Room 217: Photo Processing

A really long time ago (probably only, like, five months, but who’s counting), a toner cartridge darker than anything you can imagine lay hidden at the bottom of some dusty, forgotten plastic shelf…quiet. Undisturbed. Then someone screwed it all up because they needed it for a project they’d procrastinated on, and the darkness escaped. The whole room was enveloped into a shadow even darker than the prospect of there not being any construction on campus anytime soon, and shadow ghosts came out and stuff. It was bad. Very bad. Don’t go in there.

Okay, you can if you want to, ’cause for all I know the ghosts might actually be perfectly well-meaning citizens, but that’s just what they told me to say. I’m in legal. I’m not supposed to be writing horror stories. Who am I? What has my life become? Why are you still reading this? Just look at the room and be scared so I don’t get fired…

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