Christopher Fowler - Personal Demons

'I think something must have upset the system's balance.'

'Surely they'll have to evacuate the building until the problem's located?'

'That won't be enough,' said Hegarty. 'Look at this.' He dug out a dusty diskette and pushed it into an ancient terminal hidden behind tea towels. The screen quickly filled with typewritten newspaper files.

'People's Architect' to initiate designs for 'ultimate human environment.'

'Architect warns of hidden dangers in computer-assisted designs.'

'Unshielded electrical fields cause massive electro-turbulence, says top architect.'

'The board of directors know there's a problem, but they have no answers. All they can do is bury their heads in the sand and act like nothing's wrong. These systems are on the verge of being sold across the world. Rogers was concerned that the use of so much electronic equipment might have an effect on human occupants. When the computers "enhanced" his designs, he was worried that they would allow for human error, but not human nature. People are perverse. You try to streamline them and they develop odd behavioural quirks. The computers made improvements which were, by themselves, acceptable. Except that they completely changed the building's electro-radiation levels.'

'Surely someone checked for this sort of thing?'

'Computers checked. Their programs change the pressure, the temperature, the chemical composition of the air, calming when the atmosphere is charged, energising when things are too relaxed. But you can't program people. Every time the computer reacts, they react back and the whole thing escalates. The result is a potential madhouse. And the more electronic equipment that's turned on, the more devastating the effect.'

'But if the building's so dangerous,' asked Ben, 'why aren't we all affected?'

'We are,' replied Hegarty, tapping the side of his head. 'We don't all feel it yet.'

On Wednesday the weather worsened. The wet workforce shook out their umbrellas and entered the building ready for their toughest day. Ben wondered how much longer he could get away with not doing his work, but people were too preoccupied to notice. He sat and shuffled papers, trying to look busy.

'Clark's making everyone go through the night,' said Marie. Behind her, the wall lights glowed like waxing moons as the sensors adjusted to the displacement and warmth and movement of stressed-out humanity. The recycled air smelled musty and bitter. By mid-morning everyone was operating at the double. Phones rang, screens flashed, staff swept past in a frenzy of hyperactivity. The sense of collective unease was palpable.

He had been aware of the humming for some time now, a dull rumble that vibrated in his bones. The very air was shimmering. A maelstrom of electromagnetic activity, caused by every damned machine in the place operating at full capacity. Marie had gone missing. He'd only left his desk for a moment. He checked all the work stations calling her name, and missed her as she passed him heading toward the elevator banks.

Marie stepped into the lift and pressed a lower floor button just as Ben spotted her. The doors shut and the lift started off smoothly, but suddenly stopped. Inside, the lights began to flicker and fail. The lift walls snapped and sparkled with cobalt streaks of electromagnetic energy. Ben watched the overhead panel to see where Marie would alight. The panel indicator illuminated 34, but when he took the stairs there he found the doors shut. He held his breath and listened. Something weird was happening in the shaft.

He tried to force the doors open, but they wouldn't budge. The entire lift shaft was suddenly filled with electrical fire. There was a sharp crack as it shorted out, and the lift started moving again. Ben pulled Marie clear as the doors slammed open before him with a vicious, deafening bang.

'Where were you going?' he asked.

'I don't know.' Marie rubbed her eyes. 'I had some kind of panic attack.'

Through the open swing doors they caught sight of Clark, whose efforts to concentrate and compose himself were undermined by his left eye, which twitched uncontrollably. 'Harper,' he called, 'my office, right now.'

'Go and get your coat,' said Ben. 'Wait for me in reception. We're getting out.'

Clark ushered Ben into his office and closed the door. 'My staff are falling apart,' he complained. 'Half of them have barricaded themselves in the toilets. The rest have gone mad. It's all coming true, everything Carrington and Hegarty warned the board about.' Then, as if suddenly jabbed with a pin, he started shouting. 'Stress doesn't touch you, though, does it? Because you're not corporate material. You don't fit the profile. You lied to get the job! A teacher, fired for breeding insurrection!' He reached for the nearest telephone and punched out a number. 'Why did you come here?'

'I wanted something with potential.'

'But you've just destroyed your chances. Why would you do that?'

Ben thought for a moment. 'Human nature.'

A huge security guard filled the doorway. 'Escort this man off the premises.'

Ben was pulled from the room. Wary of the tasor strapped to the guard, he went quietly. As they reached the lift he broke into a run, the guard following close on his heels. Suddenly they were confronted by a demented-looking Swan, who forced his way between Ben and the guard. 'Been up to see the boss, have we? Reporting back on the workers? Everything was all right 'til you got here.'

'I've no quarrel with you.'

'So innocent. How do you know what it's like to keep having your quotas raised, to still be working long after your children are in bed?' He furiously poked Ben in the chest. Ben pushed him on to the guard, who immediately grabbed Swan by the tie. As this happened, Ben pulled the tasor from the guard's pocket and fired it, dropping him to his knees like a felled bull.

Swan's eyes widened in surprise. He smoothed his tie into place. 'That's more like it,' he said. 'A little respect for a decent Christian. All hail the Lord .'

The guard's jacket was smoking. 'Christ,' said Ben, dropping the tasor.

Swan turned on him. 'Blasphemer!'

This is not going to look good on my CV thought Ben as he kneed Swan in the testicles and pushed him down the stairs.

The 35th floor was devoid of life. Somewhere in the distance were screams, moaning, the sound of breaking glass. The monitors droned on in the reception area, but the tape of sunsets and dolphins was slurred and distorted. The receptionist was sitting on the floor with her legs straight out, nursing her head like a character from a Laurel and Hardy film. Marie ran to her work station and collected her coat. She tried to telephone the police, but watched on her display unit as the call was diverted to a dead line. She punched out a 9, then 100. 'Hello, operator, I'm trying to get connected to the police. Why can't you? I know we're not under police jurisdiction, that's because the company has its own security services, but surely a 999 call is still – well, yes, it is an emergency.'

She cradled the receiver under her ear, looking around.

Lucy had set fire to a wastepaper bin and was standing on a chair holding it near the ceiling, trying to set off the sprinkler system. One of the other typists was seated at her keyboard printing out hundreds of pages of Z's. Carmichael had over a dozen biros protruding from his back, and lay sprawled on the floor beneath his desk. Everyone else had fled to darker corners.

Clark wandered about his office clutching his face. The muffled cries and scuffles emanating from the floor outside made him look up in a state of dementia.

'You killed him, didn't you?' said Marie as he hoved into her eyeline.

'Felix's report suggested delaying everything while we investigated the problem,' Clark moaned. 'The shares would have plummeted. I didn't mean to kill him. But I – get – these – headaches.'