Wednesday, October 15, 2014

CRUNCH TIME - BY JOSEPH PINTO - IS THIS WEEK'S TERROR TUESDAY!





http://penofthedamned.com/2014/10/14/crunch-time/

Crunch Time, by Joseph Pinto is this week's Terror Tuesday! Have you ever been forced to work late at the office and strange things appear to be happening around you when darkness comes? You loved it, didn't you? What, you didn't? Tsk, tsk. Read this great story in your easy chair at home where you will be safe. Or will you?

I only put a little of the story here. Read the rest for the price of free at our website. Read more great tales from Joseph and the rest of the members of the Pen Of The Damned. We know you like it Dark and Damned!

Blaze McRob

Crunch Time
Jeff Montgomery wanted to go home.
His temples throbbed like a bitch, and the spreadsheets beneath his face shimmered like a watery mess. God, he hated tax time. Jeff glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. Another half-hour, that was it. Work would still be here come dawn.
Removing his glasses, he gave his temples and brow an invigorating rub, eventually reining in his frustration with a deep breath and a sip of cool water. Jeff nearly jumped from his skin when a door slammed from across the hall.
It sounded like a cannon shot – so ferocious the pens inside the mug atop his desk rattled. “Dammit,” he hissed, rolling backward in his chair. His co-workers mentioned something like this one day over lunch. The infamous law office of Matheson and Keene. Whispered speculation persisted about the firm, for their doors were always locked and clientele were never seen; oft-hushed rumors that the partners didn’t even exist. “You actually think the firm is a front for something else?” Jeff remembered asking, face scrupulously wrinkled; he wasn’t sure if the uneasy silence that met him was because he was the new guy or for something else.
He rolled to the desk, pushed his glasses back along his nose and reached for his water. Another bang now, harder than the last. Water breached the rim of the cup, splashing across his sleeve. “Sonofabitch!” Jeff quickly dabbed at the drops atop his paperwork. A different sound filtered to his ears, very faint; barely perceptible. He held his breath, listening intently – soft knocks against the ceiling. Only the heat kicking through the HVAC he surmised, realizing the culmination of nearly fifteen hours of numbers and spreadsheets had finally worked his nerves. . .


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