die as the night fades away.
Demonstation
by Joleen Kuyper
May looked over her notes again with a heavy sigh. It was far from her ideal job, going around offices full of people who didn't want to be there any more than she did trying to convince them that the all in one workstation was just what they needed.
She carefully ironed her suit before putting it on; then carefully applied make-up to her youthful skin. She looked immaculate, or she would have if she'd been able to shape a genuine smile on her face.
May carried the box into the lift, smiling politely at others in there as was the unspoken custom; no over-familiar behaviour, but a courteous acknowledgement just in case the elevator cord snapped and plunged everyone toward a certain death where they could forever ponder that their last action on earth had been to ignore a fellow human being.
"They're waiting for you, go on in," the receptionist told her in a nasal tone. May worried she was late, she checked her watch, then worried it was slow. She hated that this job created that nervous energy in her no matter how hard she tried to tell herself she didn't care.
"This will fulfil all of your copying, faxing, scanning and printing needs," she told the assembled group, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Freeing up office space, and the wireless network capability will ensure that it complies with strict new health and safety laws regarding loose cables."
"How about a demonstration?" asked one of the younger men, clearly hoping this would take up some more time before he had to go back to actually doing his job.
"Sure," May said, plugging it in, tapping a few buttons and flicking up the lip on her laptop. She printed out some photographs, scanned in a report that was sitting on the table, copied it and faxed it to a machine in the corner of the room.
"Impressive," said the same guy with a bored sigh. "We'll take six."
May smiled. "We have a number of payment options available," she told the group, relieved that her sales pitch had worked. All she had to do was get the machine into the offices.
One of the older men handed her a cheque. She smiled and promised next-day delivery, then placed the machine back in its box, her laptop back in its case and left, nodding politely to others in the lift again on the way down. When she was back in her car the machine's screen lit up, showing the now familiar snarling face.
"Six is a start," she told it. "You'll soon have infiltrated all the office blocks in the city, and I'll have repaid my debt," she told it. She admired her skin in the rear-view mirror once more as she left the car park. It felt good not to see a seventy-seven year old face looking back at her. The Demonstation? cackled before the display went blank again, ready for another demonstration.
Glass Jars
by E.J. Tett
He killed people and kept their eyes
in glass jars of various size.
He took out their brains and kept those too,
put some in jars and ate a few.
He peeled off their skins, cut their hair,
filled more jars and put them everywhere.
In his lab and in his room,
in the cupboard with the broom.
I couldn't move in that bloody place
for all the glass jars invading the space.
I wanted a normal house, I said.
Not one full of bits of the dead.
The Report
by Jo Robertson
Help me
The message flashed onto the screen suddenly, interrupting the flow of her typing. She frowned. The box on the screen pulsed lightly and insistently.
Help me
She clicked on the X in the corner of the message and it disappeared. Probably just sent to the wrong person again, she thought. With a surname like Smith it was a regular occurrence. Usually one of the shiny-suited kids from Sales, too busy trying to crack one of the admin girls or texting on their omnipresent phones to check their recipient before sending an internal communication.
She sighed. She'd ignore that one, but the next one to interrupt her flow would receive an angry message back.
The report she was working on waited for her on the screen. Her fingers hovered for a while before she admitted defeat. The message's unexpected arrival had broken her chain of thought. Angrily, she stood, picked up her coffee mug and stalked across the large office to the machine.
Her shoes made hissing noises on the carpet as she moved across the empty room. Working late was almost a luxury for her. No childish office banter, no forced jollity with people she had little in common with. She had been pleased when she had arrived from a day of meetings to find the place deserted and her reports untouched. Now it was late and the building was empty, save for the one security guard on the front desk. She doubted that he knew she was here.
The coffee was bitter and she grimaced as she drank, taking in the large, open plan room bathed in harsh strip-lights. Her cubicle was roughly in the middle of the office, low fabric backed walls meaning that usually when she sat down all she could see was a sea of heads, all around her. None of them registering her presence.
Now, she thought as she sat down, she was the epicentre. The one remaining professional in a graveyard of deserted chairs and empty coffee mugs. She liked the idea of being the epicentre, the pivot on which the company rotated. Idly, she fantasised about one of the directors finding her here alone, working diligently and without complaint. She imagined his praise, his sudden interest in her reports. The look on his face as he made a mental note to consider her for promotion.
She sighed happily and took her place back at her desk.
I'm drowning
The small box in the centre of her screen pulsed urgently. She sighed, putting her coffee down carelessly and spilling a little over her hand. "Shit!" she cursed, shaking her hand to cool it off.
She glared at the screen and instantly hit the 'reply' icon.
She typed swiftly, stabbing her fingers down onto the keys angrily.
Please check your recipient! She typed Your messages are interrupting my work and delaying vital reports.
She hit 'send' with a small sense of satisfaction. She had just begun to type again when a message flashed back.
Please check your recipient! Your messages are interrupting my work and delaying vital reports. She frowned and rolled her eyes. Snatching up the telephone she dialled the IT helpdesk, anticipating being able to vent her anger on them.
The line rung... and rung... and rung. "Twenty-four hour service," she grumbled. "Yeah, right." She slammed the receiver down in annoyance and turned back to the screen.
Help me
The message repeated. She cursed loudly and clicked the message off the screen. Immediately she began typing furiously at her report, ignoring the small flags at the corner of the screen telling her she had unread messages. She smiled, the annoyance of not being able to deal with the messages seemed to have broken the writer's block she was having with the report. Her fingers stabbed quickly at the keys as she typed, almost frenzied in her activity.
Message inbox full
The message on the screen stopped her typing. She cursed again and opened the small inbox at the side of her screen. Her eyes widened as she saw the long list of unread mail.
Help me
I'm drowning
Help me
Help me
Help me
I'm drowning
Help me
Help me
Help me
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
I'm drowning
Her fingers hovered over the keys again. Eventually she typed, Who are you? and hit 'send' before she could think about it too much.
There was only a brief pause before the message icon sprung up. She clicked on it reluctantly.
W
ho are you?
She sighed in exasperation. Either her messages were being bounced for some reason... or there was someone else here, trying to stop her completing her report.
Her face froze. That was it! There was someone else here, someone else determined for promotion deliberately trying to sabotage her! She stood up quickly and scanned the wide room.
There was no-one. She stormed from her cubicle and started to open up the management offices. All of them empty, all deserted. She checked under desks, just in case someone was hiding.
She came to the directors offices... surely nobody would be audacious enough to be sending her messages from one of the directors computers?! Her hand hovered over the door-handle, building the courage to enter. This was hallowed territory after all, she had only been inside these offices once... many years ago when she was being shown around the building on her first day, resplendent in her cheap suit with the too-long trousers.
She cringed at the memory of greeting the directors with red cheeks and a stuttered greeting. Their kind, patronising welcomes and hopes that she would forge a successful career with the company. That was seven years ago and still she remained un-noticed in the middle cubicle... not so much a pivot on which the company rotated, but more of a stone. Reliable but unmoving. Unremarkable, flawed.
She sighed a deep sigh into the silence and opened the door to the first office. She gasped in shock when she saw Alan Lawrence, Director of finance sitting at his desk and tapping at his laptop.
Her surprise was matched by his as he looked up. "Liz!" he said, folding the computer screen down. "I wasn't expecting to see you here for a while."
She tried not to let the joy that he remembered her name show on her face. "Sir," she stuttered. "I mean... Mr Lawrence. I was working late... I heard a noise." She suddenly felt acutely aware of how foolish she must have looked creeping into the room. "I'm sorry."
He stood up. "Why are you working late, Liz?" he asked. She smiled at the genuine interest in his voice and felt a blush creep up her cheeks.
"A report, for you, sir," she stammered, wishing desperately that she could sound confident in his presence. "Financial forecasts for the next quarter."
He smiled. "That's excellent, Liz, I admire your diligence." He closed the laptop completely. "Is the report finished, can I see it?"
She nodded vigorously. "Oh yes, sir. It's finished. I can print it off now for you if you'd like?"
"That would be extremely helpful," he said, smiling at her again. "Thank you."
She smiled back, feeling her face burning with pride. She left the office quickly and headed back to her cubicle.