The moans and howls of the undead echo through the mahogany walls of Killem Skinnem & Eatem LLP. Even though our attorneys have demonstrated an insatiable appetite for human flesh, their hunger has yet to lead them to the supply closet on the 13th floor, where I – the CMO of the firm – have managed to find safety … if only temporarily.
It’s dark in here, except for the faint light that enters through the crack under the door. The narrow beam is periodically interrupted by the shadows of Prada and Jimmy Choo shoes dragging along our freshly steamed carpets. I hold my breath, hoping that they can’t smell the living.
I can’t call anyone because the undead out there might hear me, so I pull out my phone, launch my X app and make an attempt to tweet myself to safety.
It’s strange to think that it started as a normal day. This morning our receptionist, Pam, greeted me at the front desk with her usual chipper smile. Hours later, that smile would turn into a ghastly skeletal grin as the zombified tax attorneys make her one of them. Suffice to say, that was the most lively I’ve ever seen our tax group.
As soon as I get into my office, our managing partner, Gary, pops his head in and tells me we have a spur-of-the-moment meeting today with a major client. Talk about stress! I always thought this job would be the death of me, but I never knew it’d be so literal.
Just as I have all my things gathered for the meeting, I hear a scream. I’m thinking we just lost the Microsoft account – after all, our litigators can be overly dramatic. But as I round the corner, I see blood smeared across the glass wall of the conference room. I burst in and am overwhelmed by the smell of decay. I look down to see Joe, our biggest rainmaker, hunched over the body of our client. He always said he was bloodthirsty, but this is a bit over the top.
I knew the legal media would have a field day with this: “Blue Chip Client Devoured by Top-Tier Counsel.” Talk about a PR nightmare! Joe then snapped his gaze toward me, and I could see the hunger in his eyes. And that’s when I ran.
Joe was hot on my heels, snarling and grasping for my coattails. Too bad he couldn’t have brought that hustle to the firm softball game! I raced through the office, dodging what had become a minefield of bloodthirsty undead co-workers, and that’s how I found myself here, tucked away in this supply closet, desperately trying to use my strategic thinking to scheme a way out of this deathtrap.
As the wails of the undead attorneys persist, I click reload on my X app. Nothing. The moans continue beyond the door. Have they all become zombies? Am I really the only one left?
And then my phone vibrates. Someone has just replied to my tweet! It’s Gary, our managing partner! I can honestly say this is the happiest I’ve ever been to hear from him.
And that’s when it dawns on me … Gary is tweeting! Finally! I’ve been trying to get our attorneys to use social media for months! I guess Gary did say he’d only use X over his dead body. At least the guy can keep a promise.
Realizing the hopelessness of my situation, I put my iPhone away and return to waiting for help to arrive.
Then, out of the silence, I hear a noise. Is that breathing? No, not breathing, more like gasping. And there’s a smell. A perfume? Yes, a familiar fragrance. But it’s mixed with something else, something putrid.
I pull out my phone to use the screen as a light. I slowly turn my head. And there, illuminated by the faint glow, is Pam’s grimacing, decomposing face.
From all of us at Jaffe, have a spooktacular Halloween!