In the Name of Progress

by Hal Rappaport

Cynthia Norris sat in her cubicle, checking her email for what seemed like 50th time that day. Actually, it was more like that night. She looked over at the red led clock beside her PC, "11:04 p.m." Could it really be that late? She thought, it was only 8:22 p.m. a few minutes ago. Time always seemed to fly when she worked.

What had she done since the last time she looked at the clock? She tried to think. "Two project plans and three emails." She thought out loud. Yes, there had been over 2 and a half-hours work since then.

She leaned back in her chair, and laced her hands behind her head. A yawn escaped her before she even realized it. It was definitely time to call it a night.

This project would further automate the pharmaceutical plants she was responsible for. She knew it would automate part of the quality control system by randomly selecting quantities of the product and doing the test with a computer chemical analyzer. She knew that it would probably put about 50 chemists and shift workers out of a job, but it was promised to save the company over ten million a year. For that, she received a fat bonus.

She was thinking about her upcoming vacation to Italy. She was daydreaming about strolling along the Arno River. Then she thought of writing a cute little email to her fiancée.

She began to type "Dear Philip, this has been a tough project and I know we haven’t been able to see much of each other. I’m really sorry. I can’t wait to go—"

A loud ring from her desk phone brought her out of here reverie. The Caller ID on the phone read "0000- XXXXX" with no name.

"All zeros?" She thought out loud. She thought that all zeros must be the front desk operator, or at this time of night it was a front desk security guard.

"Norris here." She answered with her usual cool business voice.

Silence.

Must be either a wrong number or a glitch in the phone system.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Some coffee would be good before the drive home. She got up from her seat and stretched. She started to walk toward the coffee machine when her phone started to ring again. She glanced down at the display again.

"0000-XXXXX"

This time she just pushed the speakerphone button.

"Norris." She breathed.

She was answered by some low-pitched electronic tones.

She pushed the speakerphone button again, hanging up the phone and started on her way toward the coffee machine.

As she walked it seemed like the phones in each of the cubes she came to rang and stopped ringing as she passed.

"Hello?" She called out to the empty office. "Is there anyone here?"

Silence.

She shrugged and made her way in to the break room.

As she walked into the hall she gazed out the window and saw the first tell –tale signs of and approaching thunderstorm. She saw lightening strikes in the distance and a slight rumble.

She inserted a quarter and a dime into the coffee machine. A cup dropped down into the vend area, and faithfully filled with hot coffee.

From behind her she heard a scraping/grinding sound.

She spun and saw the door on the coffee supply closet shaking slightly.

Then there was a strange "turning" sound.

"Hello?" she choked. The sound of her voice sounded feeble.

She slowly approached the closet. The door was knocking and the scraping sound started again. In a rush she raced to it and flung it open.

In a startled shock, a pile of white Styrofoam cups fell as a mass of flailing black fur and claws came flying out with a shriek.

She jumped back three paces as the office cat, Samantha, came skittering across the floor.

]

The cat had been "hired" to handle the mouse problem they had incurred and done a good job of it. Someone had probably opened the supply cabinet door, the cat ran in without him or her noticing, and they closed it again.

Samantha crouched in a corner, and stared at Cynthia, her tail twitching.

Poor thing was probably scared. Cynthia went to the refrigerator, retrieved the carton of milk people used for coffee, sniffed it and added a splash to her coffee. Thinking better of it, she filled a small Styrofoam thimble with milk and put it on the floor near Samantha.

The cat inched forward and sniffed at the milk tentatively. She began to lap at it, all the while not taking her keen eyes off of Cynthia.

Cynthia took her coffee, and went back to her desk. A ringing phone greeted her. This time without looking at the ID she picked it up and put it to her ear. She didn’t say anything, expecting the computer tones again.

She almost replaced the receiver when a voice bellowed, "Hello Cynthia!" The voice was deep and slightly electronic, it reminded her of the Master Control Program from TRON.

"Who is this?" This time she glanced down at the caller ID. It read "666- Diavolo."

"This is your Master, Cynthia. I wanted to thank you for all the souls you have sent me." The voice bellowed an insidious laugh.

She adopted a ‘very funny’ tone, "OK, I know you IT guys are bored down in the telephone data center, but quit this shit now."

"Ah, Cynthia, if you only knew. How many valuable employees have you put out of work in your career? Do you even know?" The voice was gloomily jubilant.

"Look, I don’t know who you are, or what your trying to do but—" she is cut off.

"Cynthia, innocence through ignorance is one thing. It is a taste I have enjoyed through the ages. " The voice no longer seems to be coming from the phone now but from all around. "But your innocence is tainted in a way that is unique to this century… I must taste your soul."

Cynthia’s heart was pounding now. She reached for the phone receiver to call security. If this was a joke it had gone far enough. She went to dial the number and discovered the entire keypad and much of the phone was melted.

She swallowed hard a taste like swallowing a penny. It was adrenaline, and right now she felt like she could jump out of her skin. She jumped up from her seat and ran to use the phone in the next cubicle.

The keypad was also molten. So were all of them.

"I must be crazy!" She thought aloud. She had her hands over her ears interlaced in her hair.

The voice bellowed. "How many people have you put out of work in the name of PROGRESS!? Do you know!? A hundred!? A Thousand!? How many of them killed themselves!? Do you know how many of their souls I have feasted on!?"

A deep, sickening, macabre, laugh rumbled the floor beneath her.

She ran to the elevator and pushed the down button furiously. Seconds ticked. They seemed like years.

The voice continued, "…your soul must taste unique! It is flavored by indirect, ignorant sins! I must taste it!!"

With agonizing slowness, the doors parted and admitted her into the waiting elevator car. She ran in, her side slamming against the veneer wall. She pounded the "door close" button and then P4 where her car was parked, four levels above the lobby. The doors slapped shut.

"Where did you think you could run!?" The voice boomed.

It suddenly became very cold in the elevator. Cynthia folded her arms about herself. She could see her own breath. She shivered. The elevator began to descend rapidly. The lights in the elevator car flickered. Cynthia closed her eyes and squeezed out hot tears.

She opened her eyes again and saw the lights blinking on and off. In one of the flashes on she saw a figure in the car next to her. The figure was not standing, but hanging. It was a man in a hard hat and safety glasses. She recognized his uniform as the same worn by the shift workers in the Chemical Plants she automated last year. He was hanging by noose made by a computer cable. His face was pallid and white and his eyes open seemed to stare at her…no…through her.

Then the lights went out again. The elevator rocked back and forth. She heard the hanging body hit the wall. Then the lights came on again and a different figure was in the car with her. She recognized him as the plant Q/A supervisor. He wore a sour expression on a bloodless face. He offered his wrists to her, revealing the "T" shaped slash wounds. Blood was spurting out of them in puddles. The figure let out a moan.

Cynthia tried to scream. All that came out now was a hoarse wail.

The lights flashed out again. This time when they came back on, it wasn’t a wretched suicide victim, it was an imposing dark figure. This figure had glowing, red eyes, black lips, a set of wickedly misshapen teeth and two black ram’s horns protruding from its forehead.

It moved closer and opened it’s mouth. She could feel it’s hot breath in the numbing cold. It’s breath stank like burning sulfur and it’s presence was palpable.

"I WILL TASTE YOU." It whispered, and smiled. A cold wet tongue protruded and licked her cheek.

The lights went out again. Cynthia prayed for a quick and painless death. Anything, rather than to face that creature again. She could still feel and smell its breath.

The lights came on. This time she was alone, and the doors opened to reveal a nearly empty parking garage level.

Cynthia was shaking now. The summer air in the parking lot felt warm and inviting against her skin compared to the freezing cold of the elevator. She peered out of the door and found the floor was as deserted as it looked.

She ran out of the elevator car and made a mad dash for her car. The lot was nearly empty and she had little trouble finding it.

"Oh shit," she thought, "my purse is upstairs."

Then she realized she needed her key to go to the break room. Her hands fell to her pants pockets. Her keys were blessedly in her right front pocket. She retrieved the small ring of keys on the Mustang key fob. With her hands shaking she managed to find the right key and open the car door.

Cynthia felt her stomach rise into her mouth as with a wail her car’s alarm went off. She had to swallow hard to keep from retching. She fumbled with her keys once more and located the remote alarm switch. With a chirp, the siren stopped.

She used the door for balance and fell into the driver’s seat. With a vital need to feel secure she swung her legs in and slammed the door home. Reaching out with her left fingernail, missing the button twice, she pushed the auto door lock.

She closed her eyes for a second and breathed. She felt her heart pounding.

With a familiarity with every cheap horror movie she had ever seen, she was sure the dark creature was in the back seat. She could still smell its hot stinking breath and still feel its wet slimy tongue on her cheek.

She looked in her rear view mirror and saw a flash of something red. She spun around in her seat to see…nothing but the red scarf she had worn the day before and casually threw on the back dashboard. Reaching out with her left hand she snatched it off the back dash and threw it to the floor by the back seats.

She straightened in the driver’s seat and saw the dark figure looming in front of the car.

"Damn it, enough!" She said. She slapped the key into the ignition. The V8 started with a roar as she gunned the gas. . This thing had scared the daylights out of her, and she had just reached her breaking point.

Depressing the clutch she jammed the car into first. She felt in control now. She narrowed her eyes and aimed for the figure. She slammed down savagely on the gas and snapped her foot off of the clutch.

With a howl of rubber on tarmac the Mustang’s tires spun and smoked. With the fury and raw power of one of Ford’s strongest engines, the car barreled forward.

The car’s speedometer read 50 MPH when it passed harmlessly through the figure. The speedometer read 70 MPH as it struck and passed through the guardrails. As the Mustang became a thing of the air, flipping completely over once, before striking the asphalt of Broad Street and bursting into flames.

"…Must’ve been suicide." The garage attendant told the investigators. The security video footage showed a very distraught Cynthia Norris, getting into her car by herself, accidentally setting off of the alarm, resetting it, and driving like "a bat out of hell" directly for the nearest guard rail and over.

Her company was very upset at her loss, but was grateful for all the work she had done on the automation project and are implementing her plans. However, the company’s internal communications department was very upset at what the thunder and lightening had done to some of the desk telephones.