The Duck

        Darren sat at his desk at precisely 6 AM, just as he had for the last 10 years. He booted up the old laptop, as the smell of the coffee maker began to waft around him. He took a deep inhale of the aromatic air and began to type.

Awake: 5:30AM sharp.

Shower: 5:33 AM until 5:40 AM.

Chores: plants watered, fish fed, 5:41 AM to 5:49 AM.

Coffee on: 5:55 AM.

Journal entry: 6:00 AM sharp.

Dreams: No memory.

               Satisfied with his mornings data entry, he made a cup of coffee for himself, and sat down once again to look over the daily news. At exactly 8:00 in the morning, he hit the submit button in the work portal and began work for the day. For the last 10 years he had been working on a single project. His job was to take products that were shipped to him and find everything and anything dangerous about them. Stuffed animal? Well, he discovered that if the eye comes loose, a tiny throat could choke. The fur could be inhaled causing sinus infection. The stuffing, when eaten, could produce painful stomach aches. He found flaws in anything and everything and so it was lucky for him to have stumbled onto this job.

He pulled the box out from under the desk and examined the contents. Inside he found an army man, a rubber duck, and a small airplane. Again? he thought as he put the rubber duck onto his desk to assess it. Usually, he only had 2 products a day to assess. This was not the first time they had sent an extra by mistake. He decided that he would stick to the duck and the army man, as he put the plane into what he called his box of extras. Objects that had come in, that he had no time for. It was rare but his collection had grown significantly since he began 10 years ago. He assessed and typed out his report on the duck, then placed it back into the box before pulling out the army man. At 10:00 AM exactly he took his coffee break. He ate a piece of toast and drank his coffee, before he logged back into the work site, he made another entry to his journal.

Work begins: 8:00 AM

New product: “Buck-Buck, The Rubber Duck”

Assessment: Toy is not, in fact, rubber. Plastic in use has strange texture and appears be toxic. Color lurid, face looks sinister.

Conclusion: Stamp of disapproval.

Coffee break: 10:00AM

Breakfast: toast and coffee, out of jam. 10:01AM to 10:07AM

Bathroom: 10:07AM to 10:10 AM

Journal Data entry: 10:10AM to 10:14AM

Logged back in 10:15 AM Sharp.

               The next product was the action figure. Dressed in military gear complete with a helmet and riffle, a tiny ruck sack and, of course dog tags. He considered the doll carefully. He turned it over in his hands, felt the texture of the material in the clothing. Inspected the facial features and accessories and was amazed at how life-like they looked. The doll was the size of his hand from fingertip to wrist and the detail was unnerving. He put the doll back down onto his desk and began to type.

He finished work at 12:00 PM every day. Seven days a week. He would assess two products a day, write his final report and then record his own journal.

Work resumes: 10:15

Product assessed: “Army Jack.”

Assessment: Clothing material scratchy and rough. Accessories made of cheap plastic and could be a choking hazard. Body and face too realistic, could be triggering.

Conclusion: Stamp of disapproval.

Extra product: “the Plain Plane” relegated to the extra’s box.

Final report sent: 11:59 AM

Log Off: 12:00 PM Sharp.

                He put the army doll back into the box and shoved the whole thing under his desk. A rumble in his belly reminded him that it was lunch time and he shut the laptop. He made himself a ham and cheese sandwich and considered his life. Every day, his meticulous nature encouraged him to record every tiny detail of his life. It took time, but he felt that if he could justify every moment of his life, it would have meaning. This was about as far down the existential rabbit hole as he liked to go. His comfort zone was about the size of a pin head and he balanced atop it with the grace and skill of any ‘cirque de soli’ performer.

The phone rang suddenly, and he checked his watch. It was 12:20 and no one should be calling him at this time. All his work correspondences were through email and he had no “friends”. Who on earth could be calling? He stared dubiously at the phone, but after 4 rings he picked it up. Holding it with his thumb and fore finger as if it were about to lunge at him and take a chunk out. Grimacing he put the phone to his ear and in a shaky, underused voice he croaked:

               “Hello?”

               “Good Afternoon Mr. Cooper! My name is Patricia, and I am calling you about the duck under your desk” The voice was unfamiliar and so chipper it made his teeth ache. There was a long pause as he tried to comprehend what had just been said to him.

               “Excuse me?” he said, his voice a little clearer. He put a hand to the back of his neck, feeling a headache forming like a summer storm, creeping up the back of his head the way it always did when something did not make sense.

               “I know it must seem a bit confusing, but I like to be as straightforward as possible when it comes to these things” She paused as if waiting for a reply. The seconds ticked away until finally she continued.

               “The duck, Mr. Cooper. I am calling about the duck.” She sounded less chipper now, a note of urgency now present, in that all too sunny disposition.

He took the phone from his ear and looked at it for a moment. Unsure of what to do or think. He looked under his desk and saw the tip of a lurid orange beak just peaking over the edge of the box. It creeped him out, but he did not know why.

               “Mr. Cooper!” the voice from the phone insisted, taking back his attention. He put the phone back to his ear.

               “Yes, I’m here,” he said waspishly. “there is no need to shout, young lady” He always said these sorts of things when he was put on his guard. This whole conversation was making him feel uncomfortable and he just wanted it to end.

               “What about the duck?” he asked as he nudged the box with his toe.

               “Mr. Cooper, what I am about to say may be a bit of a shock, but it is especially important that you listen to me carefully. Are you listening Mr. Cooper? “She sounded calm and business like but there was just the slightest edge to her voice.

               “Yes” he said, annoyance creeping into his tone. “I don’t really have time for this so please just tell me what you want to tell me and let me get on with my day.” He polished the nails of his right hand on his lapel in a gesture of self importance and examined them carefully, waiting for this farce to continue.

               “Your duck is Evil. Not evil but Evil. With a Capital E. Somehow, it managed to find its way into your assessment package, and I am afraid it has taken a liking to you, Mr. Cooper. You will need to protect yourself and unfortunately that means, sir, that you will need to vacate your premises. Take only the essentials, Mr. Cooper. This situation is profoundly serious. The sooner you leave your home, the sooner you will be safe. If you delay for too long, it will follow you. Should this happen Mr. Cooper, there will be nothing more we can do for you.” 

               For a moment he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or get angry at such an obvious and ridiculous joke. He peeked under the desk and was a little startled to see that the beak was no longer visible. He pulled the box towards him and peered inside. There was only an army man, only now it was headless, its tiny uniform torn to shreds. He stared, uncomprehending until a crash sounded in the kitchen. He looked up sharply and saw that the rubber duck was perched on top of his refrigerator. It glared at him with red eyes, and he nearly wet himself. Sweat began to trickle down his brow as he sat frozen in fear.

               “Mr. Cooper?” asked the voice on the other end of the line. “Mr. Cooper, do you hear me?” it asked again.

               “it-it’s just staring at me. “He whispered, heart pounding like a jackhammer against his rib cage.

               “Mr. Cooper. “Said the voice “Perhaps now is a good time to run.”