Soulless

Warning: content includes sexual misconduct, violence, and gore.

I lost my soul today.

It was a gloomy morning. The clouds lingered low, obscuring the tall concrete building ahead. Stale air blasted from the AC above the office front door. My boots tracked dirt across the pristine floor, squishing with every step in an obnoxious squeal. I replaced them with uncomfortable pink high heels, stuffing the boots into the supply closet.

No one else was in yet, which wasn’t unusual. Inadvertently I had become the designated employee to open and close the office every day. Each morning, I turned on all the lights, started the coffee machine, and printed out the morning reports to be on my boss’s desk by 8am.

He never arrived earlier than 9am.

But it became a routine I thoroughly enjoyed. Not a soul in sight. The calming sounds of machines copying papers and dripping coffee were a tremendous reprieve to the bustle of New York. Our office was about an hour from the city, nestled by a local park. With the window opened near my desk, I could almost hear the whisper of the trees and her laughter carrying through the wind.

I glanced past the open window to the shadows between the trees. To the woman in a ghastly dress with outstretched hands. She never moved closer, but a voice caressed the air around me, “If you do not take, they will.”

The printer beeped frantically.

I jumped from my seat and shook off the tendrils sneaking into my heart, pulling me towards them. It had been ten years; I could hold back a bit longer. And there was no other choice. I would not become what they wanted.

Never.

⤄

The office came alive as staff trickled in. Chairs rolled in synchrony and computer fans whined at the rude awakening. I sat at my desk sipping my third cup of coffee. I traced the rings left from the cup with my finger, drawn in by the overlapping patterns. The polished PowerPoint deck I stayed up all night drafting lay in a neat stack in front of me.

Wilson strutted towards the corner where my cubicle was. “Yes, yes, I understand. We’ll get that document to you ASAP," he spoke through the phone.

Snap. Snap.

He pointed in my direction and mouthed one word, coffee. Even three years in as a financial analyst, he still acted like I was his own personal assistant. But everyone here knew that Wilson had Mark’s ear, and if you helped him out, he would help you. And I could handle him; I’d dealt with far worse. I redirected the request to the intern stumbling in, clearly hungover from the night before. Tom set his bag down and went towards the kitchen.

“He’s got you doing coffee again, " he asked.

“Of course he is,” I said, sighing. “Can you signal when he’s off the phone?”

He turned slightly and gave a loose two-finger salute.

Margot peeped above the cubicle wall, gleaming with excitement. “Today's the day, huh,” she said.

“The right opportunity is here, Margot.”

“You’ve run this whole office from the moment you humbled us with your presence, Joyce. I’m just glad you’ll finally be recognized for it.”

I couldn’t help but smile, giddy from self pride and maybe caffeine. Tom waved from the kitchen entrance. I grabbed my papers and braced myself.

I joined Wilson at the kitchen counter. He was stuffing his face with the donuts I brought for the staff this morning.

“Morning, Joy.” he mumbled.

“Hi, Wilson,” I said, ignoring the slight. I squared my shoulders and worked up the courage to present the idea to him.

“Let’s talk later, maybe my place?” he said with a sly grin, placing a hand on my upper thigh. The powder from his fingers and moist palm left an imprint on my plaid skirt.

“At least take it with you, read it.”

“Fine,” he said.

His hand dawdled, moving an inch higher, pulse seeping through the prolonged touch. I clenched my jaw and plastered a tight lipped smile, stood from my seat, and left.

Asshole.

⤄

Everyone gathered in our largest conference room. After we’d each had a chance to provide our updates, it was my turn. I passed the copies of my presentation to Margot to distribute, when I realized we were one short. She scurried off to print another and Mark pointed to his watch, impatiently.

“As you all know, our company has been eagerly looking to expand th-”

“I have something I’d like to present to the group,” Wilson announced, interrupting me mid-sentence.

He connected his computer to the large screen at the center. Mark usually preferred paper, but Wilson was always the exception. I stared at the screen slack jawed. Wilson began his pitch with my deck- my concept. Maybe he thought we should work together on it. Any moment now he’d point to me and acknowledge my hard work. But seconds passed to minutes, until Wilson thanked the group for listening. Applause echoed, shoving its way into my heart, gnawing until there was nothing left.

“That was my presentation. Mine,” I snapped and slammed my fist against the table. A stream of words involuntarily rolled off my tongue. I spat out everything kept buried so deeply. They stole and touched, over and over again what was not theirs. We were supposed to pretend it didn’t happen, that eventually it would be our turn. But it never was.

The buzz from the fluorescent lights above increased until my ears began to throb. The heat radiating from my coworkers was nauseating. Hold it back, I thought to myself, and took a breath. I willed myself to pull away and find a pocket of peace somewhere in this room- something to anchor myself onto.

“You’re getting emotional, Joyce. And trying to take credit for Wilson’s work, well, I’m disappointed.” Mark said, eyes shifting to Wilson. “I think you should leave.” His grating voice pierced into my head. Me? Leave?

Wilson grabbed my shoulder and spoke, donut powder still stuck to his lips. I drowned out the muffled words, my focus drifting to his pulse reverberating on my skin.

Crack.

Wilson’s neck broke easier than I thought. Energy flowed from his skin.

Mark fought for longer. Blood and bits everywhere.

His last words rang in the air, “You bitch.”

A rush of power and strength and hunger rose within me.

It became a blur of bones and flesh.

Margot’s scream halted my ravenous spree. A guttural, heart wrenching screaming. She fell to her feet by the door, papers flying everywhere, landing in pools of blood. Her eyes never left the corpses lying on the conference table as she said, “Y-you killed them all.”

“Run,” I said in a raspy voice, throat caked in Wilson, or maybe Tom. But she was frozen in place, shaking. I felt her heart racing, the life coursing through her veins calling.

“RUN,” I shouted.

She finally looked at me, a glimpse of understanding in her eyes hidden behind immense fear. She crawled away from me, the bodies, the room and ran.

I whispered, not knowing if she heard me, “If you do not take, they will.”

Silence.

Margot left the office. There were no more souls reaching. No more diminishing voices or probing touches. The fluorescent lights had been ripped apart. It was quiet. A reprieve.

Drip.

The coffee machine began another brew.

Drip, drip.

The blood from the ceiling landed on my forehead.

No, no, no.

Tears wetted my face, silent sobs escaping. I had succumbed to the calling, becoming a monster. I looked to the wall of glass at the far end of the room, coated in hand prints and bloodstains. The trees at the park below waved in welcome. Ethereal figures beckoned at the edge of the forest. The office floor was devoid of color aside from streaks of crimson Ieft in my wake as I headed for the front door. I walked towards the women, taking off my blood soaked heels. My toes sunk into the mud, bare skin touching the ground for the first time in years. I was home.

Today, I devoured souls and relinquished my own.