Strange Things Happen in High Places

“Boooring!” He drags the cause of death over to Elenor’s red dot and it stops blinking. Then he drags a green one over top of it and it disappears. Ding. “Now, just do this until all your red dots bite the dust all your green dots have been soul-ified.”

“Are those company terms?”

“File your reports and hit submit when you’re done, smartass, and do it in a timely manner.” He shoves himself out from my desk and rolls over my thin shoes. Before I can squeal in pain the computer spirals into chaos.

BEEP BEEP BEEP. That’s a new noise. Blinding lights flash from my screen.

“Wha- what- what did you do? What’s that?” I yell.

“I didn’t do anything!” He rolls back to the computer. “Soul snatcher! For Pete’s sake!” He punches a bunch of random buttons on my keyboard. “No you don’t!” Spit flies from his lips onto every surface of my desk. I look around for sanitizer.

“A soul snatcher?” I ask.

“Haven’t seen one of these things in years! We can’t let it get a hold of the souls we just transferred. They haven’t completely melded with their new bodies yet.” The monitor starts smoking and letting out a high-pitched whistle.

“Are you serious?” My hands start flailing as I try to snuff out what could be a flame. “What happens if it snatches a soul?”

“It’ll turn it rancid! Make it evil and sell it.”

“To who?”

“To the devil!”

“To do what with!” I find myself beginning to match Eyebrows’ hysteria, all the while searching for a fire extinguisher.

“You don’t want to know!” Eyebrows continues violating my keyboard when I spot one under my desk. It’s rusty and dated ’97, but I try it anyway. Blackened foam shoots out from it and seeps into the grates of the monitor.

“Got him!” I say as it’s crackling and sputtering eases.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” He moans, looking like a deflated body bag. The computer screen has gone back to its normal blueish glow with the words “Good Job” blinking in the center. “Beginners luck,” he says, breathless, and pushes himself away from my desk. I know to move my feet this time, and his chair glides a good two feet away. “Remember…” he sputters out while gripping the floor with his mud-caked shoes, moving away inch by inch. He pauses his advice to concentrate.

“Don’t mess up?”

“Everything has a way of working itself out,” and he disappears behind the cubicle wall.

I freeze in my chair, rubbing my stubbly chin. “Wait, what do you mean by that?” I say, peering around the wall to find an empty chair with an empty desk.

All I can think to do is go back to my cubicle and click “randomize.”