Bob Burtons Bordello

Laughing Slaves

“I have to get out of here,” whispered a voice in his left ear. Bob spun, but the office was empty—no one in sight.

A shiver ran down his spine. He hesitated, glancing around, before stepping toward his office.

A sudden gust of wind puffed against the back of his head, playful and teasing, like someone trying to get his attention. He froze, hand on the doorframe, heart racing.

“Who’s there?” he muttered, voice low, though the only answer was the soft rustle of papers on the desk.