The Cube

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“Open up!”

Michael half-opened his eyes and his first thought was that he was having a dream. His head was pulsating of all the vodka he had drank and he could swear he had gone to bed just a minute ago. He looked at the “Seiko” on his wrist and saw it was past 4 a.m. He tried to remember how he had got home, but the only thing he was sure of was that he came back alone, without a girl, he was very drunk and it took him forever to unlock the door to his room. “Open up! Police!”

Wide awake now, Michael realized that this midnight uproar was no practical joke.

“Open up, for Christ sake! Police!” ,the voice sounded now even more exasperated and irritated.

“Okay, okay, I’m comin’… err… I got it.”

He opened the door cautiously and was immediately almost pushed down inside by an obscure figure.

“Are you Michael Stevens?”, the man asked, without stepping out of the shadows of the open door. As far as Michael could see, his midnight visitor was a tall middle-aged Afro-American, with an athletic build, dressed entirely in black.

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