Ezra grabbed the first few clothes that looked like they could fit him. From pants to the finishing touch via jacket. As long as it fit, it didn’t matter how it looked, there were more important things to worry about.


    Under the duress of those high-pitched noises, his eyes were darting around the room for any advantage. First, he thought about hauling it out of the lost and found and into the halls, though that didn’t have the best track record thus far. Going further into the room, the sheer size of it unfurled before him. What looked like a simple lost and found, added beside the secretary, twisted into something that had more in common with an industrial thrift shop.


    CLACK... CLACK... CLACK... CLACK...


    Hearing the sound so clearly pushed Ezra further in; any thought of worsening his situation was pushed aside. One of the many cardboard boxes, much smaller than the rest, fell into his vision, different items sticking out. His instinct silently called out for what could be the most useful addition to his repertoire, yet—a flashlight. In the blur of his movement, the vague outlines of the items sticking out had presented themselves vaguely enough for his mind to suggest the possibility of finding one.


    Moving even further into the back, his mind went towards potential uses of the things he had around him. Quick questions aimed at himself, contemplating whether it would have any effect if he tried to topple the shelves to inconvenience whatever was coming. With the cardboard box under his arm, he stopped at one of them, his other arm coming up at the upper edge of the shelf and pulling hard at it. Rather than topple it like he intended, instead he only heard a troubling crack, the stubborn wood resisting, but the force of the pull damaging some unseen part of it


    CLACK, CLACK, CLACK CLACK.


    Another pull had much of the same effect. The damn thing looked moldy and still stood there like someone went to the lengths to anchor it into the ground.


    “Typical.” He whispered, resisting the urge to kick at the shelf. Now forced to keep moving. Would it have been absurd to contemplate if the room kept on expanding the further he went in? If the halls worked that way, why not the rooms as well? Further in, he found himself at a doorless entryway; beyond it was what someone could only describe as a sea of textiles. Jackets, vests, pants, even shoes, sharing the most miniscule of space between them. The industrial thrift shop, as he had called it,  culminated in this never-ending storage of the discarded.


    CLACK... CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK.


    It was so much closer that time, but nothing revealed itself near the entrance to the lost and found. Another look into the room ahead, the sheer mass of fabric just swaying gently on the racks, every item a phantom of what came before and after it. The same black fabric, the same drab undershirts, the white color washed out of them, and others adorned with buttons and collars that seemed too tall, too stiff for their kind. The first steps he made into this showcase were made with great deliberation; touching anything was bound to do something. Any wrong step, any touch, a potential unforeseen consequence.


    CLACK.


    Just once, he heard it this time. Rather than look behind him, he dashed inside; all pretense of care dropped in an instant, just to stay ahead of whatever was so keen on hunting him down. Row after row went by him, the most miniscule of changes in the clothes catching his attention during his dash. Some sleeves of the different articles of clothing were cut at weird spots, entire sleeves missing, but without the time to slow down and confirm these brief flashes of inconsistencies, they may as well have been tricks of his own mind to break up the monotony.


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    There wasn’t an end in sight, no doors that promised to lead out of this potential death trap, but thankfully no uninvited guests had sought an audience with Ezra either. It was just him and the ever more distant clacking sounds that had gone after him for so long. He knew better than to hope it had given up, but with the noise the box he had with him gave off, now was as good a time as any to search for the smallest benefit.


    What came out of it was one useless item after another. Little broken pieces of plastic in different colors, pieces of shoestring, rusted parts of metal similar to the hinges of a door, and rolled up parchment. The only use any of this had was the noise it all made while Ezra hauled it around. Except for one little thing. A little rectangle that was still attached to a rusty, thin little circle. The box was quickly disposed of, thrown to the side where its contents spilled to the ground.


    A key-light. One of those you had to really press down on for it to even register that you’re trying to bring some light into the world. The one he had didn’t want to share. Pressing down on the small pressure switch, his thumb throbbing under the resistance,  it gave in shortly after. It made just enough of a difference to not get tossed to the ground like the rest of the box’s contents.


    CLACK. CLACK.


    There weren’t many choices to be made here. Going forward would only work for as long as Ezra didn’t tire out. Fighting whatever was coming? He could already feel the faint influence, the thought alone, like a call to the void to come running. No, it had to be the last resort. Hiding was the only option. The light all around was much brighter than usual; hiding in plain sight would be difficult, just short of being impossible, with all the clothing hanging around everywhere. If he could somehow destroy the lights, he’d be in a better position.


    But how was he going to do that? The dirtied bulbs hung above, completely out of reach on the high ceilings. Nothing to throw at them, no way to shut them off somewhere else. The cover of the clothing, while appreciated, was a poor substitute for the shadows. One particular idea sprung into his mind, a desperate haphazard one: if he’d topple over one or more of the racks, perhaps that would be distraction enough for his pursuer to believe he pressed on and chase further, while he himself would double back and slip away. Hopefully towards the entrance.


    The rack was heavy, much heavier than the contents warranted. Unlike the wooden shelf in the room before, the racks allowed themselves to be moved with great reluctance; the impact they made was severely dampened by the cloth. Ezra managed to make it look fairly believable; some of the clothing was tactically rearranged from other racks to make it seem like he had gotten stuck before. After that, all he had to do was camouflage himself among the still-standing racks, hoping against hope that his bait would be taken.


    CLACK... CLACK...


    Why did the steps slow down? Was it onto him already? Did he waste precious time? Was his idea just that stupid?


    His heart almost beat over the steps that approached, not far from where he was hidden. Closer, stopping for a few seconds, then again.


    CLACK... CLACK


    Again.


    Clack... “WHERE?! WHERE?! WHERE?!” Wet sounds followed the crazed wails, which were then followed by gurgles. There was so much pain in that voice, like it was calling out for help.


    “NEED FIND. NEED FIND. WHERE?!” Ezra made himself smaller in response, nearly kissing the ground. Bits of unidentifiable rubble made its way towards him, and further, just barely visible through all the fabric, he saw the first metallic stilt hit the ground.