by Jason Murphy
A growing alarm in the back of her mind sounded, telling her there was no way she would finish by morning. She ignored it. She kept entering data. It was well past midnight. She tried not to look at the clock, but the overhead lights had switched off long ago, and the cleaning crew had already come and gone. The clicking of her nails on the keyboard was the only sound, like mice skittering in an empty tomb. All she could do was keep pushing forward and resist the trap of reliving everything that happened. She caught herself doing it anyway.
Lucas’s smirk.
Stu fist-bumping Wayne.
Oh, we’ll get Rez on the boat in a bikini.
And that spun into fantasies of revenge. What she should have said. What she should have done.
But here she was. Trying to beat them at a rigged game.
From across the floor came a sound, the slightest sound. Rez stopped typing and listened. From one end of the floor to the other, someone moved. Wheels slowly rolling across the carpet. Was some of the cleaning crew still here? They’d already been up and down every row, vacuuming and dusting while Rez tried to complete the report.
She went back to entering data, biting her lip to focus.
The sound came closer. It was circling now. Up one aisle. Across. Down the other. Then closer.
Rez stood. She peered over the tops of the cubicles. The screens were all dark. Only the soft glow of safety lights and the red of the fire exit at the far end. Nothing moved.
There was a whisper, an angry muttering. Rez’s hand slipped into her purse to grab the pepper spray. She flicked the switch with her thumb, a move she’d practiced at stoplights and while out jogging.
“Hello?” Rez called out. She climbed up onto her desk, perched on her knees for a better look. Still no one.
The sound was only a row away. She searched but didn’t spot anyone. The whispering continued, angry now. Teeth gnashed and words spit.
And it was cold.
“The hell?” Rez asked, and her breath came out in a puff of steam.
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
At the end of the row, Brenda’s ergonomic chair rolled into view, slow and steady.
It stopped.
Rez froze. No one pushed it.
It rotated on its own, as if regarding her, before continuing out of sight. Drifting along with it were the angry whispers. She still couldn’t make out the words, but the intent was clear. She’d mumbled enough of her own vitriol tonight to know.
“OK, what?” Rez asked. She stood. “Hello?”
She walked to the end of the aisle and watched as the chair rolled on its own. It stopped at a corner and shifted direction, rolling into the breakroom.
“Seriously?” Rez asked. She stuffed the pepper spray back into her purse.
The cold abated, returning to the controlled seventy-two degrees of the office floor. Rez flexed the chill from her fingers and followed the path of the chair.
The breakroom was dark but for the dim light of the coffee maker. There in the center was the special, ergonomic chair. It spun on its own, spinning lazily on its axis.
“Hello?” Rez asked again, not even attempting to hide the irritation in her voice.
The chair stopped spinning. It came to a rest, facing her. The chill returned. A thin sheen of frost blossomed across the front of the refrigerator.
Rez crossed her arms and waited.
Shadows shifted in the faint light. They bent around the space above the chair, twisting and flickering, almost imperceptible if you weren’t looking at it. It was the kind of wraith you caught from the corner of your eye, the thing standing in the closet, or at the end of an empty hallway.
Brenda floated there, hair rippling in a phantom breeze. Blood spilled from her nose, black and thick. It painted the front of her dress. She extended her arms and stared down at Rez with eyes that sparked with the glint of emeralds.
“This is my chair! My special chair!”
Brenda screamed. Her voice bellowed, deep and wide, strong enough that Rez felt it in her chest. Cabinets swung open. Coffee mugs jittered and danced across the counter. They smashed on the floor. The refrigerator rocked. Its door opened to disgorge Tupperware and protein shakes. Rez turned her head away from the blast. It stank.
The sound faded. Brenda lowered her arms. A stray napkin fluttered to the floor. Rez tried to brush away the stench.
“You finished?” Rez asked.
Brenda hung there. She tilted her head and looked around, confused. “You can see me?” she asked.
“Yeah, bitch. And hear you. And smell you. Can you do the poltergeist thing somewhere else? I’m on a deadline.”
Brenda drifted down. She stared at the floor. “Sorry.”
“So you’ve figured it out, right?” Rez asked.
Brenda looked at her. The unnatural glow in her eyes faded. Now they held just the rheumy glaze of the recently dead.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m dead.”
“Yeah, girl. You had a real nasty aneurysm. It was a whole thing. But you’re still running around here like an asshole?”
Brenda caressed the back of the chair. “But it’s my chair.”
Rez rolled her eyes. Dead people were annoying. It was one of the few good things about working at Balefire. It was rare that a soul got stuck in the office. There were so many better places to haunt, so if someone hassled her, it was usually one of the living dead instead of the dead dead. Everywhere else she went, she just had to ignore them. At the gas station. On the side of the road. The grocery store. The dead yelled like manic street preachers, trying to get attention. If they knew she could see them, they’d never leave her alone.
But sometimes she had to tell them to just shut up. Rez walked over to Brenda, turned the chair around, and sat in it. She gave it a few spins. “Brenda, I’m not going to lie. This chair is pretty great.”
“It’s my chair.”
“I got that part.”
“Lucas keeps sitting in it.”
“Yeah, Lucas sucks.”
Rez sighed. She didn’t sign up for this. This was why she ignored them. Giving a ghost an ounce of your attention was worse than feeding a stray cat. They never went away until you did what they wanted, and that was never easy. They usually didn’t even know what it was they needed her to accomplish, but it was always some emotional crap that Rez wanted no part of. It just wasn’t her bag.
But here she was. She had five hours to do eight hours of work, her job was on the line, and this dead lunatic was screaming at her about office furniture.
Rez stood up and pushed the chair toward Brenda. This had better work.
“Brenda, I think we can get your chair back.”
***
Rez’s face hurt from smiling. Her head ached from lack of sleep and an absurd amount of caffeine. She flexed and unflexed her toes inside her fuck-you heels. Sitting in Wayne’s office, Rez regretted not taking that shot of tequila in her car. The bottle was still there, half-full, waiting in the glove box. If this party didn’t get started tout suite, she was going to need that tequila. And maybe a box of wine, a pizza, and some Vicodin.
Wayne hung up the phone and took out his earpiece. No smile today. It was just the tight frown and understanding eyes of someone trying to tell you they were about to have to make the hard decision, and I’m sorry it had to happen this way.
“Thanks for coming, Marianne,” he said as he straightened papers on his desk.
“You’re welcome, Wayne. Didn’t know I had a choice.”
Still no smile.
Rez shifted in her seat. She tried not to look around the room so as not to show her hand, but she couldn’t resist.
Wayne followed her gaze.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Oh! Yeah. Yeah. No. Sorry. Everything’s fine. I’m just a little wired on caffeine after being up all night.”
“A lot on your mind?”
“Just a lot of work to do, Wayne. Trying to make s
ure the Euclid handoff goes smoothly.”
“Yeah,” Wayne said, “I understand you didn’t get that to Lucas like we agreed.”
Rez looked around again.
“I’m sorry, Wayne. I know how important that was. I was up here until around three in the morning, trying to compile—”
“Marianne, you know how important this account is to the team.”
“I do, Wayne. I really understand that, but there were a ton of forecast reports to put together, and I didn’t have direct access to—”
“I just don’t know if that excuse is going to fly with their procurement department. You know what I’m saying?” He came around the desk and sat across from her. “I thought you understood how important it was to execute on this. It’s low-hanging fruit.”
“I do. I get it. I’m very aware of that. I can get the report to Lucas by noon. It’s mostly done. I just … I had to call it a night at some point.”
Rez caught herself digging her fingernails into the meat of her palm. She checked the shelves lining the walls. None of the motivational books or paperbacks on groundbreaking management techniques moved. None of them flew from the shelves. She breathed deep, but only smelled coffee and Wayne’s body spray. No smell of rot. And the air in the room was crisp, but not unnaturally frigid.
Shit needed to go off. Like now.
Wayne nodded, his eyes morose and pitiful. “Marianne, did you have to tell Lucas to see if he could find the report up my ass?”
“I’m so sorry. I’m just exhausted and stressed.”
Wayne stood back up, sighed, and went to his laptop. “Yeah, I get that, but that’s some pretty sharp language for the workplace, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.”
Goddammit, Brenda.
“And we just spoke yesterday about you being a team player, right? But Marianne, I can’t have you creating a hostile work environment. You’re under a lot of stress? Lucas is walking into a new account, a big one and you’re just …”
He shook his head again.
“I know. That really is inexcusable. You’re right. If there’s anything—”
Wayne’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his khakis. He fished it out, smirked, and slid it back into his pants.
“I’m sorry, but I think we’re past that now, honey.”
Honey.
Rez swallowed. She looked down at her shoes, black and switchblade-sharp. She shouldn’t have bothered squeezing into them. It wasn’t the time for victorious footwear. Dead people were such goddamned flakes. They always wanted something. Without fail.
Tell my wife I love her.
Apologize to my kids.
Please wipe my browser history, Marianne. Or I’ll be a pain in the ass foreverrrrrrrr.
And the one fucking time Rez asked for anything, they didn’t show up. She put her job on the line, and this bitch whining about office furniture can’t be bothered to show.
“Ask him who Natasha is.”
Rez nearly jumped out of the chair. Brenda was there, standing over Wayne’s shoulder. He cocked an eyebrow at Rez. “You okay?”
“Just a … a hiccup. Yeah. I’m fine,” Rez said.
Brenda stood in front of the window. The morning light spilled across Wayne’s desk, but the dead woman cast no shadow.
“Ask him who Natasha is,” she said again.
This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to go full-on Amityville Horror on them. Scare these little ass-goblins until they ran out the front door and never returned. Rez and Brenda talked about it. They laughed together until the small hours of the morning. Rez just went home to shower and change. She couldn’t even sleep from the excitement of seeing Lucas terrorized by floating staplers and cold, invisible hands around his throat.
Brenda pointed at Wayne. “Ask. Him.”
“So,” Rez said, “who is Natasha?”
Wayne stopped. “I’m sorry?”
“Do you want to tell me who Natasha is?”
Wayne swallowed. The blood drained from his face. Rez leaned forward. Brenda clapped her hands and giggled.
“She … I don’t … I don’t know a Natasha.”
Brenda snorted with laughter now. “That’s who just texted him.”
“You can call her back if you need,” Rez said, knowing his wife’s name sure as hell wasn’t Natasha.
“It’s … no, I’m fine,” Wayne said, and returned to typing up the forms he would send to HR to fire her.
Brenda crossed in front of the desk and sat next to Rez. She whispered in Rez’s ear. From over his laptop, Wayne watched with confusion as Rez tilted her head and listened to Brenda.
Then Rez smiled. She had worn the right shoes after all.
“So Wayne, if I finish the Euclid report for Lucas, do I include the notes on what you and their CTO chatted about at the big steakhouse dinner you treated them to? You know, when you went to Philly to visit them?”
“I don’t think that … that doesn’t need to go into the report.”
The air in the room was damp and cool, colder than the usual climate-controlled chill. But spots of sweat bloomed in the pits of Wayne’s cornflower blue shirt.
“Oh!” Rez said and narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t go to Euclid, did you?”
“Of course I—”
“No, you told Brenda you scheduled a meeting with them, but when she asked about it, they said you hadn’t been out there in nine months, at least.”
“There must have been some confusion. I don’t know who you—”
“You did go to Philly. And you did put that big steak dinner that never happened on your expense report, but … you were busy with a dominatrix. Named Natasha. Who peed on you.”
“Hey!” he said and stood up.
But he said nothing else.
“Yeah. And you do go to Philly a lot. So, I’ll bet if Accounting does an audit, they’ll find a lot of steak dinners that were actually just some lady going potty on your chest.”
Wayne’s face turned from cinnamon to ash. His breaths were just lifeless gasps. He held up his hands.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. You can keep the Euclid account.”
Brenda howled with laughter. She floated out of her chair and threw her arms into the air.
Rez propped her feet up on the empty chair, showing off her shoes. “Oh, I think we’re past that now. Honey.”
***
The third floor was just as nice as everyone said. It had a lounge with Ms. Pac-Man, soothing lighting, and complimentary snacks. Sure, it was just a different shade of shit, but it smelled a little better than the old shit. Rez even had legit walls to her cubicle.
And the view was glorious. From her desk, she could look out over the sea of asphalt that was the parking lot. She made sure to watch Lucas carry his crap out to his car and leave the building for the last time. There wasn’t any valid and documented reason for his firing. If Human Resources looked into it, they’d probably offer him his job back, but it was in Wayne’s best interest that that didn’t happen. Funny how Wayne’s best interests were exactly aligned with whatever the hell Marianne Reznicek wanted.
What she wanted now was to kick back and order a Bonsai tree for her nice, new cubicle. And maybe a fancy chair for her desk. There was already a spare chair in there with her, an ergonomic one she’d brought up from the second floor. She wasn’t going to sit in that one, though. And she felt sorry for anyone who tried.
***
ZEKE
Sometimes fighting evil is boring. Sometimes it sucks.
Ezekiel “Zeke” Silver repeated his mantra while he sat in the bushes, mosquitos alighting up and down his arms and across his neck. Fighting evil wasn’t always storming Dracula’s castle or wading into a mob of the living dead. Sometimes it was hiding in the bushes, eating gas station beef jerky, in a park on the edge of town in Nacogdoches, Texas.
Zeke squatted among the brush in the tall pines. The pines trapped the wet summer heat, suffocating him. After the f
irst hour, he stopped wiping his brow. No point to it. Now he wasn’t going to give the sweat the satisfaction of knowing it bothered him. Zeke had never been to Vietnam, but he imagined it was a lot like this.
He wasn’t the type to wear shorts, either. Cargo pants held more knives, but he was starting to reconsider. The thought of stripping off his pants and using them as a towel occurred to him, but things were already complicated enough. He was a Black man hiding in a park, lying in wait for a bunch of white kids. Going pantsless was ill-advised. The clerk at the convenience store already looked at him like he was crazy. No need for them to think he was a crazy pervert.
His red gym bag made for a terrible seat. It was full of stabby things, after all. At first, when the sun set, he stayed ready, crouched, and holding his favorite hatchet. The porch lights from the double-wides across the road came on. The crickets and frogs sang. Still Zeke waited. Finally, with his legs cramping and mosquitos sucking him dry, he let himself sit on his bag.
It was packed full. He took a mental inventory. Knives. Crucifixes. A crossbow. Brass knuckles. Some of them were blessed. Some were just for killing. It’s not like he needed to count through it all again, but it made him feel better. Everything was sharpened, cleaned, and ready for battle. But right now, it was poking him in the ass.
Zeke didn’t dare get up to stretch. All day long, everywhere he’d gone in this tiny Texas town, people stared. His mohawk didn’t help with the low profile, but they could kiss his Black ass if they thought he was going to wear a hat so they wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. He was here to save them anyway. Respect the mohawk, East Texas.
Once he’d found a good spot in the shadows of the pine trees, there he stayed. He had a good look at the entire park—jungle gym, merry-go-round, swings, and the rest. If something came from the trees, he’d hear it. It would have to go through him to get to the park. But he still wasn’t sure no one from the trailers across the empty highway hadn’t spotted him. There were no slow-moving police cruisers rolling by, which was always a good sign.
Hopefully, his car hadn’t been towed. It was parked down the street, behind the gas station. It was only a matter of time before it was reported as suspicious. But as far as cars went, Zeke’s was as innocuous as they came. A 1990 Lincoln Town Car with two hundred thousand miles and a paint job the color of faded plums. It still smelled like his grandmother’s perfume, something that helped him get to sleep in the back seat every night. The police would probably think he stole it. Grandma didn’t need it anymore.
