The receptionist’s smile turned a little brighter. Maybe she’d thought he was there to dump some work on her or to give her a copy of the Watchtower.
He didn’t know what she thought and he didn’t care any more about her than about business.
The last thing he’d envisaged was this dead end job in a boring company, and all he could think about was getting home, putting his feet up, and watching re-runs of Star Trek Enterprise .
He wasn’t even a business graduate, or economics, or anything remotely relevant. The company must have been pretty desperate to hire him.
‘Thank God,’ said the girl. Twenty, Twenty-two, maybe. Quite pretty in a sort of vacuous way, Hunter thought.
‘Sorry? I didn’t think anyone would be that pleased I was starting out.’
She laughed. She seemed nervous again, and her smile faltered.
‘Sorry. Did I say that out loud? I was just...’ she looked around, as though she was checking for someone...but strangely, she looked at the ceiling. Hunter couldn’t help but follow her gaze. A natural instinct.
There was nothing there. At least, nothing he could see.
He was beginning to think his initial assessment of the girl was right. There didn’t seem to be much going on up top.
‘Just, erm, new blood, you know?’
‘Sounds ominous.’
She laughed again, sounding a little like a squirrel.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Go up the elevator. To the third floor. You’ll meet the boss there.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, happy to get away from the girl.
Hunter took the first elevator that came. There were four. He hit the button for three and the elevator moved slowly, slowly, up.
The doors slid open silently while he was checking his reflection in the polished interior of the elevator.
‘Morning,’ said his new boss, meeting him at the door, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
He covered it with a nervous laugh.
‘Hello again, Mr. Rickman,’ he said, putting on his best smile.
Mr. Rickman reached out and shook his hand.
‘I’m sorry about the receptionist,’ he said. ‘She’s just started. We’re still breaking her in.’ Mr. Rickman smiled toothily and stared off into space. Shook himself and smiled.
Hunter was beginning to think everyone in this company was nuts.
Then he wondered how Mr. Rickman knew about his conversation with the receptionist. After a moment’s thought he dismissed it. The receptionist was probably always slightly dim, and Mr. Rickman no doubt knew that. After all, he remarked on her only in a vague, general sort of way.
‘Let me show you to your office,’ he said.
‘Office?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? You’ll have your own office, of course. For a man with your qualifications...’
For a moment Hunter thought his new boss must be talking about someone else, but he just shrugged and accepted it. If he was going to get his own office, it really wouldn’t be politic to complain about it.
‘Well, thank you,’ he said when they reached his office. It wasn’t exactly plush, but there was a window and that was good. The sun shone brightly outside, but the windows had a slight tint, so it wasn’t glaring in the room. There was air conditioning, and the room was coolly comfortable.
‘This is...perfect,’ he said, genuinely pleased.
‘You’re welcome. I’m sorry to dash, but the Managing Director called me in earlier. I’ll introduce you to him this afternoon, but for now, take a wander. I’m afraid I can’t give you a proper induction until later. I’m sure you’ll figure out where the coffee machine is...you know, the important things.’
Hunter figured Mr. Rickman was attempting a joke, so he laughed politely.
‘Yes, well,’ said Mr. Rickman, staring off into space again. Then he looked up at the ceiling.
‘Must dash,’ he said. ‘Duty calls.’
‘Of course,’ said Hunter.
Mr. Rickman nodded, pleased, for some reason, and closed the door.
Hunter wondered what the hell he was going to do. There was a desk, some generic office kind of thing, MDF across the top, a couple of drawers. There was a filling cabinet. A computer sat humming quietly on the desk.
He decided to at least pretend like he was a dutiful employee, even though his new boss hadn’t seemed interested in giving him any work to do, other than discovering where he could get his coffee.
The computer beeped before he got there, and when he looked there was an envelope icon in the middle of the screen.
Perhaps, he hoped, it was an email from Human Resources or something, telling him what the hell he was supposed to be doing.
He clicked on the icon and an email popped open.
‘Get out while you can,’ it said.
He frowned and stared at the words, unable to make sense of them for a moment.
Then he laughed.
Noob humour, he thought. He checked where the email had come from, but it was on an internal system and he didn’t know the sender anyway.
He ignored it and clicked a few more icons on the PC, trying to figure his way around a new system. There were icons for what were obviously company specific applications, and he left these alone. He didn’t want to break anything on his first day.
Someone knocked on the door and for a moment he considered getting up and opening it. Then he decided it was his office, and that he should start out like a big shot.
‘It’s open,’ he called, electing to stay at his seat.
A beautiful woman opened the door and he pushed himself up immediately. He didn’t want to seem rude. She was a brunette, wore bright red lipstick, and he was acutely aware that her dress was short and tight.
‘Morning. You must be Mr. Davis,’ she said with a stunning smile full of dazzling white teeth.
‘Good morning, Ms...?’
‘Mrs.’ She said, with another of those astounding smiles. ‘Mr. Rickman said I should induct you.’
Hunter liked the sound of that, and largely ignored the Mrs. He didn’t note that she hadn’t told him her name at all, but followed her happily out of the door.
Mr. Rickman appeared before them in the corridor.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said. ‘Mr. Davis. Hunter, if I may?’
‘Of course,’ said Hunter. What a strange day.
‘The Managing Director would like to meet you personally,’ he said to Hunter. Addressing the HR woman he said ‘Could you take him up? I’ll meet you there,’ he said.
Hunter smiled and followed the beautiful woman, not wondering what her name was, because of some kind of amazing scent that she wore. His head felt muddled. It was a strong scent.
He couldn’t place it, but occasionally as she led the way, she turned her smile on and he followed, thinking of nothing but how much he’d like to hold her in his arms and stroke her lovely hair.
Strangely, as he reached the door that had the moniker Managing Director on it, she took his hand and kissed his cheek.
‘You’re a sweet boy,’ she said. He wondered for a moment if she’d read his mind. But then a woman who looked like that was probably used to people drooling over her and following her around like a puppy.
She pushed open the door for him and nudged him inside. ‘In you go,’ she said, and then she was gone.
It was dark in the Managing Director’s office, but Hunter went in anyway, his head still muzzy from the strangely intoxicating perfume the woman wore.
‘Hello?’ he said.
‘Hello,’ said the Managing Director, flicking on a light. Hunter gasped then covered it by moving forward with his hand out. His shock was understandable. The MD was one of the fattest men he’d ever seen. The MD didn’t rise from his chair but shook the offered hand.
‘Mr. Davis, I’m afraid there have been...unforeseen circumstances.’ The MD wore a wig and his jowls wobbled as he spoke. ‘You see, your position...I’m sorry. I don’t know ho
w to put this, so I’ll just come right out and say it. I’m afraid, you see, your position has become redundant.’
‘What?’ said Hunter. He frowned. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘I’m sorry to say that it is not.’
‘I only started five minutes ago!’
‘Yes, a fact of which I am aware. You see, we operate a policy of last in, first out. Sometimes things like this...well...they are unavoidable.’
‘You are joking. Of course you are.’
The fat man wobbled his head from side to side. ‘Regrettable. You seem like a capable chap. Sorry to lose you so soon and all that. Well, never mind, eh? We’ll have a proper party for you, of course. Sandwiches, fizzy pop...that kind of thing. Follow Mr. Rickman. He’ll show you to the boardroom. Party in there. Short notice, of course, but I’m sure we can rustle something up.’
‘What?’
‘That’s it. Thank you. Goodbye.’
Hunter turned, dazed, and shut the door behind him. The stunning woman with the bright red lipstick and her alluring perfume had waited for him. Mr. Rickman rounded the corner and took his arm.
‘This way, young man. Sorry to see you go.’
‘What?’ Hunter managed, but he was so confused he couldn’t think of a thing to say.
They took the elevator down to the first floor again, and exited straight into the boardroom.
The MD had somehow beaten them there. It seemed like all of the company’s other employees had made the party, too. The only one he recognised, though, was the girl from reception.
She smiled at him, but her smile wasn’t vacuous anymore. It was...satisfied? Was that the right word?
Someone handed him a sausage roll. He ate it, everything hazy. He felt like he’d stepped into a dream, but while the beautiful woman from HR held his elbow and led him around the party he couldn’t think straight, and he found he didn’t mind.
She introduced him to lots of people he would never meet again. He didn’t understand a single thing about what was happening to him. It was the strangest day he’d ever had.
He tried to speak to people, ask them what was happening, but every time he attempted to open his mouth the beautiful woman bade him be quiet with a finger to his lips. She allowed him to eat his fill from the impromptu buffet, but not to speak. She held his elbow with one hand and handed him sausage rolls and triangular sandwiches with the other. With another hand she held a plate, and with yet another hand she put her finger to his lips to stop him embarrassing himself by pleading for help.
Some deep part of him understood that he was in serious trouble, as the other employees all seemed in part relieved, but terrified, too. He couldn’t feel fear, because of the strange scent of the woman who wasn’t a woman. She was beautiful, but she had too many arms. The thing of it was, he thought through the haze, those arms weren’t quite arms, were they? They looked a hell of a lot like tentacles and as she led him before the MD to make his final goodbyes, he noted the MD had a few too many arms, too.
‘Shame. Good chap. Shame to lose you, etcetera,’ said the MD.
The MD’s fat head seemed to split apart. Blood splattered all around as his head became nothing more than a massive mouth, filled with fine sharp teeth.
One of the MD’s tentacles reached out at such a languid pace that had Hunter been able to move, he could easily have escaped. And yet, he found he could not move, could not find the will to run.
The beautiful woman with too many arms at his side kissed him on the cheek before he was hauled into the MD’s mouth.
He was sure she said, ‘Sweet boy,’ again, but this time he thought she meant something else entirely.
As he was being eaten he noticed the girl from reception was crying. He didn’t know if it was fear or relief, but figured it was last in, first out. Good luck to her.
The HR woman smelled amazing. So amazing he didn’t really mind being eaten. The faces around him didn’t look afraid, not at all. No, not that. Just, strangely, happy to see him go, but that didn’t make sense, because he had only just started. Still, it was only fair, he supposed, as his midriff exploded in a bloody mess. He heard his ribcage crack open but he understood that in today’s job market, an employer couldn’t be expected to keep all of their staff on.
His head finally disappeared and a little while later, when the party was over, the girl on reception went back to her post, where she put an ad in the paper yet again. Nobody asked her to, but she tried to be helpful. She really didn’t want to lose her job.
The End
Phew, heavy, eh? Here's some light relief.
My Life as a Crisp Packet
Reincarnation’s the key. That’s what they told me at the Buddhism for beginners seminar
in Stoke. If I’d known then what I know now, instead of taking notes with my Bic pen I’d have stuck it sideways up my left nostril. I’d save my ring-bound note pad for the right.
The early days weren’t so bad. I remember them with a kind of warm fondness. It’s difficult to express emotions adequately when you’re a crisp packet, but I know what they are. I’m going for a rough feel, really, rather than the eloquence afford to humans, what with their hormones and valves pumping, testicles jumping, thyroids, well…I don’t exactly know what a thyroid does.
Don’t pretend like you do, either.
A crisp packet has the luxury of a certain aloofness. There’s only so much feeling you can do when you’re made of plastic – shining on the inside, mind, to keep that sealed in freshness. And that’s more than I can say for most people I met in my first incarnation.
I worked a production line. When you work a dead end job, there’s a lot of room for thoughts of self-improvement. At the time, I could safely say I was in a pit. I’d read books on the topic, and I don’t think I could have got any lower than I was back then.
It’s not that interesting a story, though, when you come to think of it. Why would I bother to tell you what it’s like to be a human? You already know that. I bet you don’t know what it’s like to be a crisp packet, though.
The early years were much like childhood. There was the making. I don’t remember much about that part, but then babies don’t remember the bumping, the grinding and the squelching that comes before – there’s a reason why new-born anythings don’t know about their creation – if they did there’d be a spate of suicides right off the bat.
I do remember the filling. It was cheesy twists. I rustled as I was filled, which for a crisp packet is kind of a reason for living. A really good crisp packet knows how to rustle. I was good at it. I took pride in it from the get-go.
There was a sort of powdery substance coating the crisps that rubbed off on my interior. I was no longer pristine, but I was satisfied with my lot – I was useful. There was a point to being reincarnated – I could see I was serving a purpose. Perhaps, with hindsight, not what most people would call a higher purpose, but at the end of the day people need crisps, and crisps need to be held by something, otherwise there would be rogue crisps roaming the streets, mugging cheese crackers and having their wicked way with blackjacks and cough mints surreptitiously in old ladies’ handbags.
The lights in the factory were bright, glaring. I held my darkness inside. It was always the same. I loved the night. It’s awful, in a way, not being able to close your eyes. On the other hand, it really makes you pay attention.
Eventually, and I don’t think it was such a long time, I was stuffed into a larger bag with lots of other packets of crisps. Crisps packets aren’t great at socialising. I tried to get on with my brothers, but they wouldn’t talk to me. I don’t think, necessarily, that every crisp packet is a reincarnated spirit. I found out a lot by then. I was on my own, and solitude, even when in numbers, was a strange sensation. I suppose everyone has experienced loneliness in a crowd.
I was at the party, but I was invisible. It was dark on the outside, at last, but it wasn’t the wholesome darkness of the night, that solid, friendly peace. It
was the ominous darkness of the depths of the ocean, surrounded by things that can see better than you. Those fellows had rustling down to a fine art. It was rustling with chains on, though, the rustling of a burlap sack over the head and the rustling of the noose swinging on the gallows.
I don’t mind telling you, I was scared. If I’d have had a bladder, I would have loosed it on them. I don’t think they would have taken kindly to that, either. Perhaps, all things considered, it’s best that it never happened.
There was a time of movement, travelling. The sound of the interior of a lorry, which for some reason is one of those primal sounds that no one needs to experience to know what it sounds like.
Hollow. Like, for some indefinable reason, I wished I was.
It was a form of slow torture, the waiting for fulfilment – or, more accurately, emptiment.
I sat on a shelf for an age. I could hear the sounds of contented shoppers, congratulating themselves on finding a bargain, keeping within budget, or just getting lots of crisp for the kids.
I was a bargain, but what most people don’t know is that they put less in multipack crisps, which is the only reason they’re any cheaper. I was hoping they wouldn’t pick up on that fact before I was picked.
Time passed more easily on the shelf. Eventually, I was chosen.
It gave me a great sense of satisfaction.
There was another journey, of course, one that started on the top of a trolley (I could hear a dissident wheel, squeaking out against the masses. If all the malcontent wheels of the world united, they could probably take over the world. Or, at the very least, a Tesco Metro.
I was jostled into a car (a people carrier – I could tell by the sounds of children, not jammed in together but with room to manoeuvre an elbow, or wield an elbow. From the sporadic tears I guess that the later was more likely to be true.
Then, after an age, I was taken from the cupboard. I had to learn the meaning of patience, and stuff envy’s mouth with a chloroform rag to stop him from screaming out at the packets closer to the top of the bag were slowly, over a period of days, taken out and emptied.
Angels in Black and White (Horror Short Stories) Page 8