I work as a night watchman. I operate in a building owned by a government agency. They specialize in science and research related to space exploration.

I work the night shift. This profession and the location-specific gig have been my main source of income now for two years.

I have generally had nothing but enthusiasm for my job. The reason I was a candidate is because of my experience as a combat veteran. I had already proven that I was trustworthy to keep secrets. Things seen and heard that most of the population is not exposed to was far from new for me.

In the first six months, I received training on how to check on every major part of the headquarters. I could not believe the freedom of mobility my superiors gave me. They issued my first master key, and my retinal scan was in their system. I patrolled a building divided into four sections. These were Aeronautics Research, Human Exploration and Operations, Science, and Space Technology. The Science sector was further split into four more wings. They were Astrophysics, Earth Science, Heliophysics, and Planetary Science.

I entered areas usually restricted from the public. I signed non-disclosure agreements swearing the utmost confidentiality. After these steps, I could go anywhere on the property. A lifetime of being an avid fan of Carl Sagan made me appreciate my access to everything.

Granted, I was always on camera whenever I stepped into any of the main areas. So even if I did have an interest in bringing anything home with me, there was little to no chance I would get away with it.

There was one titanium door I was not allowed to walk through, though.

There was no label on its front, so I knew it was not an office belonging to any executive. There was also no surveillance camera in the vicinity focused on the door.

I always wondered what was behind there. I can remember asking my trainer what the room held, and he moved on to a different topic. I did not press the issue. I was too new.

I always wanted to ask somebody else, but on the graveyard shift, there was rarely anyone else there with me. I was the only security personnel. None of the top brass would be present during the ridiculous hours I kept.

*

I came to form a semi-close relationship with one of the surveillance agents named Tom. He would usually clock in around seven AM. During brief morning moments, we established a rapport.

I once asked him what was behind the door. I even had Starbucks delivered in an attempt to bribe him.

“It was once used as an archive of various lifeforms found in the ocean,” he said with a shrug. “Not completely sure. It’s used for discarded down parts that engineering has no use for it anymore if I had to guess.”

*

One night I walked by the door.

Everything was completely silent. I would break policy and listen to a podcast through Bluetooth while doing my checks. On this particular night, I was enjoying nothing more than the sound of my footsteps as I paced the halls.

That was when I heard a scream.

I slammed my fists on the door. I announced myself as trained if they needed help.

Everything became quiet again.

I contemplated what I should do. Giving my Director a call and asking for further guidance was a surefire way to irritate him. Still, my conscience did not tolerate the notion of ignoring a cry for help. My mind always went to the worst-case scenario.

I retrieved my cell phone and called someone of higher rank. At first, he listened to my recounting. Once I gave him the geographical location of the entranceway, his tone changed. He became dismissive.

“It's creaky pipes,” he said. “Put in a work order for the maintenance team to take a look at it in the morning.”

*

My curiosity would not go away. I wondered if detainees from foreign lands were there. Or it was something far more insidious than even I could imagine. My paranoia only grew.

One morning when Tom walked in, I pulled him to the side. We spoke in a vestibule which led to a computer room.

“Part of my job consists of taking out the trash from every office during my shift,” I said. “There’s been many times when I’ve noticed that your wastebasket is empty, and I know it’s not for the lack of paperwork you do. I know you’ve been stealing some files. I usually look the other way because I want to give you the benefit of the doubt and I respect you.”

He looked at me with a dumbfounded expression. He tried to utter something around a bunch of nervous stutters. I interrupted him and continued.

“The door that no one seems to know anything about has some sort of very real significance. I also don’t believe that there are no surveillance cameras in that hallway. I think it’s hidden, and if that’s the case, I need you to secure it for when I enter it tonight. I need your help getting a master key to it, which I know you have. If you don’t, then I'll report my findings.”

My blackmail worked. He slipped me a key with a handshake later on in the morning before I left for home. I had every intention of using it as soon as I could.

*

I waited until the dead of night. The middle of my shift was the prime hours for isolation. I would exploit the lack of oversight on my shift.

I took unusual routes to get to the door.

I knew the action I was about to take could cost me my job. It seemed like the right thing to do.

I slipped the card into the motion sensor. It blinked red at first and then turned a bright green.

If they ever did a reading of the entries and exits for that lock, it would read the name of another employee. I knew it was not my friend Tom’s. I wondered how long he had been pilfering such top-tier company-related property.

The door cracked open. When I walked in, the chamber was completely black. I took a few more steps in. I found a fluorescent overhead light that illuminated the area with each step I took.

A siren went off.

The shriek made me feel as though my eardrums were about to burst. I looked around to see if any strobe lights were spinning, but did not see any. I turned around and saw another lock on the inside of the room. It was near a metal slab that held stacks of manila envelopes. I put the key into it, and the alarms ceased.

Although I had made the trouble signal evaporate, I still expected men with guns drawn to crash in. I expected shouted orders to get down and surrender. I had a nightmarish vision of someone putting a black bag over my head. I knew they would bring me to a secret prison on an island in the middle of nowhere.

I gazed around the room. Everything seemed primitive. There were large machines that looked as though they came off of a battleship from the eighties. They were rust-covered and grimy. There were so many metallic, spindly and industrial contraptions.

Cobwebs and dust blanketed everything. In each corner of the ceiling were large speakers, and they were not a brand I recognized. It seemed as though they were custom-built for this place.

I turned the corner and peered into the adjacent room.

I could not believe what I saw.

A podium with illustrations of Seraphim wings stood in the center of the domain. A circular glass encasement wrapped around the top. I approached it and peered through the translucent barrier. A horrible smell greeted me.

I found another slot. I used the key once more to get the glass to retract and fold so I could see the contents on top of the slab. It was a thick stack of yellow legal pads. Each page contained finally printed chunks of text in fine calligraphic handwriting. I began reading from the top. I flipped through the pages. I found the author to be a well-known scientist I had small interactions with regularly.

“Within the last few months,” the document began, “I have received a series of acoustic sound waves. The scales I used to track their sonic trajectories gave me accurate measurements. I have determined that it comes from the asteroid Icarus. These readings make it even more difficult to capture. Their erratic and unpredictable distances are challenging. They formulated actual syllables, albeit unfamiliar ones. Their sound was guttural and diaphragmatic. There was a strange aggressiveness to the vocal cord projection. I transcribed each one painstakingly. I ran everyone through an archived database to see if there were any matches. My decision to do so was random and experimental with the lowest of expectations. What I discovered is they did form a language from here on earth. It was one created by English Renaissance Occultists John Dee and Edward Kelley.”

I gulped before I continued to the next paragraph. Very little phased me, but something about the paranormal always left me uneasy. The tellings of Djinn and ghosts in Afghanistan resonated with me. So did the evidence of curses after hard-fought battles which desecrated sacred sites.

“When translated, the text is cohesive in its narrative form. It follows a linear structure and manages to be comprehensive. It tells a very familiar tale for anyone who ever went to Sunday school. It is a first-person perspective story about an entity that claims to be a fallen angel. The angelic creatures, benevolent or malevolent, ended up exiled from their original galaxy. They stress the pure destructiveness of their power. They compare their threat level to Luciferian influence.”

I continued flipping through the pages. There was a variety of strange charts and glyphs scattered throughout. I went down to open one of the cupboards at the bottom of the podium and knocked the whole thing over.

The scientist's body lay there in a crumpled position. His innards seeped out of his stomach. The carvings on his flesh resembled angel wings.