There's a strange noise in here. I think it's ghosts shaking pencil cups in someone's cubicle on the other side of the office. This place, it's strange at night. A host of odd noises, click-clack of the HVAC, a stray 3 am fax, and the occasional uncategoriazible disturbance from some former worker likely murdered in their cubicle from a remote voodoo ritual.
The cup-shaking seems to get closer, then retreats.
I come in at night, and say 'Hello' just to make sure that no one's in the office. I never know if someone's working late, it's seldom. However, one night when the parking lot was totally empty and I arrived, I swear someone said 'Good Morning', back to me.
"We don't go into Cubicle 3 anymore. Not since June 2003. That was when Mary Jo got the collections call from the hoodoo guru. Yep, suddenly she was havin' fits in there, all foamin' up at the mouth, and her eyes wild. Then, she just dropped dead in her cube and cockroaches came out of her ears. It's been roped off for years, don't go near it, don't borrow a pencil, or touch the stapler.."
It's a good thing that Cubicle 3 has been disassembled now and moved up into the attic. God only knows what else is in that attic. Likely, a repository for uncollectable debtors, at least their bones all dry like chalk in little urns marked with their account numbers.
It is creepy here some nights in this ancient department store converted to a cubicle farm. I still remember coming here when I was young. Just over there was the shoe department, there was glasswares, linens, and menswear on this side, over to the right was the womenswear. Lots of history locked up in this place, thousands of people passed through here and they've left a lot of impressions on the place.
The cup-shaking seems to get closer, then retreats.
I come in at night, and say 'Hello' just to make sure that no one's in the office. I never know if someone's working late, it's seldom. However, one night when the parking lot was totally empty and I arrived, I swear someone said 'Good Morning', back to me.
"We don't go into Cubicle 3 anymore. Not since June 2003. That was when Mary Jo got the collections call from the hoodoo guru. Yep, suddenly she was havin' fits in there, all foamin' up at the mouth, and her eyes wild. Then, she just dropped dead in her cube and cockroaches came out of her ears. It's been roped off for years, don't go near it, don't borrow a pencil, or touch the stapler.."
It's a good thing that Cubicle 3 has been disassembled now and moved up into the attic. God only knows what else is in that attic. Likely, a repository for uncollectable debtors, at least their bones all dry like chalk in little urns marked with their account numbers.
It is creepy here some nights in this ancient department store converted to a cubicle farm. I still remember coming here when I was young. Just over there was the shoe department, there was glasswares, linens, and menswear on this side, over to the right was the womenswear. Lots of history locked up in this place, thousands of people passed through here and they've left a lot of impressions on the place.
