Literature
Cursed Font
Apartment 704 was easy to find. Off the right end of a dreary corridor, with walls, floor and ceiling a palimpsest of half-scrubbed graffiti, it had shatter-proof mirrors on side and facing walls plus two peep-holes.
I leaned on the call button. "PC Recovery Services."
You cannot be sure with those semi-silvered lenses, but I felt scanned high and low. At last, bolts and locks were drawn, and the door opened to its twin crash-chains' limit. I glimpsed tired eyes, a drawn face, loose, dark, drab clothes, ill-hidden fear, a haunted air. Her untidy, collar length brunette hair was gathered severely behind her thin neck, her chipped nails were