Someone’s sending me messages after hours, I think. I keep a yellow spiral notebook for assignments and a company pen for taking notes. The notebook lies on my desk next to my laptop; the pen sits in my Shakespeare mug, next to the Guinness alarm clock and the Christopher Lee wood cutting. Every morning, I flip to a fresh page and jot the date in the top left corner; then I scribble a to-do list of current and future projects. I usually do this after I clock in, while I’m drinking my morning coffee.
This morning, the notebook had already been flipped, and the date had already been jotted. Instead of a to-do list, I saw three words:
Trust no one.
I didn’t write them, I don’t think. The words and numbers don’t look like mine, and I definitely don’t remember writing them. Could it have been E— or K—? E—‘s still out sick, and K— works from home, I think. Could it have been my boss? It’s been over a month since I last saw her.
And the date’s incorrect. It should read September 25th. It reads October 9th.
What’s going on? Who’s trying to contact me? What’s going to happen on October 9th?
It’s a lot to consider. In the meantime, I think I’ll finish my coffee.
Like what you read? There’s more.
“Morning coffee” is a serial fiction series, served fresh daily. So far, we’ve covered rubberneckers, co-workers, cubicle stains, office plants, desk trophies, conspiracies, secret organizations, pocket dimensions, black holes, and impending, inevitable doom. And that’s just the beginning.
Where should we go next? Let me know in the comment section below.