Why do the blueprints show rooms with geometries that shouldn't exist? Which draftsman's calculations predict structural loads for buildings not yet conceived? What's served in the canteen that keeps the staff working through nights that never end? And why do the architectural drawings redesign themselves when no one is watching?
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A building has a soul; the architect who designed it gave a part of his soul. And the workers who gave their sweat and blood to build it gave a part of their soul too.
― Avijeet Das
Welcome to H.P.L. Tower Architect’s Office!
As I sat at my desk late into the night, finalizing plans for my latest project, something felt…off. The old lamps cast strange shadows across the blueprints spread before me.
I rose, stretching sore muscles, and wandered the office to clear my foggy mind. But the darkness played tricks. Files seemed to shift in the cabinet by themselves. Photos on the wall showed faces not there before.
Shaking my head, I headed to the supply room for more paper. But as I flipped the switch, no light came on. My heart raced as I fumbled for my phone, its feeble glow barely piercing the inky black.
That’s when I heard it - a low scraping, like claws on plaster. It came from the walls, the ceiling, everywhere at once. I backed toward the door, eyes darting wildly through the dark.
A crash sounded from my office. I bolted down the hall, skidding around the corner. My desk lamp had fallen, shattering on the floor. But something else moved amongst the ruins of blueprints and glass.
Two pale ovals turned to fix on me, and I threw myself back with a scream. A shape unfolded itself from the wreckage, all joints and too-long limbs. It cocked its head and smiled with a mouth too wide.
I had designed this building, but its unknowable depths had conceived their own horrors, invisible in any blueprint. And now they had come for their architect.
