by Adam Millard
Folders swished closed. People scampered from the room as if they were nine-year-olds chasing an ice cream truck. As the last man reached the door, Ms. Morgan-Jones cleared her throat.
“Jeffrey.”
The young man flinched at the formality of his name. With one hand clutching a tortured black folder and the other wrapped around the tip of his tie, he turned to face his manager.
“Yes, ma’am?”
She squinted at him with her rouged lips pinched together in a thin line.
“Please close the door behind you.”
Releasing a stream of captured air, Jeff nodded and stepped into the hall. The door clicked shut, and he drooped onto the wall. A hand gripped his arm and began pulling him away from the conference room.
“Do you believe that witch?” Steve asked, dragging Jeff into the company break room.
The refrigerator droned in a corner as a final drip of brew clung to the coffee maker’s filter basket.
“After she delegated all of our parking spots to the handicapped last week, she’s pulling this stunt.” Steve emphasized his words by slamming a cabinet door. “I count on that overtime.”
“I hear you, man. My regular paycheck squeaks by to pay the bills.” Jeff nodded. “Any fun money comes from time and a half.”
Steve yanked open the icebox and eyed the microwavable dinners and questionable Tupperware.
“I guess we’re going to have to hang out at Starbucks for fun,” Jeff said. He leaned back on the counter, supporting himself on his hands. “No more Paper Moon for us.”
Banging shut the freezer hard enough to send a box of cereal tumbling off the top, Steve whirled to stare at his friend.
“That’s it,” he said, pointing a crooked finger at his coworker.
Jeff’s brow crumpled in confusion. “That’s what?”
“I know how to fix this,” Steve said. He paced the gold-flecked tiles and mumbled to himself. “But how do we make him attack?”
“Steve, you lost me.” Jeff crossed his armed across his chest. “How do we make who attack?”
Steve pulled his friend into one of the gray plastic chairs that circled the small lunch table as he sat in another and leaned forward.
“Gary,” he whispered. “We’ve got to get Gary.”
“What do we need him for?” Jeff snorted a short laugh before shaking his head. “He can’t even tie his shoes without permission.”
Steve’s eyebrows arched into his forehead. “Don’t tell me you forgot what he did to that bouncer the other week.”
“Didn’t I get so trashed you had to carry me to the curb?” Jeff ran a hand down his face and pulled on his chin. “Sorry, I don’t remember much from that night except waking up with my head in the toilet.”
“Oh, man.” Steve placed a hand on top of his head and grinned. “While you were puking in the gutter, the bouncer was making fun of Gary’s haircut. From what I saw, Gary was backing away from the guy and glanced up at the sign. You know, the one with the moon on it. Then, he started shaking.” Steve motioned Jeff closer before continuing his story. “His fingernails turned into claws, and his teeth got huge.” He illustrated the size with his thumb and forefinger spread apart six inches. “His clothes tore, and he was all hairy underneath.”
“Dude, what were you on?” Jeff asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I swear on a case of Bud, I was clean.” Steve held up three fingers in good faith.
“Steve,” Jeff said. “That’s the Girl Scout salute. Boy Scouts use two fingers.”
“Whatever,” Steve said, waving his hand as if wiping away his mistake. “All I’m saying is Gary turned into a wolf, and I haven’t seen that doorman since.”
“What did Gary say about it?” Jeff finger-combed his hair and leaned back against the plastic seat back.
“That’s the best part. He said he didn’t remember a thing.” One half of Steve’s mouth turned up in a grin. “He woke up naked on his lawn and figured someone had slipped him a mickey.”
“I don’t buy it,” Jeff said, pulling his lips into a thin line. “Anyway, how is that supposed to help us with the harpy?”
Steve’s half grin turned into a beaming smile as he drew closer to his friend. “He’s got a late meeting with a client tonight. I doubt Ms. More-than-boned will make him cancel it since it affects her precious bottom line.” His head bobbled as he spoke. “I’ll reschedule the appointment, and you change his screensaver.”
The look on Jeff’s face resembled an average seven-year-old attempting calculus.
“What am I supposed to change it to, a picture of a better haircut?”
Steve glanced first over one shoulder and then over the other before returning his gaze to Jeff. He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “A rising full moon.”
Jeff’s head snapped up, and he howled with laughter. After a moment, he dragged the back of his hand across his tearing eyes.
“So you’re telling me, we’re going to make Gary wolf out so he’ll get rid of our crappy boss?”
Steve tossed him a solemn nod.
“All I have to do is change a setting on his computer?” Jeff continued.
His friend’s smile brightened.
“And what happens when he wakes up naked in the board room chewing on a leather pump?” Jeff asked.
“You don’t think it’ll work?” Steve’s grin sagged.
“I think you’re nuts. That’s what I think.” Jeff scratched the back of his neck and stood. “But I don’t see any harm in messing with his screensaver.”
The twinkle returned to Steve’s eyes. He thrust his sweaty hand forward and grasped Jeff’s dry one.
“I’ll take Gary out to lunch, so you’ll have his desk to yourself.”
“Don’t you two have a job to do?” Ms. Morgan-Jones asked from the doorway.
The two men flinched and turned toward her voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” they said as one.
“Then, get to it.” She disappeared, leaving Steve and Jeff to slink back to their own cubicles.
*
Gary Martin rested his head in his hands. A plastic office chair wobbled underneath his wiry frame.
“Hey, Gare,” Steve said, jostling Gary’s elbow and leaning against the desk.
Gary raised his head like an inflating balloon. The circles under his yellowish eyes reflected purple in the fluorescent glow.
“Wow,” Steve said. “Either you could use a drink or you already cleaned out the liquor cabinet.”
Gary placed the heels of his hands on his temples and pressed. “I got bit by a dog last month and started having these headaches.” He rubbed the sides of his face in small circular motions. “They’ve been getting worse since that night you guys took me out and got me smashed.”
“Ever think about seeing a doctor?” Steve asked.
“My sister had migraines for years.” Gary took a deep breath. “If my head doesn’t sort itself out soon, I’ll make an appointment with her neurologist.”
A fly buzzed past en-route to Gary’s garbage can.
“How about I take you to lunch?” Steve crossed his arms over his rumpled shirt. “There’s a new Chinese place down by the pet store.”
Gary wrinkled his nose as if Steve had suggested eating stewed beets with a side of gizzard.
“Okay, no Chinese,” Steve said. “How about Mexican?”
Gary retched at the thought of beans and cheese. “Isn’t there some place we can get a steak?”
Steve patted the patch of stubble on his chin.
“I think there’s a new place a few blocks from here,” Steve said, squinting in thought. “It’s called something like The Wolf’s Den.”
“Sounds perfect.” Gary stood and smiled. His teeth glinted in the flickering office lights. “And don’t forget your wallet this time.”
Patting the back of his pants, Steve felt the bulge of vinyl. As he passed Jeff’s desk, he gave a thumbs up and continued to follow Gary’s loping gait
to the elevator. As they waited, Steve studied Gary’s reflection in the metallic doors when they slid closed.
Weren’t his eyes blue? he thought. I could have sworn they were blue.
*
Jeff scrolled through a list of moonrise screensavers. What if the one he picked wasn’t good enough to make Gary turn, if he turned at all? Jeff guessed Steve had done a line of some designer concoction at the club and had imagined the whole long-toothed story. There was a good chance the bouncer had gone to Aruba.
A knock sounded on the cubicle wall. Jeff jerked his hands from the keyboard as if he’d been burned by it. He spun in the chair and tried to rise. He froze when he saw Ms. Morgan-Jones tapping her foot in the entryway.
“Mr. Leonard, may I ask what you were doing to Mr. Martin’s computer?”
Jeff’s jaw dropped as he tried to form coherent words. “I…I…I was walking by and thought of something I needed to tell Gary about one of the clients.” He flashed a slight open-mouthed smile, hoping she’d believed him.
“Jeffrey, for a short message to a colleague, a Post-it will do.” She poked a short stack of yellow squares with a maroon-tipped nail, leaving a slight dent in the top sheet. “Leave your note and get back to work.” She turned and stalked down the corridor.
Jeff slumped his shoulders and returned to his task.
“And if I catch you attempting to access another employee’s computer again, you are fired,” she called over her shoulder.
Jeff yanked his fingers away from the keys he was about to press as if they were covered in acid. Grabbing a blue pen, he scribbled an indecipherable note and stuck it on the monitor. He blew out a short breath of air as he pushed himself to his feet.
*
The elevator chimed, and Gary poked his head above the cubicle wall to survey the empty office. A man dragging an industrial rubber trashcan disappeared inside the car and pressed a button for another floor. Gary dropped back into his chair and stared at the scrawled note he’d moved to the side of his desk. Most of the time, Jeff’s handwriting was easy to read, but this disaster of a message was impossible. The only word he could decipher was Jeff’s signature at the bottom.
“Mr. Martin, I’m assuming that since your visitor chairs are empty, your clients have not arrived.” Ms. Morgan-Jones stood staring at him with a scowling frown.
Gary shook his head and shrugged. “I verified the meeting yesterday, like I always do. They said they’d be here at five-thirty.”
Ms. Morgan-Jones thrust her arm forward to raise her jacket sleeve before bending her elbow and bringing her wrist into her line of sight.
“My watch says seven-fifteen.” She lowered her arm and pulled her cuff to match the length of the other. “I’m through for the day, but I can’t leave you alone in the office.”
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” Gary interrupted, reaching for the phone on his desk. “I’ll call to check their ETA.”
Ms. Morgan-Jones stepped forward and pressed the handset back into its cradle. “Are you telling me that you haven’t called them yet?”
Gary shook his head.
“And they haven’t called you to say they’ll be late?”
Gary dropped his chin to his chest.
“You have got to be the most worthless employee I have on the roster,” she began. “I clear my schedule so you can make one more sale after hours, and you can’t even get the time straight.”
Gary lifted his head and watched the woman’s arms gyrate in time with her accusations. His eyes wandered to the wall of windows behind her. As his manager’s voice droned on, the face of the full moon peeked between the buildings across the street.
“Now, the floor is empty. Everyone else has gone home, and I’ll have to hail my own taxi.”
Gary felt a stabbing pain bloom in his skull from the dull headache he’d had all day. Pressing his hands to his ears, he squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head from side to side.
“You listen to me.” Ms. Morgan-Jones shook her index finger at the flailing man before she continued to speak.
The pulsing sting between Gary’s ears spun down the length of his spine, and he felt a tear in his lower back. He fell to the floor and bristled in agony. The tips of his fingers swelled, and his fingernails tore through his cuticles as they grew.
“This better not be a grab at the sympathy card, because I don’t have one in my deck, sir.” Ms. Morgan-Jones' eyebrows drew together.
As Gary’s skin quivered, he began to itch. He scratched at his clothes with his lengthening claws and tore the fabric to ribbons as coarse hair burst from his follicles. He rolled under his desk as his face began to throb. Blood dripped from his bottom lip where fangs had pushed it aside.
“If you’re going to act like a madman, I’m calling the police.”
Ms. Morgan-Jones backed out of Gary’s workspace and skittered toward the stairs. She faltered, hearing a low growl behind her. Her inch-and-a-half heels twisted sideways, and she fell to the carpet in a heap. She scrambled on her hands and knees toward the red exit light. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a hulking, hairy form pad from the space where she’d left Gary. She rolled to her back and began to crab-crawl toward the door. The monster crouched low. As the woman whimpered and scraped back another foot, the wolf pounced. He landed with one large front paw on either side of her quaking body. He pressed his large wet nose into her hair and inhaled.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Ms. Morgan-Jones whispered. Tears rolled down the sides of her face.
The wolf rumbled a guttural growl in the woman’s ear as he continued to sniff her scent. When he reached her neck, she shrieked. The wolf opened his jaws and snapped her scream in two. Blood jetted in an arc across the wall as the wolf devoured its prey. Shaking his head, the animal tore hunks of flesh from the warm body. Piece by piece, Ms. Morgan-Jones disappeared.
*
Steve arrived at work late and sauntered around the office, poking his head into every cubicle under the guise of saying good morning to his coworkers. When he reached Gary’s workspace, he found the office chair overturned in a corner. The man’s briefcase was leaning against the desk. A few strands of bristled hair were caught in the edge of a partition. At the end of the room, the window of Ms. Morgan-Jones' office stared still dark.
“Hey, buddy,” Jeff said, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Where’s Gary?”
“I don’t think he’s in yet.” Steve rolled the threads of wolf hair between his fingers as he held them up for Jeff to see. A smile burst across his face as he motioned toward the manager’s office. “Look who else isn’t in today. I think our plan worked.”
Jeff looked down at his loafers.
“Yeah, about the plan,” he said. “I never got the screensaver installed. The harpy caught me and said I’d be fired if I so much as touched anyone else’s computer.”
“You’re messing with me, right?” Steve pulled in his chin and pursed his lips.
Jeff met Steve’s gaze and frowned. “Look for yourself.” He swept a hand toward the computer.
Steve righted the chair with a grunt and sat down in front of the screen. Jeff’s scrawled note rolled under his arm and attached itself to Steve’s buttoned cuff. Reaching out, Steve wiggled the mouse. Gary’s desktop emerged from the blackness. With a few clicks, Steve checked the settings and found Gary’s cycling slideshow of teacup Chihuahua photos still the chosen screensaver. There wasn’t even a moonrise on the menu.
Steve twirled to face Jeff. He noticed a wall calendar hanging behind the other man. Standing, Steve pushed his friend out of the way and stared at yesterday’s date. A dark circle peeked from the bottom left hand corner of the box. Steve’s mouth went slack as he pointed at the moon’s symbol.
“You don’t think,” Jeff said peering at the calendar.
The two men stood gaping at each other when the elevator bell rang. A tall man with wide shoulders clad in an expensive tailored suit stepped onto the floor.
�
��May I have your attention, please,” the man said. “My name is Devon Declan.” He continued to stride toward the closed office door as his voice boomed. “I own this company. Ms. Morgan-Jones has been relieved of her duties. I will be cleaning up her messes for at least the next six months.” Standing in front of the darkened window, the man turned to face the gathering of stunned office workers. “Staff meeting in the conference room in ten.” He twisted the knob and looked back at the two men in Gary’s cubicle. “Mr. Martin is taking some comp time and will return in a few days.”
The latch clicked shut behind their new boss.
*
“Everyone has mandatory overtime one night every four weeks. Here’s the schedule.”
Mr. Declan passed a stack of papers to his left and followed it with his eyes as it wound its way around the conference table. Each employee removed one, passed the rest, and scanned their eyes down the document.
His head still lowered over the limp sheet he held, Steve raised his hand as if he were controlled by an ancient puppeteer.
“Yes, Mister…Thomas, is it?” Mr. Declan asked after running a manicured nail down a block-printed list.
“Uh, yes, sir…Thomas, sir,” Steve stammered and raised his face to smile. “Steve if you like.”
“Mr. Thomas, I assume you were raising your hand for a reason.”
Mr. Declan lowered a pair of half-moon reading glasses and stared as Steve began to roll the edges of his schedule between the tips of his fingers.
“Um…yes, sir. I was.” Steve coughed and slid a finger between his shirt collar and his neck. He snuck a glance at Jeff, who had beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face. “Are you aware that all the late days you’ve scheduled coincide with the full moon?”
Mr. Declan used his index finger to press his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose before he tilted his head and smiled, a canine tooth flashed in the fluorescent light. His yellow eyes glittered from behind the gold half-frames.