Staghope & Mortimer, the accounting firm where I started working five months ago, are finally having their long-expected Halloween party two days from now. Bring your family and leave your worries behind. I wouldn’t miss it for the world! There have been no social occasions that I know of before this. Apparently the budget’s not what it used to be. Five months and I’ve barely got to know anyone. Everyone works so hard. The days are long and filled with number-crunching. Inexactitude is the greatest sin; discrepancies will not be tolerated.
There is a point during the day when numbers stop making sense and transform into something different: an alien, indecipherable language; radio bursts from space; squiggly symbols fading at the edges; a child’s hasty scribblings. That’s when I know it’s time to go. Yet, I don’t go. I stay, working overtime day after day. I always find myself leaving last and smiling faintly at our receptionist on my way out. Did I ever catch his name? Robert? No, Carl. I’ve never seen him abandon his post. Does he wait until everyone’s checked out? I feel vaguely guilty. Why is that my problem? Goodnight, Mr Finn, he says. See you tomorrow, I say. Home it is.
Jolene – my girlfriend – complains she barely sees me during the week. Fiancée, I should say. That’s what she is now, isn’t she? Isn’t it serious? Don’t we have a baby together? Sarah. Tiny, helpless Sarah. If I knew what it took to be a parent I’m not sure I would have consented so easily. So many sleepless nights. There are these moments, though, that make everything worthwhile, if only for a brief pause. It might be a single look from Sarah, or it might be when she learns something new and the transition is so startling, so complete. Then the hunger and the pain return and she’s inconsolable and it’s all I can do to keep from matching her screams with mine.
Would it make a difference if I saw Jolene more? I often sit across from her at a loss for words. How can I convey this growing discomfort? How long have I felt this way? Has it ever been otherwise? She kisses me and I think of ants crawling on rotting branches; uncurling centipedes; starving mice; bare feet on glass. I love my girlfriend – fiancée – don’t I? I love her so. We’re getting married. I’ve never seen my parents getting along with anyone as well as they do with her and with her family. They have plans for us and for their grandchild. We’re going to spend many happy summers by the sea. Our story has already been told. All we have to do is act it out.
I’m lying next to Jolene and listen to her drift deeper into sleep. The baby radio’s on the bedsit table. All is quiet. Quiet is good. Quiet is safe. I have a few hours left until it’s time to go.
I close my eyes and the dreams come:
Water cooler. Noon.
"Hey, man. How's it hanging?"
"Hey, Larry. How're you doing today?"
"Another day, another dollar, that's what I always say!"
"You do always say that. Not a day goes by where you don't say that. You said it yesterday. You said it today, too. Just now. It has been said. It will be said again."
"I'm like a bad rash. There's no getting rid of me!"
"No."
"You seem a little under the weather, pal. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!"
"I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I can feel hands at my neck."
"Yeah, well, life's a bitch, and then you die."
"You won't die. None of us will. We'll always be here, standing around the water cooler, using platitudes as a substitute for meaningful interaction."
"Now, now, temper, temper, amigo! We're all friends here. By the way, did you hear about what happened with Jared? He lost the account. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye!"
"Larry, look at your cup. Look at what you're drinking. Look at the colour."
"I'm heading back now. Got to keep the money train chugging along, you know what I mean? Chu chu!"
"It’s rust, Larry. The colour is rust. Triumphant flow, free from artifice. Puddles of percolating insides. We are one. We are back to the muck, the primal stew. We are all-consuming, joyful, gleeful hunger. Spread our tendrils far and wide. Reach out. Boil those eyes out. Open your mouth and sing. Sing to those who are yet to join us."
Water cooler. Soon.
It’s morning. One day left until the Halloween party. I get ready, grab my keys, kiss Jolene – the centipedes and ants keep crawling their way down – and head to work. Carl’s waiting for me, smiling his half-smile. His silver-framed glasses have this curious quality of refracting light at all times. I don’t believe I’ve ever fully seen his eyes. Green, were they? Grey.
My office is as busy as ever. Murmured greetings, wistful sighs. The sun comes up, the sun goes down. We are productive. The numbers make sense all day long. Everything is crystal clear. We’re going to be prepared. Management will be pleased with our efforts. I’ve never seen them in the flesh but we all receive their daily updates. Three paragraphs each day. No more, no less. Their language is concise, informative and gently encouraging, leaving no room for ambiguity. This is our current state. This is what needs to be done. It will be done.
I lie in bed, exhausted as never before. Sarah was particularly difficult tonight. Jolene was asking again about the lingering smell. I didn’t use to smell this way before I started working at Staghope & Mortimer, she says. I don’t smell a single thing. How can you argue about something like this? You argue nonetheless until the tears come.
I close my eyes, ready for the tidings of the night:
Plump and strong, shiny and new, the baby takes her first reluctant step on the table, reaching for the bowl of glistening grapes. Her feet wobble and she falls on all fours. Twisting her tiny features into an expression of focused determination, she takes long, hard looks at each limb. With pearls of sweat on her wrinkled forehead and constantly moving lips, she looks up and lifts her frame on trembling knees. The baby’s on her way! Growing more and more confident, she finally reaches her prize. Greedily, she stuffs her mouth with fruit and lies on her back, cooing and giggling. She lies there, content with her hard-earned victory.
As her eyes start to glaze over, the baby turns her attention to her audience: their pale, stretched faces barely visible beneath their black cowls; their eyes slow-burning flickers of amber; their tongues gently lashing through the air; their twisted claws smoothly scratching the surface of the table. They wait.
The baby sleeps.
Awake. It’s time. The Halloween party awaits. My fiancée and my daughter are both ready. Crimson suits them. I wear my costume. My mask makes it difficult to breathe. We leave our flat, doors and windows open. Car alarms are ringing in the distance. It’s dark. It could be dusk. It could be dawn. The sidewalks are empty. The streets are empty. All the more room for us and our magnificent baby carriage festooned in veils. We finally share something real. Contentment is near.
Carl looks better than ever. His teeth are gleaming gold, a beacon for weary travellers. He ushers us into the main hall. Everyone’s there. They are all beaming at us with mouths wide open and reaching arms. Carl shows me to the elevator. Jolene stays behind. I share one last gaze with her and take my place inside the lift with Sarah. Carl slides away. As the doors shut I see the crowd close in on Jolene.
A single button lights up: the 53rd floor. I press it and we begin our ascent. I grip the handle of Sarah’s pram. I suddenly feel nauseous and unnerved. The air is charged here and my mind is racing. How many have been here before us? Are we the last of our kind? I can’t breathe. I reach for my mask and can feel only skin. I lurch forward and stop the lift. It grinds to a halt and I can no longer see.
“Sarah?”
She whimpers.
“Sarah? What’s going on? What am I doing?”
“Sarah?”
Their voice is in my head like burning velvet:
“Finn? Calm down, Finn. You are exactly where you’re meant to be. You are safe. The numbers will always make sense now, Finn. Come upstairs. Come sing with us. Come see the end with us.”
The lights come on and Sarah’s gone. I’m all alone. I can feel a slight sense of movement before the final stop.
The 53rd floor.
The doors slide open and I step inside the welcoming darkness.
