I took two quick steps back in utter shock.
What weirdness was happening around me? It felt like some sort of joke I was not in on. I checked the piece of paper once.
First, a strangely crafted advertisement had floated against the wind straight to me. Oh sure, turns out a high-end, never-opened luxury hotel wanted to hire a caretaker with a bizarre set of qualifications. Why not check?
The gates no one had ever seen open slid aside for me. Maybe they just wanted to know who was misusing their pristine name.
Now doors were swinging open of their own accord, and a stack of papers with my name on them sat waiting for me to sign, binding me to secrecy.
All this time, I had not met a single human being.
What made it even stranger was that between getting the advertisement and arriving here there had been no way for them to know my name, let alone print it on a waiver.
I stepped out of the room again, hoping to see someone I could bombard with questions, but there was no one. Farther ahead, where I had come from, the gates were shut tight and seemed to seal me inside.
For almost ten minutes I wandered around hoping someone would appear. All the while my thoughts replayed the words on that form demanding my signature.
Eventually curiosity won. Cautiously, I stepped back into the room. Maybe one of these papers held clearer answers to my questions.
This time I circled the desk and lowered myself into a chair before trying to skim the forms.
I could not.
I tried to pull away the top paper, the one demanding my signature, so I could see the rest. It would not budge. Try as I might, it would not slide aside. It felt like a paper version of a firewall I had to pass first.
Eventually I gave up, sitting there for a moment and staring at the single word beneath the form. Sign.
I grabbed the stack and shook it. Maybe it was just one paper disguised as a bunch. Why anyone would make something like this was beyond me, but the modern world was full of weird inventions. Try to make sense of each and you would go haywire halfway through.
And this, this creepy text just like the ad, could easily be the work of some HR nerd with too much freedom.
I mean, what could possibly happen if I signed? All they were asking was for me to respect their privacy, and in return I would get the interview.
Maybe this was a test. A test I had to pass to qualify to work here.
Yes. Now that I thought about it, it made sense. The ad had said one had to have a short nose, enough to stick to their own business.
That was it. They were testing my ability to stay in my lane and not pry into clients' affairs.
Oh God, and I almost failed.
All I had to do was sign and someone would come in to tell me I had passed and could proceed to the next step.
I quickly reached for the provided pen and without much thought I scribbled my signature on the top form.
I waited. Any minute now someone would walk in and dismiss my paranoia.
No one did.
Five minutes. Ten. Still no one.
I stood and walked to the main entrance. Everything was exactly the way I had found it.
"Where on earth is everyone?" I muttered. "And what do I have to do to make someone show up?"
I slowly walked back into the room. Useless as it felt, it was the only place offering even the slightest hope for an answer.
And there it was.
As soon as I stepped in, I noticed the form I had signed now lying separate from the rest.
Feeling my heart throb with tense excitement, I sat back into the chair and grabbed the remaining forms.
To my surprise, the sheets no longer felt rigid and bound together. I separated them just to be sure, then picked up the first one.
It was a questionnaire, still as weird as the first form.
Please answer the following questions as honestly as possible.
Do you believe in the supernatural?
I reread it. My eyes were not deceiving me.
"No," I scribbled with a raised brow. A weird question, but a question nonetheless.
The next sheet wanted my opinion about witches, vampires, werewolves, witch hunters, and ghosts.
Then demons, fairies, and demigods. The following sheet listed demon lords, gods, and goddesses across dozens of mythologies.
My answers were simple and brief. The instructions were clear enough. Answer honestly.
Of course, my answer was nothing across the board. How could I have an opinion on something I did not believe in?
Finally, I grabbed the last form.
Are you willing to change your beliefs and maintain neutrality if you had to work and interact with these supernatural beings?
Here I had to take a pause.
Change my opinion? As in they were offering proof of all this stuff I had just read?
And maintain neutrality while working with vampires, demons, gods? Simply put, all manner of creatures that I had spent my whole life knowing to be mythical.
Now they were real and I had to work with them?
It was at this point any sane person would have walked out because this was now turning into an outright joke.
But I did not, and not because I was not sane.
See, I was a man of science, and the only thing that fed science was insatiable curiosity.
These people, whoever they were, were offering proof. I mean they did not care about my beliefs, they only needed to know I could adjust if presented with the evidence of having to work with these beings.
Slowly now, my subconscious began to push to the surface all the conspiracy theories I had ever heard about this place.
Could it be that there was some truth in them? That in fact this was the type of clientele it catered for?
It sounded far fetched, but come to think of it, it might explain why this place was never opened to the public.
My head was already growing hazy from just thinking. I could not believe I was even considering this as a possibility.
But like I said, I was a man of science, and when presented with proof beyond doubt, science demanded adjustments to accommodate the new discovery.
"Yes."
I scribbled down before moving to the last question, or rather a statement, on the form.
I could have sworn there had only been one question on the forms when I picked it.
Mr Erwin Owl, based on your views and levels of willingness to adjust to new beliefs, we are pleased to offer you the role of a live-in caretaker at Midstreet Hotel located at the Neutral Zone. If you accept, please append your signature on the space provided.
I read the words twice, then my hands moved like I had forgotten all the weird questions I had answered.
I seemed to watch from another person's point of view as my hand scribbled the signature at the bottom of the page.
"Congratulations sir, and welcome to Midstreet Hotel."
I jumped, scattering all the papers across the room.