The address she gave him was about three blocks away, following a dog-legged path. He realized it also came close to the route he had taken last night. With a spring in his step, he covered the distance quickly and found himself in front of a faded, green-painted door in a cramped, dark alley. The rusty fire escapes rose over him like the bars of a prison cell in an eldritch dungeon, threatening unspecified torments.

He knocked on the door and waited; there was no response. He inspected his surroundings once more; it was common for alleyways in Tucson to become dumping grounds, and piles of old junk weren’t unusual, but even by that standard, there seemed to be a lot, much of it looking really old. The tall stacks seemed in danger of collapsing at any moment, yet somehow held their position. From underneath seeped some sort of vapor, possibly sewer gas, though there were no manholes to be seen. Perhaps they were under the garbage; perhaps something in the garbage was rotting. He knocked again, waiting quietly for several seconds. Still no response.

He snorted in disgust; why had he gotten his hopes up? The lady was clearly a phony; why would she have any useful information? He felt as gullible as a spinster browsing a mail-order-husband catalog. He turned to leave, wondering why anyone had ever employed him as a private detective, and how they were even more gullible than him.

A creaking sound behind him sent shivers down his spine. He turned around slowly and shuddered as he noticed the green door was now cracked open slightly. He pondered this for a moment, then suddenly his face flushed red, and his lips curled into a snarl. Stomping toward the door, he flung it open and then stormed inside. “Oh, thank you, unseen door opener. It’s so clever that you’ve vanished! Really original!”

He found himself in a small waiting room, with very cheap, worn out, plastic chairs and tables. The walls were painted with a dingy, pale aqua color that set his stomach on edge; the hue reminded him uncomfortably of the otherworldly sky. The floor was covered with stick-on vinyl tiles, bars of black and light brown swirling apart and then coming together. After perusing them for a few moments, he realized they formed a labyrinth. Very old magazines covered the tables, as did a thin patina of dust. The back wall featured a cheap-looking metal door, painted black, and a sliding window like one might find leading to the receptionist at a medical office, except it was painted black too, and also appeared to be metal.

He heard a loud crack behind him. Whirling around, he found that the front door had closed. “Oh, how witty of you, unseen footman!” he shouted to no one. “I suppose I’m trapped inside now, am I right?” He strode toward the door and turned the handle; it opened easily, revealing the dingy alleyway as he remembered it. His eyes darted around uncomfortably as he closed the door gently and stepped back.

He scanned the chairs quickly, picking one at random. Seating himself gently, he picked up a magazine, blew the dust from it, and thumbed through it. It was in a language he didn’t understand; the letters looked like Scandinavian runes redone in Comic Sans. Some of the symbols were more complex, possibly pictographs, but with the same odd artistic flair. The pictures, however, were thoroughly unsettling. Drawings of grotesque humanoids, otherworldly creatures with odd geometries, flow charts that seemed to show transitions between planes of existence…he thought it could be decoded by a professor of xenolinguistics, maybe by a lifelong fan of H.P. Lovecraft, or perhaps the first fifteen-year-old American girl he happened upon with black painted fingernails and hair covering her eyes. He wondered what Kelly would think of it.

A loud voice pierced the still air. “Who are you?!”

He began to answer, but the voice cut him off. “What do you want?!”

“Well, I⁠–” he began.

“How did you find this place?!”

“I got the address from⁠–”

The voice cut him off again. “You’ve got a lot of nerve⁠–”

“Hey!” he interrupted. “Can I finish answering just one of your questions? Or, better yet, why don’t you show your face? Or do you just like shouting at people from the shadows?”

“I’m right here, clown,” the voice replied in a normal tone of voice; it was husky, but with strong hints of female. Richard followed the sound to the sliding window, seeing for the first time a figure in the dark, staring at him from the other side.

“Oh,” he apologized. “I didn’t hear it slide open. That’s much better.”

Neither spoke for a moment. “So, you wanted to finish answering the questions?”

“Right.” He stared blankly for a moment. “You asked who I was; I’m Detective Richard Schmutz.” His brow wrinkled as he pondered. “I can’t remember the rest.”

The figure sighed. “What do you want.”

“Oh, right. I’m working on a case, and thought you might have information I need.”

There was another sullen pause. “And…how did you find this place.”

“I was given this address by a lady in a magic shop, a few blocks away.”

“Ugh,” the figure groaned. “She’s such a crackpot. A total faker.”

“It’s pronounced ‘fakir’,” he corrected.

“No,” the figure shot back. “That ditz is definitely a faker.” She was silent for a moment. “What makes you think I’ll take a referral from such a charlatan?!”

Richard’s mouth hung open; he looked around the room uncomfortably.

“Go away.” The sliding window closed, gliding silently on its track, only making a noise as it slammed shut.

Standing up, he let out an angry groan as he slammed the magazine on the table, sending up a cloud of dust. “Fine! I’ll be glad to get out of here; this is the worst waiting room I’ve ever seen! Creepy magazines, stupid floor pattern…and the color of the walls makes me want to hurl! I have must have been an idiot to come here.” He stormed toward the front door. “And even dumber to associate with Tucson Sam in the first place.”

The sliding window slammed open as he was about to grab the doorknob. “Tucson Sam?” her voice called out. “Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place, honey chile?” She chuckled sweetly as she closed the sliding window; Richard heard some furtive footsteps, then the black metal door opened.

The light from the waiting room seeped into the dark void, revealing the figure to be a hunched-over old lady, with layers of dark-colored clothing, a cane, a shock of wild curly salt-and-pepper hair, and an impish glint in her eyes. She wouldn’t look out of place knitting baby blankets for demonic spawn.

She slowly waved at him, beckoning. “Come on now! Any friend of Tucson Sam’s a friend of mine!” Turning around, she slowly shuffled into the darkness, the void swallowing her up completely. He stepped up to the doorway and peered inside, seeing nothing, but hearing her hobbling footsteps. “Mind the stairs!” she called out.

He strained to see through the dark. “I can’t see any stairs.”

She clucked her tongue. “You kind of have to want to see them.”

He continued to stare into the void, as he heard her shambling gait seem to fade into the distance. Slowly, his eyes adjusted partially to the dark; for the first time, he could see a dim light from the other side of a sloped passage. Gingerly, he probed forward with his foot, finding the first step. He put his weight on it; it felt firm and secure. He braced himself against the walls with his hands and took another step, safely arriving. Feeling around with his right hand, he realized he could find no evidence of a passage to where the sliding window should be; there was nothing but a solid wall. As he searched again, the door behind him closed with a metallic latching sound. He jolted, but then realized he could now see better; the steps were outlined by the light at the bottom, and the old lady stood there at the landing, looking back at him. “Come now…don’t take all day!”