Deadline Re-Write

Orla first wrote her short story 'Deadline' in 2020. Two years later she read it again and felt it needed a rewrite as he writing ability has come on a lot. So here is the re-mastered version (warning it is a bit scary, maybe gruesome):

Deadline

There was a deathly cold breeze in the office that night. The pale woman slumped over her desk shivered – she wasn’t sure whether the eerie chill was only the draughts, or simply the creeping loneliness finally setting in. She had been the only one in the building for a long time now. The others had left at various points of the evening, going home to warm blankets and take-out and a nice cup of tea. The thought only made her colder. 
 
Her bleary eyes dragged over the tablet screen. She had been labouring over this drawing for hours, yet as soon as she took a moment to admire her hard work, she began to notice every mistake, every unfixable blunder, every tiny inconsistency. Her hand ached, finally free from the death-grip she had on her stylus. As much as she longed for a break, she knew it wasn’t worth the risk. With the last dregs of her sub-par coffee gone, there was no way she’d last five minutes relaxing without collapsing from exhaustion. Reluctantly, she grasped the stylus and began once again brushing stroke after stroke onto the glaring screen.
 
Something flashed in the corner of her eye. Her head snapped upwards, and just beyond the open door, the lights in the hallway flickered. She held her breath, watching the lights flash; on and off, off then on. But they didn’t stop. She rose to her feet, brow furrowed, and inched her way to where the door lay ajar. There was no one to see her apprehension, after all. Bracing her hand against the doorframe, she peered into the empty hall. The frigid air settled beneath her thin shirt and a chill swept down her spine. For a few, fateful seconds, the lights went out, bathing her in a pitch-black darkness. But just as her eyes began to adjust, the lights kicked back on, the ever-present overhead hum coming back with full force. She clasped her eyes shut and hissed, coloured shapes dancing beneath her eyelids, and waited for the pain to ease. The lights hummed, and her heart quickened. She slowly backed away from the door, sleep-deprived paranoia finally coming back to bite her, before tearing her eyes away and darting back to the safety of her desk. She slammed into the office chair, heart racing. Her breathing laboured, she inhaled deeply, then exhaled, in and out, and her heart began to settle. The icy air stung her throat, but the worst was over now. She let out a breathless laugh. The darkness was getting to her.
 
Pulling the chair forward, she fumbled for her stylus. Grasping it in her still reddened hand, she adjusted it to prepare for yet another hours-long work session. She looked back down at her drawing.
 
She screamed. 
 
The stylus dropped to the floor with a clatter. The woman stood frozen; her face locked in disbelief as it paled in terror. She stared at the screen. It stared back.
 
The drawing, a character once immersed in the world of its creation, now stared right at her. Only its face had changed, its neck bent at a crooked angle, and it grinned from ear to ear, a manic glint in its white eyes. She lunged for her stylus, hands trembling, and she hurled it across the screen in a desperate attempt to erase the monstrosity. It made no difference, as the hollow pixels continued to stare mercilessly, taunting her already hysterical mind. 
Frantic and choking, she dived under the table and scrambled for the power cord. Her eyes shone with tears, and she struggled to grasp it through her blurry vision. She dug her fingernails beneath the plug, and pulled. Throwing herself backwards, the plug ripped from the socket. A feeble hope mustered in her chest.
 
Standing up on shaky legs, she held her breath and looked at the screen. A distraught gasp escaped her throat. The screen continued to shine, and at its centre, was a creature that could only be described as demonic. Its mouth was carved from eye to eye, and rotting teeth sat on a hanging, unhinged jaw. The skin was grey, dry and blotchy in a way that could only belong to a corpse. And what lay in its sockets could only loosely be described as eyes, staring madly at her, a hunger glinting in their depths.
 
The overhead lights quivered and spasmed. The woman stumbled backwards, every living part of her screaming, a hopeless cry into the void. Her heart thundered, tears streaming down her face, and in a single moment primal defiance, she watched her hands grasp the edges of the screen and hurl it across the room. 
 
The glass shattered. Everything stood still. Her breath laboured, but the room was quiet. She heard nothing. A drop of blood fell from her fingertips. She felt nothing. The room was bathed in darkness; the dim light from the hall the only thing illuminating her face. She stood, frozen solid, only able to stare at the figure standing in the doorway. Its long fingers hung by its sides, its spine hunched, eyes eating away at her mind. Slowly, the head titled to one side. The neck snapped, and the head hung down its front, eyes never leaving her. 
 
She blinked.
 
The hallway was empty, and the light shone upon a pale woman, with a pale, grey hand wrapped around her neck.