Patience ran thin for Paul, "This is the last place we check, I'm getting sick and tired of this." They looked in many sites, too expensive, far away, or small. Reluctantly they entered the building.
A big guy received them at the entrance, "What do you want?"
"We came to see the space available advertised on the web," said Rita with trembling voice--something intimidating about him.
His black eyes fixated on her, "I wouldn't recommend it."
"Excuse me?"
"It ain't right. Something wrong happened."
Intimidating and scary, what else could she ask for?
Paul asked, "Hi. I'm Paul, we want to check the place out."
Mr. Big swept him with his eyes and said, "PK's the name. You are on your own, I ain't getting inside that poophole."
"Why?" asked Paul.
PK blinked, sighed, and said, "People were killed and stuff."
An uncomfortable silence reigned for a few seconds.
"You better leave," urged PK.
Paul didn't budge, "We want to check it out regardless of your supertisions."
By this time Rita wished to leave but knew they should stick together.
PK said, "Your choice."
Paul looked at Rita, she nodded. They reached another door, opened it, and entered. Purple walls, old office furniture, and dust greeted them. A weak light coming from an old lamp lit the place. Paul glanced behind him: PK was gone. He was right behind us, he thought.
Rita sensed something, the faint wind carried a subtle smell, a decomposing smell, "What's that smell?" she said.
"It's just dust," he said and took a big breath.
"Something's rotten."
"You are right, the stink comes from that desk."
"Be better leave, this place gives me the creeps," she said, this time holding Paul's arm.
"C'mmon, you believe in ghost stories? Everything's fine; most likely we'll find a thousand year old sandwich."
They walked until they reached the desk. It was old, brown, and covered with dust. Sitting on top of it a gigantic CRT monitor sparkled. The monitor displayed some text--green letter on black background. At that point the stink grew to unbearable levels.
"This is bad, really bad. Something's dead, let's get out of here," implored Rita with cold, sweaty and trembling hands.
Suddenly they saw him. Right there, on the other side of the monitor, with his hands on top of the keyboard. Rita gasped and couldn't say a thing. Paul stared at him prettified. After a few moments, they looked at each other in disbelief.
Paul said, "It's, it's... not possible. We just--I mean--"
They ran towards the entrance. Paul turned the knob with no luck: the door was locked.
He got up and approached them; the stink followed him, "I told you not to get in," said PK, dead PK, decomposing PK, falling apart PK.
Without thinking Paul picked up a chair a threw it to PK.
Infuriated, PK grabbed his own arm, pulled out a chunk of rotten flesh, and said, "You want a piece of me?" and then threw the putrid muscle to them, "Now you'll join the club... you can use the computer to advertise the space available."
