SELF PROMOTION: A Tale Of Workplace Terror

By Rob Errera

Winner of the Blood Curdling Tales Of Terror Contest! Bill’s busy workday takes a terrifying turn when he shares an elevator with a disgruntled co-worker. A 1,000-word punch to the gut!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Errera
• Release date: May 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476329963

Rob Errera

Rob Errera is a writer, editor, musician, and literary critic. His fiction, non-fiction, and essays have earned numerous awards. He lives in New Jersey with his wife, two kids, and a bunch of rescued dogs and cats. He blogs at roberrera.com, tweets @haikubob, and his work is available in both print and digital editions at all major online booksellers.

Book preview

Self Promotion

A Tale of Workplace Terror

By Rob Errera

Copyright 2012 Rob Errera

Published by Bad Hound Press

A Division of Giantdog Books at Smashwords

First Ebook Edition, February 2012

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

A version of this story won Dark Muse Magazine’s Blood Curdling Tales Of Terror Contest in 1995. Unfortunately, Dark Muse folded before the story saw print. It was later published in Agony in Black, Vol. 1 #1 Fall 1997.

Cover design by Mark Zampella

For KK—Co-Worker, Friend

Self Promotion

Late, the 8:20 already rolling away from the curb, leaving a flatulent cloud of black diesel in its wake. It’s raining, and the soles of Bill’s shoes are slick as he trots the pavement. If he doesn’t slow down, he’ll fall on his ass. He already dropped a Danish in his lap and added a few new coffee stains to his tie this morning,. He looks like shit, and today is the big pitch meeting. Everybody will be there, all the bosses.

And he’s running late.

It takes forever for the 8:40. Bill gets on the bus, grateful to be out of the rain. Then he remembers he left his umbrella at home. It’ll be a long, wet walk from the bus stop to the office.

He’s drenched by the time he reaches the lobby of Adams Advertising, feet sliding on the marble tiles. Fucking shoes! He makes his way toward the elevator bank. The doors are closing. Every second counts.

Wait! he calls. He can’t see anybody in the elevator, but maybe there’s a passenger obscured from view. If so, they don’t hear him. The doors continue to slide closed. Bill mentally berates the imaginary passenger and the elevator itself.

He lunges, sticks his arm between the closing doors. It takes a long moment before the safety mechanism pulls the doors back. Bill panics, drops his briefcase. He bends to retrieve it, slips again, and