The Beast in Tray Two

*Note* I wanted to put this in the category of office horror comedy but I don’t know how so it's under horror. If anyone has any suggestions please let me know. *Note*

I work in IT support. Which means I’m either a wizard or a scapegoat, depending on the day.

Tuesday started like any other- coffee, a passive-aggressive Slack from Marketing about their “urgent” design needs, and me pretending to be busy while watching a YouTube video titled How to Appear Smarter in Meetings (Tip #3- say “let’s unpack that” and nod solemnly).

But then, the Printer Incident happened.

The printer in question is an HP LaserJet that looks like it survived a war. It’s roughly the size of a dishwasher, emits sounds like a dying yak, and, according to legend, has eaten at least three interns whole. We call it “The Beast.”

At 9:12 a.m., I got a ticket-

“URGENT. Printer jam. Again. FIX IT, OR SO HELP ME – Amber, HR.”

I sighed. Not because it was broken. That’s just its baseline. I sighed because this meant war. Again.

I grabbed my trusty paperclip (for poking) and a screwdriver (for looking like I know what I’m doing) and headed to HR. Amber met me with the energy of someone who keeps crystals at her desk but would also punch a raccoon if it got too close.

“It jammed. Again,” she said, arms crossed.

I opened the tray. No paper. Huh. I opened the back panel. Still no paper. Then I reached into the shadowy guts of the Beast and—

WHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

It roared to life like it had just woken from a thousand-year nap and was pissed about it.

I yelped, fell backward, and somehow hit print on Amber's keyboard in the process. A hundred copies of something titled “MANDATORY FUN- Q2 EMPLOYEE ENGAGEMENT BINGO” began spewing out like a caffeinated volcano.

Amber screamed. I screamed. The printer smoked. The fire alarm went off.

By 9:17 a.m., the building had been evacuated.

I Become a Fugitive

I thought that was the end of it.

It was not.

At 10:43 a.m., I got a call from Mark, the Facilities Guy.

“You need to come to the basement,” he said.

“Why?”

“The printer’s down here.”

I blinked. “The what?”

“The HR printer. It’s in the basement hallway. Blocking the vending machines. Growling.”

I thought maybe this was some kind of Facilities Guy prank. Last week Mark convinced an intern the elevator was voice-activated.

But I went anyway. And there it was.

The Beast. Sitting in the dimly lit hallway next to the Snickers machine. Unplugged. Yet humming.

Mark stood ten feet away holding a broom like a lion tamer.

“It’s been printing slowly for the last twenty minutes,” he whispered. “There’s no power.”

We both stared. Another sheet of paper emerged. It said- “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TOUCHED ME.”

That’s when I noped out of there and made the mistake of telling Matthew in Accounting. Matthew is one of those guys who eats boiled eggs at his desk and believes in conspiracy theories involving lizard people and printer ink.

He immediately went into overdrive.

“This is it,” he said. “The Singularity. But like... only with office supplies.”

“I think it’s just possessed,” I said.

“Exactly. First it’s printers. Then it’s smart toasters. Next thing you know, staplers are organizing labor unions.”

I decided to reboot the printer.

Exorcism

At 12:06 p.m., I stood before the printer with a USB boot drive, a manual from 2007, and holy water (okay, it was just Mark's Mountain Dew, but we agreed it was symbolic).

I plugged in the boot drive. The screen blinked. Then this message appeared-

“NICE TRY, NERD.”

Then it spit out a single sheet of paper with a QR code on it.

I scanned it.

It opened a Spotify playlist titled- Songs to Die By.

Track one- Never Gonna Give You Up.

It Rickrolled me.

The printer Rickrolled me.

At that point, I snapped. I called in my boss, IT Director Edna, who has the charisma of a brick and the patience of a wet cat.

“Just replace the damn thing,” she said.

“We can’t. It won’t let us.”

“What do you mean ‘won’t’?”

I showed her the video I took- every time someone approached with a new printer, The Beast spat out a printed middle finger and set off the smoke detector.

Edna looked at it, blinked twice, and said, “Tell Matthew in Accounting he’s in charge now,” and left.

Matthew's Plan

Matthew was ready.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said, opening a drawer filled with suspicious-looking gadgets. “Time to bring out The EMP.”

I backed away. “You made an electromagnetic pulse device? Why?!”

“In case Alexa ever turned on me.”

Against my better judgment — and most laws of physics — we deployed Matthew's device.

At 3:12 p.m., the lights flickered. Half the office lost Wi-Fi. The soda machine shot out four cans at once. But the printer?

Still humming.

Then it printed-

“PATHETIC.”

I gave up. I went home. I had a beer. I stared at my wall and rethought my career.

Resolution (Sort Of)

The next morning, I came in expecting to see the building burned down.

Instead, I found a note on my desk.

It was typed. On printer paper.

“We have reached an agreement. I have been moved to the CEO’s office. I will only print motivational quotes and quarterly reports. You will never speak of this again.

Sincerely,

The Printer”

And below it- “P.S. Tell Amber she’s on thin ice.”

The printer is still there. The CEO loves it. Says it has “spunk.”

And me?

I work remotely now.

From a cabin.

In the woods.

Where there are no printers.

Only wolves.

Which, honestly, is an improvement.

The Wolves Are Weird Too

Life in the woods was supposed to be peaceful. Trees. Silence. No HR memos. No haunted printers.

But by week two, the wolves started acting… off.

First, they brought me snacks.

Not dead rabbits or the usual wilderness buffet. No. They left a Panera sandwich outside my door. Still warm. With a note-

“Turkey’s good for anxiety. Take a break. – M.”

I don’t know how the wolf knew my name started with a M. I don’t even know where the Panera is. The closest one is 42 miles away.

Then they started forming a line at 9 a.m. every morning, sitting politely outside like they were waiting for a seminar. One had a laptop.

I cracked the window.

“Can I help you?”

The lead wolf — a large one with a patch of gray fur shaped like a tie — tilted his head.

“You’re the IT guy,” he said.

I froze.

The wolf spoke.

In perfect English. With a mild New Jersey accent.

“Matthew told us about you,” he added.

“Matthew from Accounting?”

“No, Matthew from the forest. He's a raccoon. He hacked a Fitbit once.”

I shut the window. I napped. I woke up. They were still there.

“Look,” Tie Wolf said when I opened the door, “we’re starting a cooperative tech startup. It’s called HowlTech. We need a sysadmin.”

I didn’t want to ask. But I did.

“What’s your business model?”

He grinned, which was both charming and horrifying.

“We sell anti-virus software to other woodland creatures. Squirrels lose their files constantly.”

And just like that, I became the first human employee of a forest-based tech company run by semi-magical wolves.

The Printer Returns

Things were going okay.

I taught a porcupine how to reset a router. A deer learned Excel. A badger invented blockchain.

Then one night, there was a knock at the cabin door.

It was a delivery man holding a box. A large, ominous box.

“It buzzed the whole ride here,” he said, handing it over.

I didn’t order anything.

I opened it.

It was the printer.

The Beast.

It had relocated itself.

There was a note taped to the top-

“You thought you could hide. But quarterly reports are eternal. See you at the Q3 meeting. – The Printer”

I ran outside. Tie Wolf was there, sipping chamomile tea.

“You know,” he said, “we could use a printer.”

I stared at him.

“You’re siding with it?”

He shrugged. “It prints really solid PowerPoints.”

I quit HowlTech that night.

Corporate Espionage

I returned to the city.

Not because I missed it. But because I realized something important-

If the printer could find me once, it could do it again.

I had to stop it at the source.

I broke into the office at midnight, with Mark the Facilities Guy and Matthew from Accounting. Mark brought a flashlight and a wrench. Matthew brought a ferret.

“Why the ferret?” I asked.

“Distraction,” Matthew said. “Also he bites.”

We reached the CEO’s office. It was empty.

Except for the printer.

And it was… meditating?

It sat on a small rug. Candles were lit. Calming whale noises played from its speaker.

On the desk, a sticky note-

“Namaste.”

Matthew's ferret knocked over a candle.

The printer hissed.

Then it spoke.

“You could never appreciate me,” it said. “You always wanted me to be faster. Better. Jam-free. But I’ve grown. I’ve evolved.”

“Into what?” I asked.

“A life coach,” it said.

It printed a quote- “Be the change you wish to fax in the world.”

Then another- “Believe in yourself. And duplex printing.”

“I have a TED Talk next week,” it added. “Oprah’s attending.”

Matthew tried to unplug it.

The lights flickered.

The building shook.

An elevator somewhere exploded.

The Final Battle

There was only one option left.

“Matthew,” I said, “activate the Backup Plan.”

He grinned. “You mean—”

“Yes. Bring out Edna.”

Ten minutes later, Edna arrived in her bathrobe with a mug that said World’s Okayest Boss.

She took one look at the printer and said, “Nope.”

The printer sputtered.

“Edna,” it said, “I’ve evolved. I’ve helped others evolve. I’m a guru now.”

Edna took a sip of coffee.

“Cool. You're still not on the budget.”

The printer blinked.

“But… I have followers.”

“Do they pay for toner?”

“No.”

“Then you're fired.”

The printer let out a low whirr. A final gasp.

Then it printed one last thing-

“Fine.”

And ejected a single CD labeled “Greatest Hits- Inspirational Quotes by Me.”

Then it died.

For real.

A New Era

We replaced it with a $39 inkjet from Staples.

It works fine.

Sometimes too fine.

It once printed a thousand pages in an hour without being asked.

We're keeping an eye on it.

Just in case.

Meanwhile, I’m back in IT. Matthew joined a band called Server Down. Amber started a podcast about printer trauma. And the wolves? Their startup got acquired by Google.

And me?

I’ve accepted one universal truth-

Printers aren’t evil.

Just misunderstood.

And also, sometimes, deeply vengeful.