The door screeches open with a metallic cry.

The sound reverberates in jagged ways through the metal corridor before you.

Stacks of paper are stapled to the wall at irregular angles according to the psychotic whims of the invisible writer.

You find yourself hoping that no one has been down here in this alarming hallway since the last great tetanus bloom.

You pull your arms and other limbs in closer to your body, careful not to get cut on any sharp surfaces.

As you cautiously tip-toe across the ground, you inspect each stack of papers.

Only one is legible.

It reads: “Lilly VS. the Other Girl in Here.”

The ink looks fresh.

Read it?