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When we last saw our protagonist, they were walking out of the fog. Whew! What a relief they must have felt in getting out of there! You can catch up with Part XIV here. Determined to bring some normalcy back into their night, our protagonist sets off to make themselves a sandwich. Let’s see how this fares for them …

I walk to the employee hall and approach the door where I last left the zombie. Sure enough, the thing is still bumping it's head and body against the glass is if it will eventually walk out. I wave as if the fucking thing can recognize the gesture and move out of what I think is its field of vision. I go around the building as before and unlock the door on the other side. The zombie seems happy enough trying to walk through the door in front of it and doesn't notice me as I slip into the break room behind it.

I walk over to one of the cabinets and throw open the doors, expecting to find a wealth of snacks and food available. What I find instead are shelves filled with condiments. The whole cabinet is packed with condiments. The whole thing. Big jars, small bottles, plastic packets. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, relish. A whole suite of others, including shit I have never fucking heard of and which smells awful. I close the cabinet and move the one beside it. I find a loaf of bread, and it appears to be in good shape. That's a fucking win.

And then, of course, the lights go out. That's a fucking loss.

NOPE. Nope, not this time, darkness dimension. I am going to make this sandwich and you are going to let me.

I hold on to the loaf of bread in one hand, with my other hand on the cabinet door. I resolve not to move until the lights return, and resign myself to a gruesome death should the heavy breathing darkness monster return. Am I terrified? Of course I am. But this whole night so far has been one fucked up episode after another and I don't think it's going to get any better, so I might as well eat.

A moment later, the lights snap back on. The zombie's still at the end of the hall, just bumping away at the door.

I turn to the fridge, grab the handle, and as I open it, the loudest, most obnoxious squeal erupts from the hinges. My neck disappears into my shoulders; I stare at some slimy, goopy tendrils hanging between the fridge and the open door, waiting to figure out if I have alerted the zombie. The gentle banging on the door pauses. I hold my breath, not wanting to make any noise whatsoever, hoping it doesn't come wandering this way. This pause stretches for eternity, in which I continue to hold my breath, and the zombie seems to not have moved. The door bumping starts up again, and I let go of all the air I'm holding in one heavy sigh.

Looking into the fridge, I consider abandoning the idea of putting anything but more bread between two slices. A bread sandwich seems downright delectable when compared to what I'm seeing. The slimy goop is pretty thick and stretches across the fridge at regular intervals, leaving me almost no room to reach through without touching it. Even if I were able to reach through without touching it, the fridge is filled with body parts. Random body parts just haphazardly tossed in here and left to, well, not rot I suppose—I mean, it is a fridge—but, well, fuck. I don't know. They're just left here.

I get it. It's a cemetery. I would expect body parts to be around at a cemetery, but not in the employee break room fridge. Maybe the morgue? For sure inside the buried caskets. Except for Reginald—or maybe it's Regina?—out there really trying their best to get through that door.

I'm about to close the fridge when the lights go out again. I let out another giant sigh and roll my eyes. I am still set on making and eating this sandwich. The lights can go fuck themselves.

And is if on queue, the lights snap back on. The zombie is still tapping away at the door, and the fridge ...

Oh hell-fucking-YES. The fridge is clean and clear of nasty body parts and gross fluids. And there on the center shelf is a fresh package of sliced, smoked, turkey. I don't hesitate. I reach in, grab the turkey, and slam the fridge door shut, which makes no noise whatsoever this time except for the loud bang as it closes.

The bang startles even me. I was expecting the squeal and threw the door shut in an attempt to minimize its volume. No squeal this time, just unnecessary slamming. The zombie pauses again, and I'm caught in the waiting game to see if it's going to come eat me this time. Maybe I can bargain with it. Let me eat this sandwich, I'll tell it, and I'll be so much more satisfying for you. That's unlikely to work though. I mean, the thing is still bumping against the door.

Oooh! It's still bumping against the door!

It appears our protagonist may actually be able to make themselves a sandwich after all! That sounds quite delicious after such harrowing turnabouts, certainly. Still, once their sandwich is made, will they be able to eat it? Or is something more sinister awaiting them just out sight or earshot? Only one way to find out! Jump to Part XVI.

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