The Moonlight Man

TW: Brief harassment and violence; death

Excelsior Business Tower was the most secure building in New Arizona.

Its owner, Nicholas Birch, was known to be an extremely paranoid man. Some even swore he would reserve the city's police drones to safeguard his early morning jogs.

("No comment," the police department would always say when the rumor was brought up).

"I guess I would rent those bad boys too if I could afford 'em," the middle-aged men would admit as they sipped their whisky. "Especially with that serial killer on the loose."

If there was one place the people of New Arizona believed the deadly Moonlight Man could not strike, it was Excelsior Business Tower.

Every night at 6:00 pm, security officers would sweep the building―with radars suspiciously similar to those employed by the federal government―to ensure all employees and visitors were gone. By 6:10 pm, every door and window in the tower was automatically locked (with the most advanced mechanisms from Northern Oregon, of course). When the chimes of the City Hall Bell Tower rang seven times, a new round of security officers would position themselves around the perimeter of the building to ward off potential intruders.

Excelsior Business Tower truly was the most secure building in New Arizona.

So it didn't make sense as to how Francine Mendax wound up locked in the tower's basement after dark.

"Let me out!" She shouted, pounding on its heavy metal door. The building's interior security drones were deaf to her cries, as they were already reinspecting Floor 14 (the drones would sweep the entire building three times that night). When her voice finally went hoarse, Francine closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold metal doorframe. "They'll come back down eventually," she murmured. 

Her eyes began to adjust to the dark, allowing her to discern large concrete columns and tall piles of cardboard boxes spread throughout the room. She assumed the basement was large (it was Excelsior Business Tower, after all), but could guess little else. A humming generator made it difficult for her to organize her thoughts. "This is fine," she attempted to reassure herself. "It's not like I'm going to be stuck down here all night, that has to be―"

"Are you done having your existential crisis?" A voice snickered. 

Francine gasped, her eyes darting around the room. Damn it, she couldn't see anything. Her heart began to race. Had someone else really just spoken? 

"Hello? Hello, is someone there?" Francine gripped her keys to her chest. "I-I'm armed!"

"God, I hope not," the low voice chuckled through the dark. "That would make for a very awkward introduction." Francine heard a metal chair scrape against the concrete floor. The sound of heavy feet came closer and closer.

"S-stay back!" She cried. Her keys rattled as she rummaged for her phone. "I said stay back!"

"No need to get antsy," the voice sneered. "We can just—"

The man froze when a beam of white light struck him in the eyes. "Damn, woman," he groaned, raising his arm to block the glare. "Move your phone down, would ya?" 

"O-oh. A-alright," Francine faltered, slightly angling the device towards the ground. 

"You ruined my night vision too, thanks," the man rebuked, rubbing his eyes. Francine took the opportunity to study his appearance.

He looked about forty years old. A dark baseball cap covered his oily rust-colored hair and cast menacing shadows over his pale face. The man's oversized sweatshirt and worn jeans made Francine feel self-conscious in her business attire. The man aggressively blinked. "Well damn," he muttered, looking her up and down. "You're hot." Francine stiffened.

"Excuse me, mister..." the man appeared caught off guard.

"Uhh...John Smith. But you," he recovered with a leer, "can call me John. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Francine Mendax, mister Smith," she emphasized, gripping her keys even tighter. "Do you know if there is another way out of this basement?"

"Hmm..." John Smith huffed, exaggeratedly putting a finger to his lips. "Let me think, let me think..." he tapped his mouth and dramatically furrowed his eyebrows, pretending to be in deep thought. "I don't think so," he finally replied. "Don't worry though, Franny. I'll keep you good company until we break free." Francine felt her throat go dry.

"Perhaps," Francine whispered. She cleared her throat and strengthened her voice. "P-perhaps you should sit where you were before. We...may be here for a while." That only made John Smith's sickening grin widen.

"In that case, we should get to know each other."

"Uh, more importantly," Francine laughed nervously, "why are you down here?" The man shrugged his shoulders and rocked on his feet.

"Oh, you know. Work stuff. How about you?"

"Ah, I'm a visiting project manager," Francine noted, tapping the badge on her chest. "I was trying to find the parking garage and well...ended up here." John Smith grunted.

"It's a confusing building, Franny. Took me years to understand it. Tons of ins and outs you gotta know," he winked, "before, ah, 'coming here.'" Francine tilted her head.

"But only one way out of the basement?" Smith cackled.

"You trying to be clever?" Francine pursed her lips.

"I'm just trying to get home, that's all." A silence fell between the two.

"Well," Smith declared, clapping his hands together. "Let's make ourselves comfy. Come on, over here." He hiked up his jeans and waved Francine to follow him deeper into the basement.

"That's awfully far from the door," Francine weakly mentioned as she trailed behind him. Smith looked her dead in the eye.

"Less people to hear your screams." 

Francine stumbled back, eyes wide. Smith's lifeless stare changed into a large smirk.

"Lighten up, Franny. It's just a joke. See, let me grab those chairs." Francine heard the metallic scraping from earlier as Smith dragged over two folding chairs. She hesitantly glanced back at the door but sat down nonetheless. "Now," Smith said, adjusting himself on the chair. "Tell me about yourself." Francine clasped her hands together.

"W-well, there's not much to tell," she admitted. "I have a nice family, grew up in the suburbs, graduated college, and now I'm here. This, well," she whispered rubbing her wrists, "is actually my first job. First month, actually." Smith nodded thoughtfully, stroking his scruffy facial hair.

"Shame," he chuckled, unconsciously slipping a hand into his sweatshirt pocket. Francine coughed.

"S-shame?" Smith leaned into her face. She could feel his hot, foul-smelling breath on her face. 

"You're young," he said gruffly, bringing a dirty finger to her cheek. Francine jolted back.

"D-don't do that," she muttered. Smith leaned into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"The Moonlight Man would. You're just his type." Francine felt the sweat on her palms.

"The Moonlight Man is in jail," she whispered. "H-he has been. For two months." 

"You sure are one of those naive suburban chicks," Smith cackled. "I know," he said, confidently pointing at his chest, "that he's not caught. I know the guy in a cell was arrested just to stop the public paranoia." 

"They have DNA samples," Francine cut Smith off before he could continue. "Witness testimony. Footage―"

"―that they're not releasing to the public," Smith announced every syllable like Francine was five years old. "What do you think that means, Franny? Do you know," he gave her a knowing look, "how simple it is to manipulate DNA? To get people to...say what you want?" Francine's hands shook. She abruptly stood up, knocking down the metallic chair.

"Y-you said you work here," she whispered, raising a trembling hand to her lips. Smith maliciously grinned.

"Of course I do, Franny," he taunted, whipping around the lanyard on his chest. "See? It says so right here. 'John Smith.' Janitorial staff." Francine backed up, wiping her sweaty hands on her skirt. 

"Then why do you act like you know so much?" She screamed. She hadn't meant to ask so loudly. Smith just walked closer. 

"'Cause I'm smart," he crooned. "And you're what? An intern stupid enough to get herself locked in the basement after hours." Francine felt something cold on her back. The cement column. She tried to sidestep Smith, but he put his arms out, trapping her between him and the pillar.

"You have to be smart to get down here. I'm smart. You know, they forget about janitorial staff," Smith laughed. "Perfect job to have if you want to―I don't know―stick around. After hours. Though how you managed to be dumb enough to―" Smith's mouth made an 'o' shape, like he was surprised.

It remained in that shape as a silver blade ripped through his skin and settled into his stomach. And his mouth continued staying that way as the Moonlight Man shook Smith's body off of herself and wrote her title on the floor in his blood, wiping the mess off her hands with the hem of her skirt.