The Warm Chair
Arvin rubbed his nose and yawned as he went over the day's schedule. Cleaning checklist, security checklist, some paperwork. Nothing particularly special.
The tabby, grey cat yawned again. It had been raining last night, and the day was cool. He'd left his jacket in his locker as was customary, then went through screening, as was customary. Lunch was always on site, but was a nice perk of the job. He was saving money - maybe he could have a place of his own in a year or two, perhaps a garden... oh, how he wanted a garden. He wanted to tend flowers and have tea, and listen to the sound of bees as they did their work in the sunshine.
In the meantime, his job was somewhat simple, if dull. It paid well, but it was monstrously micromanaged. Lists and procedures for everything. He rubbed the back of his hand on the white jacket that covered his sweater, then rolled his eyes as fur clung to it. Why white? Rolling his eyes at the start to his day, he opened the door to room 205. Immediately, something seemed... off. He flicked the lights, but it seemed the ballast had gone. Typical piece of shit, he thought. New lab, old equipment. Well.
It wasn't a lab, technically.
It looked more like a library, but... old. Carpets from a decade long past, wooden shelves, books from the turn of the last century... encyclopaedias. Encyclopaedias! Who used those anymore? He always considered how amazing it was, how much things had changed in such a short amount of time. The counter in front of him looked entirely out of place in the room, with its relatively modern computers and readouts and alarms, one of which was blinking. His heart leapt into his chest as he looked at it, then down the long, long room, where a single, non-fluorescent light was always on, shining on its lone subject. Except it wasn't alone.
On a metal plate in the middle of the floor, as if ripped into another time, sat the chair. It was rather unassuming, ordinary, if old. Out of style, old even for the 'library' that it found itself in, and entirely strange to sit on that plate, the chair basked in the light, casting a dark shadow. Beside it, staring, stood the looming figure of Charlie, the custodial tech. The cat glanced quickly at the tare reading for the plate that the chair was on. Zero. Okay, that was good, at least.
Sweating slightly, he ran out from around the counter and down the room, to the taped line on the carpet. "Charlie? Buddy? You okay?" The brown bull blinked heavily in his blue uniform, one piece zipped over his frame. He didn't answer immediately. "Charlie?"
He turned to face Arvin, an apologetic look on his face. He wasn't supposed to be that close. "It's... it's warm," he said, by way of explanation, looking at the chair. Oh shit, oh shit oh shit.
"Charlie, buddy, come on back, okay?" The cat held out a hand to the big bull. He'd never been close, per se, to the bull, but he'd always nodded, or been friendly. Jokes about his horns in the break room, or got a coffee when they were both off at the same time. The cat didn't really interact with anyone much from work in his home life. He'd never really considered why that might have been, but for the moment he resolved, if Charlie would just step back, he'd take him out for a drink or something. Anything. Just get the fuck back. "Charlie, you gotta step back, okay?"
His mind raced to procedure. He was already out of line right now, he had to call control, but he didn't want to risk losing Charlie. "It's... warm," was all he said, again, his face looking as if he wanted to cry. Oh shit.
"Breach 205," the cat quickly said into his lapel mic. "Control, we're gonna lose someone."
There was silence in his earpiece for a minute or two, then the cameras began to retract from the ceiling. "Acknowledged. Collect the sample, then write a detailed report."
The cat shook his head, as if control were a person in front of him. "You don't understand, it's Charlie, he was cleaning, he must have touched it, you gotta send help," he pleaded, the words coming faster and faster out of his mouth.
"You're already out of procedure. There is no help. Collect the sample, write the report."
He wasn't authorized to do any of this, but here he was. The cameras looked passively at the scene, recording. "But-!"
Charlie, trembling, turned to sit in the chair, and it was like the sound got sucked out of the room. Arvin's heart was pounding, and he couldn't hear it. He was breathing ragged, like he was going to run in terror, but he couldn't hear it. His chest heaved. The light brightened, the shadow deepened. There was nothing but the scene in front of him. Was it a trick of forced perspective, that the bull sat in the worn, wooden chair, and it looked perfectly sized for him? Like an Ames room, was the chair much larger than he thought? The cat blinked rapidly. Charlie sighed, looking... tired. And strangely at peace, like he knew something was going to happen - and happen it did.
Looking at Arvin, the bull shivered and his mouth opened, as if trying to say something. For just a moment, he looked like himself again, with his wits about him. He tried again to say something, a warning? His mouth moved, and he lurched, as if to get up, but... he couldn't. Puzzled, he tried again, eyes widening. It was as if his body wouldn't cooperate with his mind. And then his cloven feet stopped touching the ground.
His chest worked like a bellows as he began to draw into himself, centred at a point somewhere on his backside. The back of the chair began to peek out from behind him as he became smaller and smaller. His breathing calmed only somewhat, and his expression turned to horrified curiosity, as his legs drew upwards, feet now pointing straight out like a calf sitting in a chair for adults. He laughed soundlessly, eyes wild, mad for a moment. Smaller and smaller, those wild eyes caught Arvin's.
The cat's mouth was open in horror at all of this, reaching out as if to help, yet not daring to move even an inch closer. Chest still heaving, unable to say anything, he only raised one hand and waved at Charlie.
The bull, perhaps realising that this was the end, began to cry out, plead, anything for help. Smaller and smaller, hands reaching out for Arvin, for anyone. Like water swirling down the drain, the last moments were mercifully brief. Feet turned to inches - centimetres, the cat willed himself to remember, then millimetres, falling, falling, then...
Arvin fell back onto his ass as the power flicked back to life, gasping, the ballast now working. A hum of electronics buzzed in his ear, and he heard the bell tone of tinnitus. Shaking his head, trembling, he looked at the chair. Nothing.
Standing up, heart thumping with nervous energy, he stepped back from the cursed object to retreat behind the counter again, still staring. The tare reading for the plate blinked. Non-zero, was all it said. He swallowed. Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a static wand, a plastic sheet. As soon as he moved it near his jacket, it began to pick up fur. Perfect.
Walking quickly back to the chair, he held the wand as close to the surface as he dared, kneeling down and peering. The seat still presumably smelled of Charlie, he thought to himself, as he waved it back and forth, watching it pick up any tiny detritus from the surface.
His ears twitched as the door clicked open, and he turned quickly to see who was entering, knocking the chair with the back of his hand lightly. "Fuck," he cursed to himself as he retreated, trembling. He capped the wand in a plastic housing quickly as Rous entered. Tall and thin, the canine raised an eyebrow. "You okay?" he asked, his dark brown fur contrasting with silver framed glasses. "You needed help? You got the sample okay, though," he said, offering a hand out to take it. Arvin complied, dropping the wand into his hand and leaning against the counter. "Hey, do you want to go get a coffee or something? Take a break? I'll review the tapes and start the report, okay?"
The cat nodded. Stepping quickly out of room 205, he closed the door and leaned against the wall, gripping one hand with the other.
The chair was... warm.