I obtain a poorly-paid job in a dusty laboratory. The afternoon sunlight falls into the room through yellowing venetian blinds, and I pass the time making tea and answering oblique questions desultarily during collapsed conversations. As time passes in its tedious way I slowly become aware that the experiments taking place in the laboratory are at best sinister; and at worst, evil. At least eighty per cent of the hypotheses are obviously invalid and intended to support revolting surmises. I increasingly spend most of my time in the kitchen, staring at the limescale that bedecks the overflow of the sink. I fancy that I can see emergent civilisations in the crust that grows daily around the tap bases. The weeks fall through my fingers. Eventually the experiments become too much for me to tolerate. Mice are being sacrificed to a nameless dark presence that hovers over the building, manifesting in the dust, colouring the minds of the scientists with whom I am forced to spend my futile daylight. Somehow the laboratory is filling my dreams with fear. At last I recognise that it is the mouldering soul of the building itself that is engineering this mounting horror. Quietly, during my tea-making duties, I plan my escape. I realise that if I mention my discontent to my co-workers all exits will be closed to me. At last, with a daring flourish of courage, I attempt to effect my egress. It is with a dreadful terror that I realise the door is locked. I turn, and see the hollow eyes of the scientists upon me. There can be no escape.