Episode 07 - The Weekend Arrives

11:58 PM. Friday.

Olivia sat at the front desk, watching the lobby clock judder toward midnight.

She still wasn’t sure what she’d seen in the Vault-adjacent room earlier that day. Bernard had reassured her in his best “don’t-panic-but-maybe-panic-a-little” tone, and she’d filed it under Things To Process Later.

She hadn’t told Charles. Or Miss LaDonna. She hadn’t seen either of them since the morning. People tended to disappear around here in ways that didn’t feel ominous—just inevitable.

11:59 PM. She took a slow breath and checked the monitors.

12:00 AM. The building changed.

The lights gave a subtle flicker—not a failure, more like an inhale. The monitors on the wall all blinked in unison. For a split second, they showed the same image:

A red curtain. A throne made of television sets. A clawed hand resting on an armrest.

Then the feeds resumed like nothing had happened.

From deep inside the building came a distant clang, followed by a door slamming open so hard the lobby walls trembled.

Then came the voice.

“LADIES! GENTLEMEN! BEASTS AND BANSHEES! YOUR GAMMONSTER HAS ARRIVED!”

A figure stormed into the lobby in a full black suit, red-trimmed cape flowing behind him. His hair was slicked back like a villain from a 60s comic book. A medallion the size of a small plate gleamed on his chest. He struck a pose—arms out, head tilted skyward, eyes flashing with dramatic intensity.

“Let the weekend begin!”

Olivia flinched hard enough to almost knock over her tea.

Behind him, Bernard floated into view with the delighted air of someone who had absolutely expected this and still found it hilarious.

“Olivia,” he said, voice warm and Welsh and far too pleased, “may I introduce Bobby Gammonster, host of Monster Movie Night.”

Bobby snapped his fingers and pointed both hands at Olivia like a lounge act. “You must be the new blood. Welcome to the madness, darling!”

She blinked. “I… thank you?”

“You’ll do fine,” he said, already turning toward the hallway with a flourish. “Just keep the lights on and don’t let Morbid near the PA system. Again.”

With that, he swept away, laughing to himself as though an invisible audience had just applauded.

Olivia turned to Bernard. “Is that normal?”

Bernard shrugged (insofar as something without shoulders can shrug). “He’s one of the more grounded ones, actually.”

“…Oh no.”

The second arrival was quieter—but somehow worse.

At 12:17 AM, the elevator dinged.

Out stepped a man in a stained and wrinkled lab coat. His beard was long and tangled. His goggles—those terrible, swirling spiral goggles—perched on his forehead like they were waiting for an excuse to fall. He was muttering something about “hypercranial resonance loops” and clutching a tape labeled UNLABELED.

Shuffling behind him was a wiry, jittery figure with a name tag that read Jacque Straph. His overalls were covered in duct tape patches. He had a pencil behind each ear, and he was blatantly not French.

The man looked up at Olivia, sniffed the air, and squinted. “You’re not the one who got turned inside-out last fall,” he said flatly.

“I don’t think so?” she offered.

“Hmph. We’ll see.” He shuffled off toward the basement stairwell.

Bernard floated up behind her again, beaming.

“And that was Baron Morbid. Basement Host. Watch out for his sidekick—they bite when startled.”

Olivia sat back in her chair and stared at the hallway.

“…How many more of them are there?”

Bernard rotated slowly. “Oh, we’re just getting started, love.”