Short Story: Getting Corporate Ghosted
“Whose idea was it to house a startup in a former insane asylum again?” Laurel asked, panting, as we skidded up to the Haunted Elevator of Doom. I could feel the sweat dripping down my neck. We were determined to make it to our favorite happy hour before six p.m. All we had to do was evade our evil boss Linda. She had been even more sinister than usual this week due to some big work drama, so we really needed half-price mojitos more than ever. But the Haunted Elevator of Doom wasn’t going to make that easy.
“Uggh, it’s stuck again,” I said, jamming the number one button for the first floor, craning my neck to see if I heard the clack-clack of Linda’s sensible Easy Spirit kitten heels. Nothing. Safe. Still I jammed the elevator button again. First, nothing happened. Then it lit up three times in a row. A crashing sound emitted from behind the door, followed by a keening whine.
“Oh my god, it literally sounds like a ghost. Remind me why you accepted a job at Bundini again,” said Laurel, “Weren’t you creeped out once you found out the offices were moving to Rosewood? Aren’t you like, some kind of data rockstar? Why come to some little biotech startup?”
“I wanted a new challenge, and biotech is a cutting-edge field,” I say automatically, because it sounds better than I wanted to work here specifically because it used to be Rosewood. That, I knew, sounded insane. Honestly, it was insane. But it was the truth.
Laurel eyed me skeptically, and opened her mouth to say something. Luckily, I knew how to change the subject. “How’s FB doing?”
A dreamy look came over Laurel’s face, the same dopey look she’d had ever since she’d met her new guy in the lobby. “Amazing. He calls me Loyal Laurel. He said he loves how I’ll do anything for him.”
I tried not to grimace. Because that sounds healthy. Ever since Laurel’s new guy came into her life, she hadn’t been the same. It was honestly keeping me up at night.
Laurel narrowed her eyes, and for a moment I felt like she was reading my mind. She opened her mouth to say something.
Just then, the sound of footsteps filled the air.
We exchanged panicked glances. I glanced at the elevator, but now it was still and silent as a tomb.
But it wasn’t Linda.
“Hey you guys,” said Harper Lane, an eager smile filling her face. “Sneaking out for a little drink? It’s Friday Fri-yay right? Don’t worry; I saw Linda in that emergency meeting—apparently there’s been some kind of leak in the company’s financial records? Anyway, it looked serious, so the coast is definitely clear if you want to grab some cockies.”
“What kind of leak in financial records?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Harper. “They called me into the office and basically grilled me. I felt like they were accusing me of something, haha. I guess because I have the elite permissions.”
I looked at Laurel, waiting for her to role her eyes at Harper’s access flex.
But her face was blank. I felt a prickle of rejection. Were we not on inside joke level anymore? I could feel her fading from me, and I tried not to panic.
“I’m sure they don’t really think you did it,” said Laurel, the scornful subtext in her voice obvious…because you’re too much of a loser to do something so exciting.. “Anyway, if there is a leak, it’s probably one of the executives. Corporate bigwigs are always the greediest.”
Corporate bigwigs are always the greediest. I got the same weird, cold feeling in my stomach. Laurel never talked like that before she started seeing her new guy, and now we barely ever saw each other. We used to go to happy hour every week.
“I’m sure they know you didn’t do it, Harper,” I said. “Anyway, the elevator’s stuck unfortunately. It’s always crap but today it seems to really be acting up.”
“You know why, don’t you?” said Harper excitedly. “It’s because it’s October 27. It’s because of the ghost.”
My back stiffened. What was Harper talking about? This is the last conversation I want to be having right now.
“What?” said Laurel, looking at Harper for the first time. “What are you talking about?’
“It’s the ghost of the mental patient Evelyn Reyes, who set fire to the building seventeen years ago today, said Harper, her eyes glowing.“ That’s how the fire started.”
“What?” squealed Laurel. “That’s crazy. How do you know?“
“I read it online. They found a written confession that wasn’t fully burned. Evelyn was having an affair with the Rosewood Head Physiatrist, Shaumus Desmond, and he wouldn’t leave his wife like he promised. She set fire to the whole place in a rage. And rumor has it, she stalks these very halls, reaching out to employees and touching them with an ice cold blue hand when they’re working late.”
Laurel gave a mock scream, laughing. “Haha, amazing.”
Why was Laurel picking now of all times to bond with Harper? I did not want to be talking about Rosewood with them, or anyone, nor did I like the idea of Harper researching it online and potentially discovering my connection to the place. In desperation, I push a random combination of floor numbers. The elevator flew open. Relief floods me. Mojitos are within reach at last. I could taste the icy cold mint flavor in my mouth, which I needed to wipe out the current taste of metal, confusion, and fear.
“Let’s go,” I said to Laurel, grabbing her hand.
But just then, we hear it. The chill of a dark presence. One that had nothing to do with a ghost named Evelyn, and everything to do with our hideous boss. “Stop right there!”
We turn around.
Linda stood before us, panting from the exertion of running down the stairs to catch us. A triumphant look came over her face.
“I knew it! You two,” she said, “Upstairs! Now! You have to clean out the marketing closet by the end of the week! I don’t care if it takes every day. I don’t care if it takes until midnight! I’m sick of your shenanigans.”
“Yes Linda,” we said in unison.
When she was gone, Laurel turned to me.
I gave her a pleading look. I knew what was coming.
“I forgot my coat,” said Laurel, “ so I’m going to back up real quick, and then I’m meeting FB. You can handle the marketing closet solo right?”
“Laurel,” I said, looking at her. I couldn’t beg in front of Harper but my eyes were pleading. “Please. Don’t. Come with me.”
Laurel looked at me for a long moment, then turned away. “I owe you a million, ok. Thanks.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Sure,” I said, in a fake cheery voice. It had felt like such a stroke of luck that Laurel, the Queen B, chose me as her number one. And maybe I was wrong about FB. Maybe he was a great guy. Pick your battles, I told myself. Pick your battles. “No problem.”
I worked late into the night, straightening the chaos of the marketing closet. As I went to switch out the light around midnight, I feel it—an ice cold hand on my shoulder. I scream at the top of my lungs, staggering backwards.
There is indeed a floating spectre in front of me.. But it wasn’t Evelyn. “Mom?” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Jellybean,” she scolded. “Stand up straight. Slouching is unbecoming.”
I blinked through tears, my hands shaking. How many times had she said that to me while she was alive?
“Mom,” I said again. “What are you doing here?”
My mom gave me a kind look, shaking back her long dark hair. I could see it was matted with some kind of dust and debris. Of course, on her it looked chic. “Darling,” she said. “You know why I’m here. You took the job at Bundini to find me. Isn’t that right?”
I looked down.
“How did you get here?” I asked.
“You summoned me,” she said.
“No I didn’t,” I protested.
“You conjured me, Sweetie,” said my mom. “Those numbers you hit on the elevator. 3 18 7 2.”
I stared at her. Chills were screaming under my skin now. “I typed in your birthday?”
“Yes baby,” she said gently, looking away, a girl who didn’t want a guy to know she saw how obsessed with her he was, because it was unrequited.
Shame flooded me. I told myself I took a massive pay cut because biotech seemed interesting, like an emerging field. Of all the numbers out there, I typed in her birthday. What is wrong with me? Why am I still so obsessed with someone that didn’t spare you the time of day, who would rather chase a story than be there when I got home from school?
“You-you live in the elevator?” I said, trying to change the subject.
“Yep. Certain ghosts live in different parts of the asylum. The ghosts who crave pleasure live in the pipes, forever trying to get a hot shower. The ghosts who couldn’t forgive live under the wood in the floors, hiding from the light. And ghosts like me…well, we’re stuck in the elevator, riding up and down for all eternity.”
I guess it didn’t sound that bad, as the afterlife goes.
“We don’t have much time,” my mom said gently. She was already starting to flicker. “Maybe ten minutes max. What can I tell you, baby girl? How can I help?”
“I-I guess I just wanted to know what happened,” I said. “That night. The night you died.”
My mom grimaced.
“Let me guess,” I said, the taste of acid filling my mouth, my tone bitter. “It had something to do with a big story. One Pulitzer wasn’t enough. You just had to keep chasing, didn’t you?”
My mom looked at me, incredulous. “Is that what you think?” She reached out to hug me, but her blue arms didn’t register, hovering like vapor, generating only the spectre of maternal warmth, not the real thing.I blinked back tears, surprised and stung by the pseudo-embrace. The illusion of it was worse than nothing. My mind went to Laurel, just for a moment. Pick your battles.
“You're right,” said my mom. “It was the Rosewood case. But not for the reasons you think. It wasn’t the Pulitzer,” my mom said. “It was because I didn’t help her enough.”
“Who?” I said.
“Evelyn Reyes,” said my mom, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“You knew her?” I asked.
My mom laughed. “Everyone knew her,” said my mom. “Everyone at Rosewood anyway. She was a real spitfire. Like you.”
I swallowed. “Mom,” I said. “You’re getting paler. Is there anything I can get you?”
“As you know, I went undercover as an orderly at Rosewood to do an expose on the atrocities there.”
“Yes,” I said, “Your first Pulitzer. We know. You’re a real Nellie Bly.”
“Thank you, baby,” said my mom, completely missing my sarcasm. For a moment she lit up, looking heartier, less spectral. Of course it would be the mention of her career accomplishment that lit her up, not me. “Anyway, I was so obsessed with that story that I didn’t help Evelyn. She came to me, desperate.” My mom looked down, genuine shame and regret on her face. This surprised me. These were looks I never saw on her face in real life.
“Today, it would be what you call a #metoo story,” she said softly.
“You have the news in the afterlife?” I say, before I can stop myself.
“Just what’s on the elevator tv,” she said.” Anyway, Her and Sameus..I knew the man was a sadist. I knew I should have done more. But by then I just… I already had a follow up story, going undercover in a jail that committed atrocities on the inmates. I figured I had to pick my battles.”
Pick your battles. Laurel flashed through my head again, her dreamy smile, her strange new behavior. What were the odds of meeting a hot new guy in the lobby of your work? There weren’t any other businesses in the building.
“So I went back, you know, after the jail story was done, to try and help her. And I was going to her room to find her, and then the fire started. I know he had something to do with it, that sadist. Either she started it to finally get away from him the only way she knew how, or he started it to finally get rid of her. That so-called confession letter was bullshit; I know it.“
“Wow,” I said, my mind reeling. “This is—um, it’s just a lot to process.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Jellybean,” my mom said softly. “But here’s what I want you to understand. At the time, I felt high on the popularity, that feeling that doors were finally opening, that I was finally in the big-time circles. I didn’t help Evelyn because the story felt too small, too off brand.” She made air quotes and her voice was cynical and so, so breathtakingly bitter. A sickly yellow cast had come over, almost green.
“Mom,” I said “are you ok?”
“No baby,” she replied, and I could see now: the colors, the tone in her voice. My mom wasn’t just stuck in an elevator, she was entombed in self-loathing. It was so palpable, like a toxic perfume in the room.
“Is it because of Evelyn?” I said.
She was fading so fast; I could barely see her.
“Jellybean,” she said desperately. “Listen to me: all those things that seem so important in the moment, the lunches, the in-crowd, the accolades. It fades. It doesn’t last. All those people whose approval felt so important…I can’t even remember their freaking names! One of them is actually down here, my big boss who I was so obsessed with. He later had a nervous breakdown from stress. I ran into him and I called him Tom, even though his name is Jack. That’s how little I remembered him, even though his approval was what drove me for years. It doesn’t matter. In the end, nothing will haunt you like the times you breached your own integrity. It literally drives you crazy with remorse. And you think you have all the time in the world, but you don’t. In the blink of an eye, it can be too late.”
I looked at her and in that moment, I realized something.
“Mom,” I said. “Pick your battles is the most harmful saying in business. It’s just something corporate bosses say to gaslight us. When someone says “pick your battles,” they actually mean “don’t pick this battle.” So, once you start thinking “pick your battles,” that’s exactly what you need to do: pick that battle.”
My mom was crying now. I didn’t know ghosts could cry. And then I saw another look on her face I’d never seen: pride.
“My darling girl,” she said. “See? You don’t even need me. You already know what to do. You always have. You always will.”
And just like that, she was gone.
“Mom!!! Wait!” I cried, as tears poured down my face. I reached out, trying to clutch at her, but she was already gone. There was nothing but air. I fell to the ground, sobbing.
She was gone. But for once, she had given me true maternal advice. I needed her, and she had shown up. That had to count for something. But now, I needed to act on her advice, and my own epiphany. It was time for me to pick my battle. Even if it was one of the hardest things I had ever done in my professional life.
As the security guards came to usher Laurel out of the building the next day, her head snapped toward me, her eyes full of cold fury. Once I told our executives that Laurel was the one leaking the financial records, they’d acted swiftly and just as ruthlessly as I’d feared, even though I’d begged them to give her another chance.
“I know it was you,” she said. “Were you really that jealous?”
“Finance Bro is a psycho,” I said. “I hope someday you see that. I couldn’t let you sink the company just to try and impress him.”
“You’re such a goody goody, Jill,” Laurel spat.. “You’re just as bad as Harper. Enjoy your tepid lives.”
I watched her go, biting my lip to keep from crying. It felt horrible betraying Laurel, and there’s no doubt, my work life would be more tepid without her. But for better or worse, I would not be haunted by my own breach of integrity, and that would have to be enough. When I rode the elevator down that night, it worked perfectly.