The Last Days of Jesus : The Last Circus Album Review

 

The Last Circus sounds like circus music meets doom. That’s a good thing! The intro song sets the scene where your musical mind will be taken through a journey of upbeat, funky lyrics and nice brass instruments.

Overall, I felt like this album could be relistened a few more times. I love the beats, the lyrics are clear that it might sound like a happy song full of rainbows, you need to run. The Last Circus starts in a circus as it should considering the name. You venture outside on the streets to Hop Hop away to learn emotions and revenge. Ending in a nice piano based duet ending up right back in the circus you started.

This album has great vocals, pretty good goth influence. The beats and melody remind me of some 80s happy to be sad lyrics blending with melodies that climb their way to the next Big Top.  The brass instruments are an excellent addition. This album is a fun compilation of styles that you wouldn’t think to merge, but done in a flawless manner.

 

I have not heard of The Last Days of Jesus before they requested an album review, but I would definitely recommend at least one listen through of the album. Especially if you appreciate bass, driving rhythm, and lyrics that make you feel like you are in the circus… the circus of life, emotions and of course Jokers…. Just watch out for the aliens

 

I would give this album a solid 4 out of 5 … I am not afraid of clowns or jokers… but aliens on the other hand….

 

What do you think of The Last Circus, Addicts?

Guest Blog: The Infernal Clock Anthology Stephanie Ellis

Time ticks for everybody and has become the instrument with which humans torture themselves, marking as it does the countdown to each person’s eventual end. Not a precious minute can be wasted in each of our allotted lifespans … whether it be used for good or evil.

 

The Infernal Clock is an anthology tracking one day in time, each of its 24 hours filled with horrors and torments. Between the covers, lie a collection of diverse styles ranging from dark fantasy to the literary to the classical—here is horror in its many forms. The anthology is available on Amazon but to celebrate its recent launch we are offering the chance to win a print copy of the book. Check out our 500 word flash horror competition over at The Infernal Clock blog. And if that’s not enough, here’s a taster from the book:

The Graveyard Shift

by Stephanie Ellis

“Are any awake?” asked Nurse Maddison. Joseph cast his eye over the bank of monitors in front of him. Each showed a sleeping patient, unmoving. “Dead to the world,” he said. “If only,” said the nurse as she walked away. They both laughed at the joke, tired though it was. The graveyard shift was almost over. She just had to wait until the clock struck three. And the big hand was almost there, moving slowly towards the end of its hourly journey, second … by second … by second.

Click.

He watched her grab her freedom, striding out of the facility’s gates, waving up at his camera as she disappeared into the night.

He sighed. It was alright for her, he still had another hour to go; another hour of mind-numbing boredom. He could pass the time like others by watching TV or flicking through trashy magazines but he had more of a conscience than that, ever since … well, what was past was past but from then on he had always done everything by the book—almost always anyway. Needless to say it did not help his popularity and he frequently found himself walking the corridors or watching the monitors at this unearthly hour, his colleagues having bagged the more attractive shifts as payback.

A slight movement in Patient One’s cell caught his eye; Nurse Maddison’s replacement—Nurse Ole Lukøje, a male medic this time. The Dane had been there a week and Joseph still hadn’t met him. It was almost as if he lost time when Ole was on duty. Joseph had a worrying suspicion he sometimes dozed off on the job despite all his good intentions. But nothing had happened and nobody had caught him. Hell, it wasn’t a sleep clinic for nothing; he could afford to cut himself a little slack, all those years of tedious conscientiousness had built him a balance of credit he felt could do with spending. And his time here was nearly up after all. Tonight though, his curiosity was piqued. It was definitely about time he met the guy. He rubbed his eyes and returned his gaze to the monitor. Ole Lukøje, he pondered the name, a Danish synonym for the Sandman, very apt.

He continued to watch Patient One. What dreams are you giving your patients, Nurse Lukøje, he wondered. The nurse had left but the man was no longer sleeping peacefully. His body had begun to twitch uncontrollably, his legs jerking as if running from something, his hands swinging out wildly against an unseen attacker. Joseph cast his eye over the patient’s notes left with him in case of ‘emergencies’. Patient One was prone to night terrors—well that was something new—and apparently only a recent development as it had been added by Nurse Lukøje. There had been no such observations from any of the other nurses who worked that shift. An extra note had been squashed into the space at the bottom of the page. It merely stated that normal sleep patterns resumed at 4 a.m. Joseph frowned. Usually the nurse would stay longer, wait until the patient had settled down, adjust the meds if any were being administered. But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. And Patient One was becoming more agitated by the minute.

To read more and find out what other horrors can happen in 24 hours, check out The Infernal Clock

Deep Shock Review by Adelise M. Cullens

Italian Giallo is ready to make its return!

Spotted through my home library are little yellow books in a language I wish I could read. These books were originally my great grandmother’s, then read by my Nonna and then by my father after her. Now they sit with me, but although I cannot decipher the ink within their old pages, I still know what they are. Mondadori Giallo. These are Italian Thriller novels. The story goes that you could go into a newsagent and purchase a yellow Mondadori Giallo – Giallo literally translates to yellow – knowing what you were getting. You wouldn’t have to even read the front cover. Just seeing the bright yellow told you all you needed to know. (There was also Urania in white for science fiction.)

So, when Davide Melini released the teaser trailer for DEEP SHOCK I was very excited.

Deep Shock follows Sarah, when “she can’t completely overcome the deaths of her grandfather and her older sister. The trauma and lack of sleep cause her to embark on a strange journey of apparitions and murders, apparently caused by her mind…” Paying tribute to the Italian film genre called “giallo” and the title of this project is inspired by the most famous horror movies of two of the most important Italian directors: Dario Argento (“Deep Red”) and Mario Bava (“Shock”).

Not just the premise is interesting in this short film but the big names that worked on it are sure to make it a treat to experience.

Produced by Luca Vannella (“Avengers”, “Thor”, “Harry Potter”, “Apocalypto”, “Heart of the Sea”), Alexis Continente (Murder on the Orient Express”, “Transformers: The Last Knight”, “Thor”), Vincenzo Mastrantonio (“Titanic”, “Moulin Rouge”, “The Passion of Christ”, “Romeo + Juliet”), Bobby Holland (“The Dark Knight Rises”, “Game of Thrones”, “Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows”, “007 – Quantum of Solace”), Ferdinando Merolla (“Troy”, “Gangs of New York”, “Hannibal Rising”), Roberto Paglialunga. Cast of Muireann Bird, Francesc Pagès, George Bracebridge, Lorna Larkin, Erica Prior, Luis Fernández de Eribe. And of course, written & Directed by Davide Melini (“Donatello Awards 2011” official selection with the short film “The sweet hand of the White Rose”)

Set to be released in the summer, go check out the teaser trailer for Deep Shock, and let us know what you think in the comments below and on the social media. @DeepShock_2017 and @horroraddicts13

Hugs

Adelise M Cullens xxx

Guest Blog: Breaking Conventions with Jane Lisa Lane

Breaking Conventions with Jane Lisa Lane

I didn’t set out to write anything extreme, but the story had different ideas. Jane’s nasty past was determined to haunt her in terrible ways no matter how hard I worked to keep the work subtle. Her world was forged in loss and betrayal, the circumstance leading her into the arms of a monster. It became dark—really dark. I realized, though, that this balance between supernatural drama and extreme horror could say a lot collectively about Jane’s character.

Tragedy and horror spawn both villains and heroes. An antagonist isn’t usually born the antagonist. The bad guy feels justified in his or her crimes, no matter how heinous, because other terrible events have often led the person to that point. However, the same events might lead a person of greater character down a more altruistic road. Jane is that person of greater character. Instead of inflicting the kind of pain she’s suffered, she goes out of her way to extend kindness. She’s a tortured soul in the truest sense, but she sees it as her mission to do right by all living things—which includes, in good hippie fashion, refraining from using animal products of all kinds.

Still, I have to admit that even I was surprised by how graphic Jane’s flashback was in Hair… and then Flower Power was a creature all its own. I knew the vampire that turned Jane had been a sadistic psychopath, but I fell down a disturbing road when I decided to answer the question: How horrific might the torture get if the subject were very, very difficult to kill, and the thing inflicting it happened to be exceptionally evil?

Jane really is a character of unexpected extremes. Despite her desire to do only good, she does sometimes kill people in violent ways. She gets to a point, after a couple weeks without any fresh blood, when she loses all sense of what she’s doing and simply sees prey. The peace-lover she is, she tries her best at playing vigilante to get by, but good people do sometimes end up going down in her wake. She ends up putting herself in an endless cycle in her quest for redemption: she has deluded herself into believing she might eventually reverse her curse if she performs enough good deeds—but by merely staying alive, she puts those around her regularly at risk. As guilty as she feels about it, she does often downplay the significance of the deaths that result when she “goes red.”

Her most recent adventure, Dazed and Confused, exemplifies that downplaying, while also going back to the milder, somewhat less graphic roots of Love Beads and Flashbacks. The balance of darkness is still there but on a much subtle level. Take Jane’s “hangover.” Then, by placing her in a horror survival situation, the episode’s antagonist being the undead of a wholly different kind, the coin is able to flip, revealing the humanity Jane does still possess—as well as her vulnerabilities.

Because of all Jane encompasses, I’m overjoyed that the Vampire Tours of San Francisco invited me to join them on their 50th anniversary of the Summer of Love tour. The tour will include a hippie vampire costume contest, and I’ve been told there will be prizes. For more information on the Vampire Tours of San Francisco, go to http://www.sfvampiretour.com.

In anticipation of the 50th anniversary of the Summer of Love, Jane the Hippie Vampire is going old school. For the first time ever, Love Beads, Flashbacks, Hair, and Dazed and Confused are available individually in trade paperback.

Love Beads https://www.amazon.com/dp/1521217467

Flashbacks https://www.amazon.com/dp/1521219796

Hair https://www.amazon.com/dp/1521219869

Dazed and Confused https://www.amazon.com/dp/1521219931

For more info and updates, go to my blog: http://www.cerebralwriter.com/blog.

Guest Blog : Delicious by David Mallory

Delicious by David Mallory

Late one night, I was talking to Bryan, my boyfriend, over the phone. We were just talking about the typical things that we’d talk about, like the movie that we had gone to see in the theatre and when we would be able to see each other again.

Continuing my habit of walking back and forth as I talked on the phone, I was next to one of the vents that led to the basement and as I stood there for a second, I heard a sound coming from down there. Something that sounded like a ton of items had just been thrown on the ground. I leaped back, making sure to keep the vent and myself far away from each other.

“What the fuck was that?” I yelled, completely shaken and almost leaped out of my skin when I heard a voice coming from beside me as I had almost forgotten that I was still holding the phone to my ear.

“What was what?” asked Bryan worriedly, as he had no clue what was going on since he was not able to hear the noise that came from the vent.

After composing myself for a second, I explained to him what had just happened. He was extremely worried about what could have made the sound, but that worry quickly changed to anger after I told him that I was going to head downstairs to find out what caused it.

“What? Are you crazy?” he yelled, “You don’t know what’s down there, it could be anything!”

Even though I knew he was right, I needed to see what was going on, to satisfy my curiosity and to make it easier to sleep at night.

“I’m not crazy,” I told him, “I just need to know what’s down there, besides it’s probably just the wind.”

Bryan sighed, he knew that when I was like this, there’s no talking me out of it, I’ll do it no matter what.

“Fine, but please just be careful.”

“Of course, I’ll be careful.” I replied, “When am I not careful?” I heard him mutter something, probably some sort of snarky comment, but by that time, I had already put the phone and began to head towards the basement door.

Once I got to the door, I unlocked it and opened the door as I turned the light on. At first, everything seemed completely normal and I was about to completely close the door when my eyes caught the shadow of something zip along the wall. I quickly opened the door, when I saw what looked like a humanoid figure standing at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly staring at one of the steps.

It moved its head up and when it noticed me, it started charging up the stairs, running so fast that it looked like it was gliding. I stood at the top of the stairs with the door in hand, completely shocked at what was happening. Unsure of what to do, I waited until it made it to the final step and then I grabbed the thing’s neck and I began squeezing.

The thing began flailing its arms and moving its head around to escape from my grasp, but I continued choking it until I heard a loud ‘crack’ come from it and I felt it go limp in my hands. I stared at the body in my hands for a few seconds and I laid the body on the ground. I ran over to the phone that Bryan was still on, unsure of what I was going to do now.

I was sitting on my bed, staring at the window while I waited for David to get back on the line to tell me that everything was alright. I had almost convinced myself to drive over to his house when I heard deep breathing come from over the phone.

“David? Is that you?” I answered, “Are you okay?”

“No, no, I’m not.” came the shaken reply, “I-I think I just killed someone.”

“What?” I yelled, “Are you serious? Cause if this is one of your jokes, it isn’t funny!”

“I’m not joking, I swear!” he said, sounding like he was on the brink of tears, “I killed someone in self-defense and the body is-“

“David?” I yelled into the receiver, “David, what’s going on?”

“OH MY GOD!” David yelled over the phone, “THE BODY – IT’S GETTING BACK UP! BRYAN, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO-“

Suddenly, there were screams and growls coming from the phone and then everything went silent.

“David! David!” I screamed, “Speak to me? Are you okay?” I was about to call the police when I heard a click, like someone picking up the phone. “David? Are you okay?”

I heard heavy breathing come from over the phone and after what felt like a year, I got a reply.

“Yes, he’s okay.” came what sounded like several voices all growling together, “In fact, he’s better than okay, he’s delicious.”

 

*********

David loves macabre and bizarre things. He also loves movies and is an aspiring horror writer.

URL: https://twitter.com/66Xeno

GUEST BLOG: C. DARWIN DECAY PART TWO by J.C. Eickelberg

GUEST BLOG: C. DARWIN DECAY PART TWO by  J.C. Eickelberg

Part One

“It’s nice to see you again, Dominic,” his mother said.

“And nice to see you, too, Elizabeth.” He turned to his son. “How have you been?”

“About the same as when we talked last,” he responded. “Just touching on the topic of family inheritance.”

“I see. What concerns do you have?” Dominic asked his grandson. His cloak fell off his shoulders and arched away from his sides, mimicking the angel’s wings. Logan saw Dominic’s cloak wasn’t clothing. It was a pair of wings. A figure glided to his side, as graceful as any angel.

“Good evening, mother,” Logan’s father said.

“Good evening, Gregor,” she said. “This must be that grandson of mine. My how you’ve grown into such a handsome young man. You’ve got your mother’s dark hair.” She smiled at the young man sitting on the plinth.

Logan stared at the winged couple standing in his yard. They were the warm grandparents he remembered from his youth, with the exception of the wings. He didn’t remember their wings from previous visits. He had wondered if they had passed away given their rare contact with him. When he flung out the insult about being a gargoyle, he never expected to see them as real. His grandparents appeared as close to his imagination of what one would look like. Then he looked at his father. There was no mistaking the resemblance to his grandfather’s bulky form and grandmother’s kind eyes. The only exception was his lack of wings. Some gargoyles he’d seen were grotesque. His grandmother was regal in her beauty and his grandfather was noble in his bearing. Both were preternaturally tall and well defined for their apparent age. And nothing like the bestial ornamentation on an old building.

“Logan, you are part of a long line of special beings,” his mother said. Her sable complexion glowed warm with love, but stern. She soothed his fear and uncertainty.

“Where are your wings?” Logan asked his father. “And yours? And mine, for that matter?” He looked at his mother.

“Mine were damaged too badly when I was younger to keep. Unfortunately, I had to have them removed. I have the scars to prove they were there. Yours weren’t formed correctly,” Gregor said. “Your mother was the donor of the DNA used to correct your ‘anomaly’.”

“Your anomaly was malformed wings,” his grandmother said. “I would have offered to donated my DNA, but your parents pointed out you would have been the only flyer in town. No one would have been around when it came time to get you acquainted with flying. Your grandfather and I spend a lot of time visiting family all over. Accepting communities of our kind are few and far between. Wings are a rarity here in your town. If your wings were left as they were, your spine would have become misshapen.”

“Logan, I wasn’t born with wings. I was a rarity for our kind. No wings meant I could walk among everyone and not get pointed at or taunted.” Elizabeth went to sit next to her son. “I love your father for who he is. Not for something he’s not or doesn’t have. I know the story of how he lost his wings. He knows I never had them. I almost wished I had wings to experience flight, but then I realize in this day and age, we don’t have the freedom to fly like your grandparents could in their youth.”

“Logan,” his grandmother said. “Your wings gradually reduced to nothing after your treatment. Your parents didn’t tell you because they wanted you to grow up like other kids in the neighborhood. No wings meant you wouldn’t have to hide them or explain them. Your grandfather and I lived in a small community that accepted us and treated us as equals. Neighboring villagers tended to treat us as demons, or worse. Some of my family were killed for being who we are.”

“Even though you don’t have wings like we do,” his grandfather said, gesturing to his wife, “we still love you as much as we love your father and mother. It makes no difference to us. You are family. You have your special traits you’re learning to use, and honing very well from what I’ve seen.”

“What you have seen?” Logan asked, astonished they knew so much about what he did in his spare time. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

“I saw you intercept and catch that hawk. Your timing was very good,” he said. Logan recalled the large shadow crossing the driveway when he leaped off the roof. “I saw you walk out of the house, but not how you stalked the squirrel. Your agility and reflexes are phenomenal. Aren’t they Althea?”

“They most certainly are.” She saw Logan’s confusion. “We were far above the hawk, waiting for shadows to lengthen. Riding thermals is just as invigorating as it was when we were younger.”

“I have so many questions to ask you.” Logan looked at his grandparents. Wonder and awe welled up in him. He remembered seeing images from folk art and old architecture of gargoyles or creatures more animal-like than the beings in front of him. His grandparents were quarterback and cheerleader good looking, even in their advanced age. “How old are you? Where did you grow up? Where do you live now?”

“A good place to start. We grew up in a small town in the mountains long before airplanes were thought up. Our town was the last to get electricity, and still has a population of our kind. There are many of us out there. You may have seen the gargoyles on old buildings?” Logan nodded, remembering their beastly appearance. His family did not resemble those animals. They all could walk down the street with no second looks. His father appeared as normal as anyone he’d seen at the store. The wings his grandparents had were the only obvious difference between themselves and people in school. “We are not those creatures. Wings are the most obvious similarities. Some other features are more easily left unseen.” Althea tapped a lengthened canine tooth with a long nail.

Logan looked at his fingers. His nails (or were they claws?) didn’t show their length like when he caught the hawk. He thought about them and they extended with a little effort.

“I know it’s harder for us to hide those,” Gregor said, extending his claws. They lengthened significantly. “Some of us can get away with longer ‘nails’.” He looked lovingly at his wife, who checked a rough edge on one claw.

“That I can do,” Logan said. “What about this?” He stood and removed his shirt. What had started as a downy covering of hair was filling out to a glossy coat of fur.

“Goodness,” Althea stated. She examined the color of Logan’s thickening pelt. “You certainly have your mother’s coat and color. It suits you handsomely.”

“Grandmother, no other kids have this much hair. I’ve been able to hide the claws and teeth. No one else I’ve seen in school has hair like this.” Logan’s angst came out in his protest. “People have wondered why I don’t go to the pool. I want to go. I want to have friends that accept me.”

“We will always accept you,” Althea said. “You may not have wings, but we love you. I’m jealous of you in one thing. I’ve never been able to climb as well as you do. I’m sure there are kids that would want to know how you can climb like you do. Friends will come. If they accept you, then keep them. You need to be patient with others and find how they react to us before letting them know what you are.”

“Logan. Unfortunately, your hair isn’t so easy to explain to others. Some babies were hairy. Some don’t grow out of it.” His mother gave him a coy smile. She pulled her shirt up as if to pull it over her head.

“Mom!” Logan declared as he turned his head away.

“Logan. Look at me.” She was stern.

Logan looked toward his grandparents. They showed no shock, or surprise at his mother’s action. His grandmother gestured back to her daughter-in-law.

“Logan. Your mother has more to tell you,” his grandfather said. Sternness demanding Logan to return his attention to his mother.

She stood closer to him now, shirt in hand. Wearing a skimpy top he’d seen her wear during dance practice, his mother stood unperturbed without a shirt. Logan had never seen her without something fully covering her torso. He saw the same velvety layer of hair covering her shoulders and bare belly that covered his torso.

“Yes. You have inherited something from me that doesn’t quite fit in with everyone else.” His mother watched Logan’s face. Acceptance came slowly to Logan. “I’ve seen some people watching you. Most looked who at you were taken by you. I’ve seen admiration of your good looks. That anomaly you had, wings notwithstanding, would have left you hunched over. The little bit extra I gave you through that DNA treatment meant you weren’t going have funny looking wings on a hunched back. It may have meant a little more hair, but you can deal with it. I’ve seen how well you’ve grown into it.”

“Might this be one of those classmates that watches you, Logan?” Grandmother Althea asked.

Logan peered over his shoulder to see his grandmother looking back toward the house. Her wings were wrapped around her shoulders, appearing as a cloak in the growing darkness. With a place to look, Logan turned to see someone coming down the driveway. A friendly smile on the newcomer’s face.

“Good evening, Michelle,” Logan’s mother said. “What can I do for you?”

“Good evening, Mrs. Everson,” Michell said. “I wanted to drop off your dance shoes. They came into the store today. I thought I’d save you a trip to pick them up. It’s on my way home.” Michelle smiled warmly. Seeing Logan, a twinkle appeared in her eyes. “Hi, Logan.”

“Hi, Michelle.” Logan smiled back. He forgot about his trepidation of fitting in at school. He also forgot about the shirt in his hand.

“I don’t want to interrupt a family get together.” Michelle gave the shoes to Logan’s mother. “See you at school, Logan.” She turned to leave. As she did, she pushed some hair behind her ear. Logan noticed the tuft of hair on the top of her ear. Michelle fluttered her fingers at Logan and went back down the driveway. Shock settled on Logan’s face.

“Mom,” Logan said, looking at her. “Did you know?”

“Know what?” she asked, innocently.

“That’s she’s part Lynx,” he said.

“No. I knew she liked you.” Logan looked at her, not believing her. “That’s why I told her to stop by with the shoes when they came in. She lives half a block down. I’ve heard you talk about her. I also know you’re too hard on yourself and wouldn’t have talked to her.”

“Logan,” Grandfather Dominic said. “You have more to learn about the community you live in than you know.”

“That young lady is a start,” Grandmother Althea said. “Take it from a mother. Sometimes a son needs to have his eyes opened a little by a parent.”

“Yes, they do,” his father said, humbly. “Just as they need to keep in mind, not everyone is ready to accept someone equally linked to a bird of prey, a jaguar, and a human. Or another animal.” He glanced down the driveway at Michelle.

“Mom, I thought you had a panther in your family.” Logan’s shock of being known was wearing off. “I’ve never seen spots on you.”

“I have one. A ‘birthmark’ on my leg. Michelle recognized it in dance class for what it was. When she asked about it, without concern, I knew she could be accepting of a certain young man I know. Like not having a tail, I won’t miss a mopey teenager getting over whatever it is you have to get over.”

Logan looked to his father.

“Like your grandmother said. Sometimes it takes someone else to open your eyes. You have three generations who accept you for you. One of them was a stranger to you.”

“Was a stranger? I’ve never talked to her outside of class.”

“You have your chance to get to know her. You’ve always wanted to fit in. Now there’s someone you can talk to about getting in touch with your animal side.” Gregor looked at his son. “I almost let your mother get away. Don’t do that with Michelle.”

His mother tugged the shirt out of his hand and balled it up. She put it on against his bare torso and said, “She’s not a stranger to most of the neighborhood. Michelle’s a keeper. Don’t let her get away. Chimera or not, you have a life to live.”

“I will. Do me a favor first,” Logan said, looking at his father.

“What?”

“Don’t burn dinner. I’m wanting something with no char on it,” Logan said.

“Now do your mother a favor,” his mother said. “Set the table for five. Your grandparents are staying for dinner. I’ve got some cooking you can help to finish.”

“If I’d known, I’d have gotten the squirrel, too.” Logan chuckled.

“Glad to see you’re out of your funk. Now go in and wash your paws. I don’t want to see feathers at the table,” Grandmother Althea said.

 

*********

J.C. works and lives in Wisconsin.  He has a beautiful wife and two active boys.  He enjoys spending time with family, reading, and, time permitting, writing.  Haunted and spooky places have always intrigued him.

Guest Blog: Smart Machines by Kay Tracy

Smart Machines by Kay Tracy

It was a Saturday, before the holidays. I had to pull some overtime on a few reports for the boss. Friday night, in the winter, now well after dark, and I couldn’t get the door to open. Something moved behind me low on the floor. A mouse?

That was three weeks ago, and I am still here. I can’t get out. Gods help me, I truly wish I could say it was because of my boss. How I wish a mouse was what I had glimpsed!

The firefighters who broke open the door keep trying to tell me I was in shock.

People sometimes ask about it, but no one really ‘knows’. Folks really don’t want to know.

You have seen them in many offices, those machines that will print, copy, and, staple. Oh, to be sure, there is someone who is designated to change the ink or toner as it calls for it. And usually, office etiquette says, if you empty the paper, then you are supposed to put more into the machine. Easy enough, But there is one thing most people never think about. I know I never did. At least, not until now.

I t was trivial at first. I started noticing little things go missing. It was easy enough to think it was my co-workers. Steph had run out of paperclips and took some from my desk. No worry there. The odd safety pin that I would keep in my drawer was next. I did think it was a bit rude for folks to go into the drawers of my desk without asking first. I mean, really!

In talking to others, I found out that they too had had things go missing from their desks. Small stuff at first. Then James complained that his new steel mug and thermos was gone. Julia’s power cord to her computer was next. Harold had an entire desk lamp disappear. The objects were getting larger, and stranger. Soon, anything that was made of metal was going missing. Small pocket change, keys, it seemed odd. Then William asked when we got the pretty staples. Everyone came to see, and there on his desk was a stack of reports with copper colored staples. I wondered about all those pennies that were once in the coffee fund can, which was now missing. But then, so too was the coffee maker!

I am desperate now, trying to find a way out of here. The parts inside the phone are gone now. The thing grows longer snakelike arms every day. The larger, more complicated items it brings to me for disassembly. I have no idea when it will have all it wants or needs, maybe then I can leave.

People really should know about these things. Maintenance includes more than just the paper and ink. More than just the “machine guy” every three months for a cleaning and lube. The staples should not be overlooked on these ‘smart machines’.

*********

Kay Tracy is now retired, and has time to do all the things she thought she never would do! She loves to travel, play Magic, and write.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Kay Tracy is retired and now have the time to do all the things she never thought she would! She loves to travel, play Magic, and writing.