Many Moons ago, like 6 or 8 years worth, there was a web site called CreatureCorner.Com and it was a place for all things horror genre. They loved giving stuff away. They usually gave you some kind of little story starter idea and told you to email it in. I once got a Clive Barker book for something that was about a paragraph long. But this other time, they were giving away a cheezy DVD called BOOGEYMEN (it was a greatest hits/kills of all the good kids in the neighborhood - Jason, Freddy, Michael, Chucky) and to win it you had to run with this: "Put a horror movie baddie into an everyday work place". I wasn't big on the DVD, bu that sounded like fun and the idea came right away.
So seeing as today is a special day, I dug it out for you guys. I present:
JASON VOORHEES: TELEMARKETER
By Bill Sweeney
"Ok, Mr.Voorhees this is your cubicle. The list of numbers is on the screen." The young and professionally dressed woman looked over to him.
The rotting, dripping man stared blankly at his desk, phone and computer. The pristine white of his K-Mart three-pack dress shirt was absorbing the greenish-black sludge that lied beneath it. His tie, as yet completely unsoiled, was the blue of a workman's jumpsuit.
“The guide book is on the desk, as you were told, it has every possible reply to any question from a potential customer." She forced a smile out onto her face. “Here, have a seat." She lightly touched his back to politely usher him along.
She felt a cold wetness.
He grunted and she pulled her hand back. Mr.Voorhees oddly stomped over to his seat. He put his briefcase beside the desk and stiffly collapsed into the chair. It spun a little and this confused him. The woman gently spun him back around as she picked up the phone headset.
"Here put this on." He did and the earpiece squished out a pus-like brown fluid as it was inserted.
The woman furrowed her brow.
"Big hockey fan, huh? …But,… aren't you hot with that mask on? You could take it off, ya’ know…"
He stared at her with his one good eye, until she walked away.
When the thick material of his grimy work gloves continually impeded his typing, he lost his composure. Mr.Voorhees grabbed his briefcase and he removed the only thing inside it: a 28-inch machete.
The frustration had boiled over inside him and he started hacking at his phone and computer keyboard. Pieces flew as people in other cubicles slowly rose, to see the cause of the raining alphabet. All that could be seen over the walls was a machete wielding arm rising and falling, rising and falling.
When the attack on the defenseless electronics ceased, an audible sigh could be heard from Mr.Voorhees. His body went slack as he relaxed in his chair.
Suddenly, a ringing in his ear. He didn't understand it, and started spinning his head. Where was it coming from? It would ring and stop… ring and stop. The noise came into, what still passed for, his right ear. So he spun in that direction every time he heard the noise - swinging his weapon recklessly. The continuous 360-degree turns made him dizzy and he fell out of the chair onto the floor. Then, in his ear, a clicking sound.
"Hello..." a female voice said into his ear.
Mr.Voorhees sat upright and grunted. Again, confused. Was that his mother’s voice?
"Hello?" it said again. "Who is this?"
Mr.Voorhees started panicking; undecipherable noises came from his throat.
"Huh...? What is this...Are you TRYING to harass me? You loser! You can't even do it right! You sad sack of shit!" the woman screamed.
Maybe it was her. This woman was berating him just like mother used to. He frantically searched for his loyal blade. It would make her go away.
"What is wrong with you? What kind of MAN are you?? Huh, SCUMBAG? YOU THINK YOU’RE SOMETHING SPECIAL, don’t cha? You...are...nothing."
An odd, pitiful, child-like squeak emanated from him as he searched. He found his weapon and stood. Other employees already were. They watched silent and amazed.
"You ain't a man, you are a pathetic little boy."
Mr.Voorhees chopped at his ear, he missed it just a bit. The sound was of raw meat hitting a tile floor. He grunted.
"What was that? Are you jacking-off? YOU ARE, AREN'T YOU?! You dirty little fuck."
Again and again he chopped at the side of his own head. He hit the earpiece and actually drove it further in.
"I'm gonna call the cops you twisted LITTLE SHIT! I hope your shriveled little DICK FALLS OFF."
It was mother! Who else would know it was small and shriveled?
He hacked himself some more and his hockey mask flew off towards the coffee machine. Men gasped, women screamed.
His attack was slowing. He was killing himself.
"...Well, I just got you're number off the caller I.D. Crystal Lake Telecomm? Calling from work ain't cha'?”
Mr.Voorhees dropped to his knees. Still going at it but his self-assault had dropped to a third of its original vigor. Chop...hack...chop. The last one lodged into the bone but he lacked the strength to remove it.
"Shame shame, hope you didn't have a pension coming to ya, ya FREAK!" a harsh, slamming click in his ear and she was gone.
His breathing stopped, he fell forward, and his face made a moist sound into the rug. Calm and silence fell about the little village of cubicles…
Slowly, people approached the cube that Mr.Voorhees had occupied this day. Fellow employees gazed down upon the lifeless body. On his screen, the computer advanced to the next name on the list and dialed automatically.
A ringing in Mr.Voorhees ear. First his hand twitched. Then another ring and he bolted up from the floor screaming as much as he could without a voice-box and charged straight through the sixth floor window.