upright.
I place my hand on top of the head, and I’m surprised by how soft the fur is. I expected it to be a bit rough, and feel scratchy and artificial, but it’s as soft as a fluffy teddy bear.
I exhale softly, and put my palm on top of the head, then I turn it around slowly. As soon as I see the eye, peering at me from the corner of the socket, I stop and even more slowly, I lean down and turn the head around. The eyes follow me, looking right at me as I turn it around.
  “How do you do that . . .” I mumble. I slowly move my hand towards one of the eyes, but as I do my heart begins to race. I feel like, any second, it’s going to get mad at me and bite me. I feel the plastic whiskers scratch my hand and I flinch. Sighing heavily, I stop, stand up and walk away, facing the other wall.
  “No, stupid stupid,” I say to myself. I glance back at the head, which from this high angle, looks like it’s frowning up at me. “It’s just a mask . . . it’s just a mask . . .”
I quickly head over and kneel down, and I place my fingers inside the socket, created by the furry cheek and brow of the cat face. I run my finger against the inside of the eye, and I feel a soft, thin material, but when I touch the eye, it’s actually concave. A plastic cup, with a slit-eye iris shape cut into it, showing thin, see-through green material behind it.
  “Oh wow . . .” I mumble to myself. There’s no life or electronics inside, it’s just concave, so as the angle changes, it appears to follow you, the same as the ‘hollow mask’ illusion. “That’s clever.”
I find my chair and sit in it again, staring at the mask. It’s still a bit weird, and I’m not calm, but I don’t feel as anxious anymore. But, I wonder how hard it is to see through those eyes.
Beside me, I hear the radio crackle.
  “Operator to Central, copy, over.”
I wheel the chair closer and pick up the radio.
  “Central to Operator, what’s the issue? over,” I reply.
  “We’ve got a lost kid, five years old, wearing a yellow-” suddenly someone else with a panicked voice speaks, and I can’t understand, then the radio clicks.
  “Operator, can you repeat that? Did not copy, over.” I say.
  “Six years old, yellow shirt, shorts, dark hair, Caucasian. Last seen in reception. Do you have eyes on that? Over.”
  “Give me a moment,” I say into the radio. I grab the controller, before I grab the radio again. “Over.”
I check the cameras, and most of the people on the camera are adults, since it’s so late, so, after checking through the first few cameras, the little girl standing by a stall with lots of videogames, sticks out like a sore thumb. She fits the description.
  “Operator, this is Central, there’s a girl on her own near one of the stalls, just ten metres or so from the . . . left door. Over.”
  “Roger that, over and out.”
I watch as, after about twenty seconds, Phone guy, leading two men, enters the view on the camera. One of the men grabs the girl in a hug, then picks her up to carry her on his hip, the other man talks to the shop owner, before shaking his hand. The two guys thank Phone guy, the one with empty hands even gives him a hug, then they head out the door. I watch as he grabs the radio.
  “We’ve found the lost girl. It’s all sorted, over and out.”
  “I saw that. I should hug you myself, over.”
  “Ha. Ha. Ha. Out.” he replies. He turns and sees the camera that I'm watching him from and, facing me, he flips me the forks, then wanders off camera.

†

It’s a pretty dull night. After the panel finishes, they pack up all the chairs and open up the partition between the two exhibition hall spaces. Then, after setting up the stage, they dim the lights slightly, and play music loud enough that I can hear the muffled, electro through the carpet under my feet. Then they open the doors, and about fifty people head inside and dance or chat, many in costume.
The room is too big for the number that show up, but nonetheless they spread out and dance, some even throwing moves in costume while twirling glowsticks. The “dealer’s den” even begins to pack up, with people closing their stalls, as people go dance, leaving just that group from the night before, playing board games, but this time the group is a lot larger, and every now and then Phone guy wanders past them, to make sure nobody is harassing them. So, I basically switch between Cameras 06 and 07, watching the dancers in the conjoined exhibit halls, occasionally glancing at the other monitor for the entrances and exits to the reception area.
After almost an hour of watching people dance, I start to wish I’d brought a sandwich or something. I didn’t eat dinner, since I was running late, I just drank a can of cola. I thought work would distract me, but there’s nothing to do. The music downstairs is playing some electro ‘Thriller’ remix, and on the camera, I see dozens of people in costume do the ‘Thriller’ dance, in unison.
I wonder how the heck all those people can see in costume, and not bump into one another. I mean, how can they enjoy wearing those things on their faces all the time?
I glance back at the green and black cat head on the table beside me. Because of those following eyes, it looks like it’s giving me a sidelong glance from where it’s sitting on the table.
I roll backwards on the study chair, and pick up the head in my hands. It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be, but still close to five kilos.
  “How do they see through you?” I ask the head. I peer closely at the eye, but it’s totally black inside, through that material. I turn the head around in my hands, consider putting it on, to see, but quickly baulk at the idea. I don’t know who wore this before me, they might have nits or dandruff for all I know. Not to mention, they wouldn’t want my head in there. I did shower today, but still . . .
I lift the head up and hold it at an angle, to peer through the neck hole. There’s a piece of t-shirt material around the hole, which I assume is made to hide the wearer’s neck when in full costume, so I lift the material up and try to hold the head at an angle, to see through the eyes from underneath. Because of the monitors in front of me, I can kind of see the light shining through, lighting up some of the foam inside the head, but I can’t see the eyes. I pull the neck-material as far as I can without risking breaking it, and peer in as closely as I can. I can sort of see the top part of the eye, it looks a bit like a fly screen net. I take a breath to peer closer, then nearly drop the head. I retch as the smell of salty, old garbage fills my nostrils.
I chuck the head onto the table, then deliberately fall out of my chair to get away from it, gasping for air, as my throat seems to shorten, trying to throw my stomach out of my mouth. I don’t throw up, probably because my stomach is practically empty  but I feel a burn at the back of my throat as I lie on the carpet.
  “Ugh, geez . . .” I groan, putting a hand to my stomach as I sit up then wipe my face. The inside of the head smells rotten, like old meat or like something had died in there a week ago. I take a deep breath several times, and swallow spit until the acidic burn in my throat starts to fade.
I look up at the head, which I threw at the table, it’s sitting on its side, with the neck-hole still facing towards me.
  “What kind of freak would wear that?” I say, as I get back on my feet. “That’s disgusting.”
I stand up and, holding my breath, I place the head upright and sit back down in my chair.
The acrid taste in the back of my throat is still glowing, so I quickly check the cameras on the second floor, then unlock the door and head outside.
I saw a water fountain across from the elevator, so I head into the empty room, the thumping sound of muffled techno resonating through the air, and drink from the refrigerated bubbler, to cool my throat.
I sigh heavily and head back to the security office. I open the door, and hear the radio.
  “-said, Do. You. Copy?”
I pick up the radio, knocking the keyring on the desk as I do, making the metal clatter and tinkle.
  “This is Central, please repeat.”
  “Tower to Central. I’ve just heard a report of another attack, this time a gentleman was grabbed from behind, and tripped. Same description, brown dog head, purple tail, mismatched feet and a tiger suit. Over.”
  “Copy that, Tower. Where was this? Over.”
  “Dancefloor in the exhibit halls. Over.”
  “Copy that, I'll keep my eyes open. Over and out.”
I put the radio down, sit down in the chair and select Camera 06 on the monitor, looking around the dancing people.
  “Central . . . uh, you didn’t see it on the monitor at all? Over.” asks the radio. I pick it up again.
  “Negative. Over and out.”
I pan left and right, but most people are dancing near the centre of the second hall, so I switch the Camera 07. I don’t even have to move the camera, everyone is in frame, and everyone in a fursuit is either one or two distinct colour, pink, orange, green, white, a lot of black and grey, even some red, yellow and blue. But I don’t see any purple tails that are attached to a person wearing a brown head or tiger stripes at all.
I switch to the view of reception on Camera 05 and see someone heading across the floor, disappearing off the edge of the screen. I quickly grab the joystick and pan the camera to the left, as far as it can go, just in time to see a strange, short orange suit heading into the bathroom. I don’t see them for long, but it is impossible to miss that neon-bright, purple foxtail.
  “Central to Security, our target just entered the bathroom! I repeat, our blacklisted attacker is in the bathroom! Over!”
As the door closes I see the word ‘Gents’ on the door.
  “Men’s Room, first floor, over.”
I pan right again to see Phone guy jogging into the reception area, heading for the bathroom. I follow him with the camera, and see Kelly, the security guard at the door. She doesn’t move, but braces herself by stepping one foot behind herself as she turns and watches Phone guy closely. He pushes open the door and steps inside. After a moment, I see Peter, the tall security guard, enter the frame of the camera as well, standing near the centre of the reception area. We’ve got him surrounded. Suddenly, the door slams open, and a mismatched, orangey blur sprints out of the door. Peter steps directly in their path, but gets shoved to the side and the mismatched attacker nearly trips, hopping on one leg, with a ratty sneaker as they regain their balance, then run towards the exhibit hall. They run at amazing speed despite the suit, as they run towards the dancefloor. I switch back to Camera Six, and see them enter the mostly-empty space of the first exhibit hall, heading for the centre of the room before turning back towards the door. As they stand there, puffing, I see that they have one sneaker and a green, plush claw on the other foot; a white, puffy cartoon-style glove and a grey bearclaw; a striped, orange tiger body with ragged, pants that look like they belong to a pirate & a brown head like a dog. As the doors burst open, Phone guy and Peter run in together. Phone guy runs in an arc towards the dancers, trying to cordon the guy away from them as Peter runs directly at the guy.
Mismatch just sprints right towards the dancers. I switch camera and watch as he runs between several people. I wonder if he’s going to hurt anyone, when I remember what Phone guy said. I push back in my chair and reach under the desk to the big, red button. There’s a satisfying thunk as I push it. I look up at the screen to see that the runaway attacker is running through the middle of the dancers, jumping over legs as people throw dance moves. He doesn’t shove anyone or push, instead he seems to zigzag and run around people. Creating as many human obstacles as he can between himself and the guards. When he gets to the far wall, he runs full-tilt in a straight line along the wall, towards the other door. Peter raises both arms as he approaches the dancers, trying to get past without bumping into people, but Phone guy just turns back, heading for the first door he came in.
Mismatch slams, heavily, into the door, making several people look in his direction. But, he grabs the handle, pulls it towards him, then runs back towards reception.
I switch to Camera 05 once again, but it’s still looking at the bathroom, so I pan the camera back to look towards the doors for the exhibit halls. As I do, I see Phone guy grabbing at the mismatched fursuit. He grabs them by the hand, but they just jump to the side, wrenching their hand out of the glove, and Phone guy is left holding a silly, white glove as Mismatch runs past him, heading for the front entrance.
I tilt the camera down as he makes it to the front door. He hestitates as he sees Kelly. She is standing with both hands held up, aggresively. He looks left and right, then turns around and heads up the escalator.
I flick through the cameras, settling on Camera 02, the room full of chairs with a view of the escalator. As I watch the running guy, heading up the stairs, slowed down considerably, either from exhaustion or the pain of slamming into a door at full pace. As he staggers at the top step, I also see the water cooler, and remember getting my drink of water earlier . . .
  “Did I lock the door?” I mumble. I turn back, and see the little latch is horizontal - unlocked. I reach back, and flick the latch, exhaling heavily.
I look at the monitor again and see Mismatch being met by Om, the big guy, blocking his path to the other escalator. Mismatch turns and tries to run, but Omeo grabs the neon-purple tail with one hand, stopping him short, nearly making him fall over. Omeo grabs the tail with his other hand, then reaches forward to grab the short, mismatched costume by the shoulder, but suddenly the kid breaks free, falling over onto the carpet. Om is left holding the fluffy, purple tail, with the ripped, daggy material of the shorts hanging from the stump.
Mismatch then runs around the room of chairs and down the hallway. BANG!
I jump as the door behind me gets slammed bodily by the running fursuiter.
I turn around and hear them struggle with the doorknob, rattling at the lock. Instinctively, I back away from the door and watch the doorknob jiggling desperately.
After a moment, I hear a deep, throaty voice.
  “You ain’t get back here!” they say. The door stops rattling, and I hear a struggling noise from the other side. I turn back to the monitor and flick to Camera 01, just outside the door. I see that Omeo has grabbed the kid from behind, both his arms up in the air as he has him held in a security hold up under his armpits. As I watch him, I feel a slight pain in my chest and realize I’ve been holding my breath. I exhale deeply as I see Peter and Phone guy, puffing and wheezing, enter the frame and walk towards Omeo. Peter grabs his radio, and I hear it on the desk beside me.
  “Big Guy got him . . .” there’s a crackly wheeze, “All clear. Over.”
Phone guy doubles over, catching his breath, then he stands up and walks around Omeo, and knocks on the door.
  “Jerry?” he says.
I roll back in my chair, unlock and open the door.
  “Yeah?” I say.
  “All good in here?” he says, still breathing heavily.
  “Yeah. I pressed the button.”
Phone guy nods, and gives me a thumbs up as he clears his throat, trying to catch his breath.
  “Great, just . . . stand up for a sec, will you?” I stand up and look him in the eye, but he just reaches past me, grabs the chair, then sits on it himself, moaning loudly. He raises his left hand, still holding the puffy, white glove. It looks like the kind of gloves that animals wear in Disney cartoons. Phone guy lazily chucks it onto the desk. “Count yourself lucky you’re not chasing perps yet, yeah?”

Omeo brings the guy in the mismatched costume into the security office, and we sit him on the study chair, facing away from the desk. I stand in the corner as Peter stands in front of the guy, and Omeo stands in the doorway, blocking any escape. They make him remove the headpiece, and I’m surprised to see a kid that looks younger than me. He’s covered in a layer of sweat, his brown hair messed up from the suit and smells like severe body odour.
  “How old are you, kid?” asks Peter.
The kid just glances around. He’s frowning, but he still looks very nervous.
  “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” asks Peter.
  “I dunn’ have to talk to you,” says the kid, in a slightly scratchy voice. “Yuh not cops.”
  “No, but you’ve broken several laws,” says Peter. “We have the right to hold you until the police arrive.”
  “I din’ break a law!” the kid yells. “Yuh NOT cops! I’m allowed to run when you chase me.”
  “It’s not the running, kid,” says Peter, matter-of-factly. “At the very least: Unlawful entry with intent; sexual assault; regular assault & I’m no expert, but I’m guessing you didn’t pay for that suit you’ve cobbled together, so that’s probably theft on top of that. With all that, you’d be tried as an adult, you could be looking at prison. Should I go on?”
  “I din’t have sex with anyone!”
  “You grabbed a woman by the breast,” says Peter.
  “I din’ know it was a girl before I grabbed ‘er!” says the kid, his voice getting high-pitched, he sounds like he wants to cry.
  “She wants to press charges.”
  “No!” screams the kid, pointing at the door. “What about those faggots?!”
Peter slowly breathes in then out.
  “Insulting us won’t make this any easier on you,” says Peter, calmly.
  “No, the shitpackers! Screwin’ each other in those suits! Arrest them!”
  “Nobody has broken a law, except you,” says Peter, sternly.
  “They’re the ones rapin’ kids! That’s what the suits are for!” he says, his voice full of anger and bile. “They lure in unsuspectin’ kids with mascot suits! Why else would they wear ‘em?”
Peter doesn’t answer, he just sighs and shakes his head.
  “They grope an’ grab each other all day, but you chase me! It’s not fair! Catch them!” he says, his eyes watery and his voice breaking.
  “Operator to Tower,” says the radio. “The police are here. I’m bringing them up now. Over.”
The kid shakes his head, then he sees the cat head on the desk beside him, sitting in ‘Lost Property’. Then he looks at me, directly.
  “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he says, accusingly, staring daggers at me.
  “Hey, you’re talking to me,” says Peter, and he steps in front of me. Blocking the line of sight.
  “Are you protectin’ them?” says the kid.
  “That’s Lost Property,” says Peter. “We’ve had a few reports of costume parts like this going missing. Do you care to explain that to us?”
But the kid refuses to respond. I think he’s decided that we’re not worth talking to.

The police take the kid into custody, and walk him downstairs. He complies with them, so they don’t even need to cuff him as they take him down to the car. Omeo heads back to his place, leaving just myself and Peter in the security office.
  “Well, that’s that done,” says Peter.
  “He was so young . . .” I say.
  “What can I say? Too many videogames,” says Peter.
Suddenly, the Westminster Chimes goes off in my pocket. I grab out my phone.
  “What’s that?” asks Peter.
  “My alarm,” I say. And I show him the screen:

12:00 ᴀᴍ -  End of Shift

  “Damn, that late already?” he says. “We got all tied up with this. Now, we’ve gotta close everything off downstairs. Why does all the excitement happen at the end of the day?”

  “Dunno,” I say with a shrug.
  “Well, you can probably go. There’s nothing to see here,” says Peter, waving at the monitors. “See you tomoz, yeah?”
  “Yeah,” I say, and I head into the little locker room.
As I do, I can’t help but wonder about that kid, though. So young, but he’s so angry and full of hate. What could have done that to him? What does he know that I don’t . . .?

Five Nights at Furries, Night 1

MONDAY, 6:06 ᴘᴍ

Turning to the left, I press the button to close the door. Suddenly, the door in front of me slams shut with a metal clang making me jump.
  “Creepy old lift . . .” I mumble to myself, pressing the button for Level 1, labelled Boulevard, and I hold the railing as the cabin moves up from the parking level. The doors finally open, and I step out to see the bright, spacious entrance to the building with dozens of people wandering around. And I am caught off-guard by the sight of several people in what looks like mascot costumes. Stepping out and to the side of the elevator I reach into my pocket to pull out the folded up piece of paper inside, and read it:

HELP WANTED - Doomben Convention and Community Exhibition Centre looking for security guard to work the nightshift. Monitor cameras, ensure the safety of patrons and staff. $400 a week.To apply call: (07) 3268 . . .

  “Great,” I mumble, scrunching up the paper and putting it back in my pocket.
The ad doesn’t say where I’m supposed to go, or who I’m supposed to talk to, so what do I do now?
I see a customer service desk over to the side, a long, perfectly carved wooden bench with several uniformed people behind it, so I head over. There’s a queue of people, two of which are in animal costumes, a fluffy, pink squirrel and a white tiger. I stand back as they speak to the staff.
As the tiger nods and turns away, they turn towards me, and their green, plastic eyes seem to follow me as they walk, making me freeze on the spot, my muscles tensing up. The tiger gives a friendly wave, but I stand stiff until they walk away, then let out a sigh. Ever since I was a kid I always found mascot costumes creepy. I know it’s silly, but I can’t help but get the chills. After the squirrel speaks to them and hops away excitedly, I walk up to the desk.
  “How can I help you?” asks a young man with a thin, boyish face and styled hair.
  “Hey, uh, I’m here for the security guard job. I spoke to a guy on the phone, I don’t know what his name was, though . . .”
  “That’s fine, just head up to the Terrace, just up the escalator, there. Security office is to the left, you can’t miss it. They’ll sort you out.”
  “Okay, thank you,” I say, and turn back to see several people sitting cross-legged on the floor, creating a kind of alley through the place as more people in animal costumes walk about and wave at people. I could just take the lift, but I don’t want to get lost following the directions the guy gave me, so I step up beside some people who were sitting on the ground. After waiting for a gap in the group of marching mascots, I quickly crossed the room, between a panda and an unidentifiable, puffy pink thing, and head around to the other side of the escalator to head upstairs.
I get to the top of the escalator and I’m standing on a balcony overlooking the reception desk downstairs. I turn left, and I see the elevator, and some chairs like a kind of waiting room or an airport, but not much else.
So much for “you can’t miss it” . . . either that guy sucks at directions, or I’m stupid. I turn further left and see a little hallway, with a sign on a closed door marked “Security”.
  “It’s official, I’m stupid,” I say, walking up to the door. I give it a light courtesy knock, then grab the handle to open the door, but it doesn’t budge. The door is locked. “Hello?”
There’s a click and the door opens, revealing a middle-aged black man in a light-blue guard uniform and dark trousers. He looks me up and down.
  “Can I help you?” he says.
  “Yeah, uh . . . I’m here about the job. I was told to come in tonight?” I say, inflecting the statement like a question.
  “Oh, right, you must be Jerry! Come in, come in.” says the guy, smiling. He ushers me inside, then closes the door behind him and locks it. “It’s good to meet you. I’m the man you spoke with on the phone, earlier.”
I look around the security office. It’s barely bigger than my bedroom, with a coffee table to the side with a trash can and an archive box under it, some filing cabinets to the left, next to what looks like a closet, and to the right is a desk with three computer monitors and a desk fan.
  “Right,” I say, looking around “Like I said, I’m new to this, but uh . . . I’m excited about the opportunity.”
  “Hey, man, it’s fine, the interview is over. You’re on the team.” says the guy, sitting down on the study chair in the middle of the room. “I know it can be overwhelming, but trust me, there’s nothing to worry about.”
  “Okay . . . but, y’know, I’ve never done security before, only retail. And I’m not really that intimidating,” I say. Even sitting down, I’m barely a head taller than this guy.
  “That’s fine, that’s stuff you can get the hang of over time. but let’s just worry about getting you through your first week, okay?”
  “Okay,” I say, trying to sound confident.
  “Great, now . . . since you’re new, we won’t go putting you on the floor, you’re going to be doing camera surveillance. I just need you to keep an eye on these cameras. If you notice anything, radio one of the guys on the floor and we’ll do the rest. Then, you just write the incident with the time, here” - he points at the timestamp in the corner of one of the monitors, then he opens one of the drawers in the desk. “In this logbook here. That way we can report it to management, or contact the police, all that good stuff.”
  “Sounds simple enough,” I say.
  “Oh yeah, it’s a breeze,” says the guy. “Here, let me just show you how this works.”
He turns around and I step forward to watch as he puts his hands on what looks like a keyboard consisting of a numpad, direction keys and a little joystick.
  “So, this controls all the cameras?” I ask.
  “Well, not ‘all’. This is a PTZ Controller. Pan, Tilt, Zoom. It switches between the cameras that move. But we have a few fixed cameras, on these two monitors.” He points to the monitor on the right. It showed four different angles of a dimly-lit, wood-panelled room with ladders, plastic, dropsheets and wires scattered around. “Now, don’t worry too much about this. This is upstairs, the plaza level. It’s being renovated, putting in speakers and lighting, but the workers are only here during the day, it should be empty. Of course, if anyone IS up there, radio immediately, but for the most part you can ignore it.”
He turns to the monitor on the left.
“This always shows the front entrance, reception desk, elevator and the stairwell. That way you can always see who’s coming and going. Anyway . . . the controller. This controls cameras on the centre screen here. To select a camera, press ‘Cam’, then type in the number,” the guy taps ‘0’, ‘0’, ‘5’, then ‘Ent’ and the centre screen changes to show the middle of the first floor, with the people in costumes still dancing around. “Now, using this little controller, up and down tilts to the ceiling and floor, left and right pans left and right. And if you turn it like a dial, clockwise is zoom . . . and anti-clockwise is zoom out.”
  “Cool . . .” I say.
  “Now, you can play with this to get the hang of it. But, for the most part, we leave these scanning. On any camera, if you press ‘Pre’ then ‘Function 1’, it will automatically pan left and right. And if you press ‘Tour’, the monitor will go through all of its cameras one by one. Make sense?”
 “Yeah, absolutely,” I say.
  “There, see? I told you it was bang-up easy,” he said, standing up. “We just need to get you a uniform and a radio, and you can start. Any questions?”
  “Actually, yeah, uh . . .” I rub the back of my head, nervously, “What’s with all the animal suits downstairs?”
  “What, the furries?” says the guy with a chuckle.
  “Furries?” I ask.
  “Yeah, y’know, folks that like dressing up as animals to get their rocks off. You’ve never heard of furries?”
  “I have, but I thought it was a webcomic thing. I didn’t know they dressed up.”
  “Hey, people do all kinds of crazy things. I’m not here to judge. But yes, we’re hosting a furry convention this week. We’ve got furries from all around Australia tonight.”
  “It’s just, I have a thing about mascot costumes . . . they give me the heeby-jeebies.”
The guy laughs and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, man, don’t worry. They’re kinda weird, but they’re totally harmless. Now, they may get a bit quirky at night, since the kids go home at five and the grown-ups can play together. But I don’t blame them. This is how they get their kicks. Everyone has their quirks.”
  “So, they’re here all week?” I say, my voice sounding weaker than I had meant it to be.
  “Hey, it’s cool, kid. We’re understaffed here, but we’d only call a newbie onto the floor in an emergency. You have nothing to worry about. Now, come on, let’s get you a uniform.”

The doorway which I had confused for a closet actually lead to a thin, little locker room. The guy gave me one of the lockers, found a shirt in my size, and left me alone to change into it. Once I was dressed, I opened the door and stepped back into the security office.
  “Neat,” said the guy. “Now, people can recognize you as a security guard. Okay, a few more things, you’ll need a set of keys and a radio . . .”
He searched around a little, opened the filing cabinet, looked in a locked cashbox under the coffee table, grabbing a keyring from inside, then checked different drawers in the desk, before finally grabbing a radio.
  “Oh, uh, I didn’t get your name,” I said, as he offered the radio and keys to me.
  “Here, take them,” he said, seeming a little impatient. I finally took them.
  “Can you tell me your name?” I said, assuming he didn’t hear me.
  “My name?” he said.
  “Yeah, what do I call you?” I said.
  “No no no, don’t use names on the radio. It’s a safety and privacy issue. Anyone here is called ‘Central’. If you need me specifically, my callsign is ‘Operator’, but I need to check on who else is here tonight, so for now, if you see something, just ask for ‘Security’. Okay?”
  “Uh, yeah . . .” I say.
  “The radio is already tuned in, you’ll be great. I have to get to work,” he said, opening the door of the security office. “Just check those cameras, lock the door. Oh, and don’t let anyone in here under any circumstances. Gotta keep the place secure . . .”
He smiled, then stepped out and closed the door.
After a moment, I stepped forward, locked the door, then turned back and dropped into the study chair with a sigh.
  “Crazy, man . . .” I say. I look at the radio and keys in my hand, turn and place them on the desk, then scoot my chair forward so I can see the security monitors.
Like he said, the third monitor is motionless. Just ladders, wires and sheets. The left monitor shows the different doorways. And the central monitor is still looking at the main floor downstairs, ‘Camera 005’, where the people in animal costumes - the furries - were now wandering around, with a few huddled in small groups, chatting.
I press ‘Cam’ then ‘0’, ‘0’, ‘1’. The image changes to show the open space full of chairs just outside the elevator, which I had walked through earlier. I also see the security guy I had just spoken to on the phone, standing outside, adjusting a hat onto his head.
  “The guy I spoke with on the phone . . .” I say to myself. I reach into my pocket and pull out the crumpled piece of paper. I re-read the advertisement. It just gave the number and the details. No names. He hired me, and I still don’t know his name.
I drop the paper on the desk in front of me, and look at the monitor again. The guy is gone.
  “Where did you go, Phone guy?” I say to myself, as I take the little joystick and move it around. The camera moves smoothly left and right as I move the controller. I even give it a little twist, and watch the picture zoom in and out. “Man, so cool . . .”
It’s like a kind of real-life videogame, moving the camera around.
I switch to Camera 002 with the keypad, and get another view of the waiting room, but from the opposite side, which has a good view of the escalators, as well as over the balcony. From this viewpoint, I easily see that Phone guy is travelling down the escalators.
I then try Camera 003.
The view changes drastically. It’s very dark around the edges, and I can tell that it’s outside, because I can see potted ferns which are blowing in the wind and streetlights over the dim railings. But the light is shining on some kind of terrace, with a dark, tinted-glass box glass in the middle. Moving the camera left and right, I see that the glass box is just a room with full-length windows on all sides with the blinds drawn, probably some kind of meeting room, and I can even see a glass door to the right of it, leading back into the blue carpet of the Terrace level.
I glance at the controller keypad, and I notice there is a little key marked ‘Next’. I press it, and the monitor immediately switched to Camera 004, showing a hallway with blue carpet and three closed doors. I tap ‘Next’ again, to Camera 005 again, facing the bottom of the escalators, showing several furries still chatting around the entrance of the building, not far from reception. Because all the cameras are high over the heads of everyone, and so are tilted down, I notice that the room is carpeted with dark, red carpet, and realize that there is a simple colour scheme, of red for the first floor, and blue for the second. I click ‘Next’, Camera 006, and actually get a view inside the first exhibit hall. It’s empty, but the view is from beside the stage, looking out upon a room of empty seats, but there are some people around the edges of the room, setting up tables and signs. Then I check Camera 007, it’s like a mirror image of the last room, with the camera in the opposite corner of the stage, but this room is full of people. The chairs are full, and some people are even standing on the side, facing the stage, but about a dozen people dotted throughout the audience are wearing animal costume. I turn the camera towards the stage, and although more than half of the stage is obscured from this angle, I do see a panel of people at the front of the stage, each wearing a colourful, furry costume.
  “It’s a wild world out there . . .” I say to myself.
There’s a knock at the door.
  “Guh!” I yelp, flinching violently. I was so focused on the screen, I forgot where I was. After exhaling heavily, I turn and stand up from the chair. I get up, open the door, and feel chills down the back of my neck. Instead of another security guard, there’s a girl there in a white costume with orange, plush wings and scales all the way down the tail. I know it’s a girl, because she’s removed the head of the suit and has it tucked under her arm, but the white dragon head has glowing orange eyes and teeth, and large striped horns clutched in the orange claws of her furry glove. It takes me a moment to take my eyes off the dragon head and look at the girl. She’s older than me, at least twenty, she looks Hispanic with lightly tan skin, and brown hair that’s a little scruffed up from having removed the fake head.
  “Uh, can I help you?” I ask.
  “Yes. I need to report a sexual assault,” says the girl, calmly and confidently.
  “. . . sexual assault?” I say, nervously inflecting my statement into a question. The Phone guy didn’t say anything about reporting sexual assault.
  “Yes. During the parade, someone groped me. I want to report him - or, them, I guess - they were wearing a fursuit.”
  “During the parade? While you were wearing the . . . dragon suit?”
  “Yes,” she says. “I don’t know who it was, but I can identify the fursuit they were wearing. It was made of mismatched pieces.”
  “But, isn’t that what the suit is for? Y’know . . .” I mime my hands in front of me rubbing the air, and as soon as I see what I’m doing, I feel like a complete moron. Not only does it sound absolutely wrong coming out of my mouth, but the look of dumbfounded shock on the girl’s face makes me wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
  “Costume. Is not. Consent,” says the girl, angrily. “A stranger grabbed me from behind and squeezed my breast. It hurt. I’m here for fun, not to get groped by strange men!”
  “I am . . . so sorry,” I say, and I shrink away to grab the radio, “Look, I’ve never done a report. I’ll just get my . . . manager,” I press the call button on the radio. “Central to Operator, over.”
  “ . . . Operator to Central, copy. Over.” says Phone guy.
  “Uh, Operator, I need help filing a report. One of the . . . conventioners needs to report an assault.” I say, before remembering to add. “Over.”
  “On my way. Out,” replies the radio. I place it on the table and turn to the girl
  “Look, I am really sorry. This is my first night working here, and I thought you were someone else, and the guy told me this was like, a fetish-or-something, and although I really didn’t know what that meant I just kind of assumed that this was meant to be some kind of, like, ‘Sexpo’ convention or something . . .” I finally remember to inhale,
“I really, really really didn’t mean to imply anything. I just wasn’t thinking, because you scared me when you knocked. I am so so-so-so sorry.”
Finally, I see the phone guy arrives and the lump in my throat stops feeling like it’s swelling.
  “I’m the head of security here,” says the guy, “what seems to be the problem?”
  “This guy is a moron,” says the girl pointing at me, not missing a beat.
  “Don’t worry about it. He’s new,” says the guy, “So, what is it you would like to report?”
The girl finally turns away, and I exhale heavily, slowly and shamefully closing the door to the office. I can hear them talking outside, about police and convention passes, but I walk towards the filing cabinet, and lightly bump my head on the edge, groaning softly.
That could not possibly have gone any worse . . .

After a few minutes, the door opens, and I turn to see the phone guy step inside.
  “Everything okay in here?” he asks.
  “Yeah, I guess . . .” I say, rubbing my head, nervously.
  “Man, that was one angry chica. What did you say to her?”
  “It was an accident,” I say. “I was nervous, just babbling, and I asked if she was asking for it. It was so stupid.”
  “Yeah . . . that’s pretty stupid,” says the guy, smirking.
  “It’s not funny!” I say, making him snort with laughter.
  “Look, just stick to procedure next time. But considering how pale you look right now, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he said, and his smile dropped. “And I admit, I didn’t tell you about reporting. I didn’t think it would be a problem on your first night; that’s my bad. So, for next time, basically, we’re not cops. If there’s a serious crime, log it and call the police. We can detain people, deny entry or kick them out, but beyond that, we leave it to the boys in blue.”
  “Right. Okay.”
  “Speaking of - we've just added that lady’s attacker to the list, she wants to press charges. We only have the fursuit described - a mismatched suit; pink tail, tiger stripes, brown mask . . . - he’s on our blacklist. Let us know if you see him.” He said, pointing towards the monitors.
He turns towards the door, but stops and looks and me again.
“oh, and Jeremy? Remember: ‘Costume is not Consent’.”
He chuckles to himself as he steps out and closes the door.
I slump back in the study chair and groan.
  “Kill me now . . .”

†

I spend a good, long time toying with the cameras, learning more about them and the controller, over an hour testing and learning. I learn that in total, there are twelve moveable cameras: two upstairs, four on my floor and six downstairs. I assume there’s less upstairs because it’s mostly an open space, and the stationary cameras in two of the corners pretty much cover any angle as well as the elevator and two other rooms, with the two moveable ones inside of some empty presentation rooms at the end, each with a whiteboard on one side and chairs stacked in the corners.
But downstairs has the exhibit halls and the ballroom, which after toying with the cameras I learn is a huge two-storey space. The ballroom has been filled with tables and booths and stalls, converting it into a kind of marketplace full of cutesy merchandise. It’s not very busy with most tables unoccupied and covered with protective cloth to close up for the day, probably because it’s after nine o’clock. However, there are still a few smaller tables with people chatting or trying to sell, with less than thirty people wandering between them, and in one corner more than a dozen people have gathered around a few picnic-style tables. Using the zoom function, I see that they are playing a board game.
I even figure out some of the other keys on the controller. Because each key is the same size as a regular keyboard key, They have shortened titles, like ‘Mon’, ‘Pre’, ‘Set’, ‘Pat’ & ‘Alam’. I assume they stand for ‘Monitor’, ‘Present’ or ‘Preference’, ‘Settings’, ‘Pattern’ and ‘Alarm’. Monitor doesn’t do anything, except make the monitor go black for a moment and return to Camera 001. I use the Preference key, with ‘F1’ function key so that the cameras in the ballroom and in the reception area pan left and right, giving a good view of the large floorspace. Settings opens a menu on the small dot-matrix screen on the controller, with terms like ‘Speed’ and ‘IP Address’ which I quickly exit without changing anything. Pattern also enters a strange menu on the controller screen, talking about preset camera movement.
As for Alarm . . . I don’t know what exactly it does, since I decide against pressing it.
After learning about that, I set the camera to ‘Tour’, like the guy told me. It goes through every one of the cameras, one by one, pausing on each for about five seconds.
When I do that, I manage to find the other security guards. Even though he’s far from the camera, I don’t even need to use the zoom function to recognize Phone guy, on Camera 006. He’s standing at the back of the exhibition hall next to the door, keeping an eye on the people as they watch some presentation that looks like a silly stageplay using people in fursuits. The others, I only recognize by their uniforms, the light blue short-sleeved shirt and long pants. There’s a lanky security guy with glasses on Camera 008 who is near reception, and appears to be chatting up one of the girls, leaning on the desk.
There’s a short girl with dark hair wearing a baseball cap that I can see on Camera 005, who is near the entrance to the convention centre standing so still I can’t help but be impressed by her professionalism. I guess that’s why they put her by the entrance.
There’s also a big, Samoan-looking guy at the end of the hall on the second floor, that I can see on Camera 004, the hallway with the three closed doors. At first, I thought he might have been slacking off, wandering back and forth at the end of the hall, but I see that every now and then, people head upstairs by the lift or escalator and enter one of the rooms. I notice a lot of people in fursuits enter, and people out of costume, carrying crates or large bags, leave. So, clearly, he was just keeping an eye on some form of changing rooms. He even occasionally stops people out of costume, to speak with them. Everyone at the convention has some kind of pass, a card on a lanyard that most people hang around their neck, but some keep on their person in a bag or pocket.
I look around on the cameras more, but there are no more security guards. Phone guy meant it when he said ‘understaffed’. There’s no security in the ballroom-cum-marketplace; no security in the second exhibit hall as the people pack up chairs after the earlier panel; no security keeping an eye on the lifts, even though a lot of people are heading down to the carpark & no one on the terrace, even though I notice a blind spot from the cameras up there.
Well, that’s not actually true. There’s no security, except me. I may have been hired less than four hours ago, but I’m the one keeping an eye on all these areas.
The tour of the cameras starts again, returning to Camera 001, but when it does, I see something strange. Someone dressed up like some kind of dinosaur appears near the balcony. They are moving very quickly, not running, but walking with purpose, and disappear around the corner before I can make them out.
I press ‘Next’, flicking to Camera 002, and I see from the other side as the person steps onto the escalator and begins moving down it quickly, the mask on their head wobbling as they do, and I make out what I’m seeing.
The person isn’t dressed as a dinosaur, but rather wearing a horse mask, the kind of brown, plastic one I’d seen in stupid internet videos, and on their back is some kind of large, pink, plush dinosaur tail with purple scales. I lose sight of them as they disappear under the banister, down the escalator, so I click ‘Next’ until I get to the view of the lower part of the escalator on Camera 007. They appear to be wearing army boots and camo pants, with some design on a black shirt. They turn the corner, the cheap, pink tail flicking wildly as they turn and march towards the reception desk. At first, I’m confused, since clearly the head and tail don’t match, but as it dawns on me, I pick up the radio and call it in.
  “Security, Central to security, I think I see, uh, the guy . . . in front of reception, the man who attacked the dragon lady. Over.”
I watch as the man heads towards the doors of the ballroom. Brown mask, Purple tail, mismatched outfit. I think it’s him.
  “Tower to Central, please repeat, over,” says an unfamiliar, drawling New Zealand accent.
  “This is Central. We have a blacklisted person heading for the Ballroom. Over.”
I watch on the fixed camera by reception as he walks past it towards the ballroom, and heads through the door.
  “Operator to Central. Copy that, on my way. Out,” says Phone guy.
I switch to a view inside the ballroom, and watch from a high vantage point as the horse-masked guy walks through the maze of stalls. I can tell it’s a guy because he’s actually quite muscular, the dark shirt fitting tightly to him as he marches through. As he walks past some uncostumed people, he points an accusing finger at them. There’s no sound, but as he walks, the people move close to one of the nearby tables, as though to make some distance between them and the guy. He stops by one of the tables, and actually grabs it and pushes it over, sending several pieces of paper and pencils, as well as photos and toys that were on the table spilling onto the floor.
Then he moves past, and seems to make a bee-line around the tables, towards the group of people gaming in the far corner. I find myself tense, staring at the screen as he moves towards the group and only exhale when I see Phone guy and the lanky security guard walk into view as well.
But they’re still at least twenty metres away, as the guy interrupts the people playing boardgames. I don’t know if he’s talking or yelling, or maybe if those army boots are stomping loudly on the tiled, ballroom floor, but as soon as he can see them, a lot of the people look up to see what’s going on. A lot of people back away, but two of them stand between the guy and the group, They seem to be saying something, but the guy just steps forward and gives one of them a shove, sending him stumbling back into the table. The other person tries to kick him, but the man grabs them.
Before he can do anything else, Phone guy and the lanky guard grab him by both arms and pull him back. The guy yanks on his arms, and throws a punch at the tall guy, who lets go and collapses, but Phone guy grabs him from behind in what looks like a hug around the chest that leaves the guy struggling and kicking. After the taller guard finally recovers, he helps grab one of the arms, Phone guy grabs the other, and the two escort the man out. He is still kicking and struggling, but can’t do much with the two guys locking his arms.
They head out the nearest door to the ballroom, and as they do, I hear soft yelling behind me. I turn from the monitor and look at the door. I can hear the guy raving like a madman as they drag him through the reception area. I get up and creep over to the door, and unlocking it I open the door a crack.
  “. . . sick faggots! The whole fucking lot of you freaks! Goddamned pedo furverts! Disgusting pedo scum, all of you fags! Get off me you . . .”
I close the door and listen as the yelling continues for a moment, before he gets dragged outside. I lock the door and sit back on the chair, stunned.
  “It’s a wild world out there . . .” I mumble to myself, shuffling towards the monitors again.

Most of the night wasn’t eventful. After the show in the exhibit hall came to an end, the convention centre emptied considerably, with patches of people huddled in groups, talking. A few also headed into the ballroom, with four dedicated people who put in the efforts to set upright the table the man in the horse mask had thrown over, and put the artwork and equipment back.
I was watching the cameras slowly flick through the different scenes, when there was a light knock on the door, and so I turn and stand up, unlocking the door. I recognize the lanky security guard. He’s two heads taller than me.
  “Hello,” I say.
  “Hey, bro,” says the guy in a New Zealand accent as he slips through the door. “You the new kid?”
  “Yeah, I’m Jeremy,” I say.
  “Peter,” he says, pointing at himself. “Is this your first day?”
  “Yeah, it is,”
  “Thought so. You were quick to see that fella, no one got hurt. Except me, slippery bastard . . .” he says, rubbing his cheek. “But next time, keep it short, yeah? Don’t chatter on the radio. Keep it short and snappy, yeah?”
  “Of course,” I say. “So, can I help you at all?”
  “No,” he says, looking at his watch. “Just getting ready to go home.”
  “Really?” I say, glancing at the time on the monitor. Sure enough, it’s almost midnight. “That was quick.”
  “Yeah, you should pack up too,” says Peter, heading for the little locker room. “Boss is downstairs, letting the stragglers know we’re locking up soon.”
As he heads into the lockers, I turn towards the monitors. I click ‘Next’ to switch through the cameras, and sure enough the exhibit hall cameras are dark except for the bright light of the open door at the far end, the lights having been switched off. In the ballroom, I see the Phone guy and the short lady are checking around the tables for any last people, and directing them towards the exits.
I hear Peter behind me as he walks through to the security office door.
  “See you tomorrow, man,” he says.
I look back at him, and see he’s wearing a sickly green t-shirt.
  “Yeah, see you,” I say.
As he heads out the door, I get up, stretching my legs. They’re a bit stiff, after sitting for so long. I close the door to the office, then head towards the locker, myself. Then I stop, and turn back. I’ve left the door unlocked. I consider for a moment if it’s worth locking it, but decide I’ll only be a moment. I step into the locker, and use the key in my pocket to unlock the padlock and I swing it open. There’s just my t-shirt inside. I take off my button up uniform, and lazily roll it up, dropping it into the locker.
I pick up the t-shirt, when suddenly I feel something on my leg. I flinch as the phone in my pocket goes off. The phone vibrates and plays a polyphonic version of Westminster Chimes, a ringtone I downloaded from the internet. I know what it’s for, but I take the phone out of my pocket to check the screen anyway:

12:00 ᴀᴍ -  End of Shift

I silence the alarm and put my shirt on, hoping, at least, that tomorrow’s shift would go better than tonight’s had.