Friday – Office Haunt
Apr. 2nd, 2010 12:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
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We all heard the crashing, breaking glass sound from the direction of Joe’s office this morning, at least those of us who are here on Good Friday did. The sound wasn't so alarming that we came running toward it, but a few of us got up to see what it might have been. Joe is the property manager and the son-in-law of the entrepreneur who owns both the office condo and all the companies we all work for. His office has a door that leads to the parking lot, and he was outside smoking. Donald, Cheri, and I poked our heads into his office, but could see nothing amiss.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Cheri said, looking into the kitchen to see if it might have come from there.
“It sounded like it came from here,” Donald said, nodding toward Joe’s office, which is just next to his.
“Maybe it was from outside?” I asked. Everything outside looked normal, though.
I could see from out the windows that Joe was walking toward the back of the building to finish his cigarette and get out of the wind. I recently moved from working up close to the front lobby to working at the back of the building, along with the new operations guy, Mike. My boss will follow us next week. Dave, who runs the security franchise company, is so happy at the idea of no longer having Frank in the office next door to him that he can’t sit still. Frank’s new furniture is back ordered and is supposed to arrive today.
“Where is it? The furniture? Why is he still here?” Dave has asked me every single day this week.
“Back ordered. Be patient.”
“I don’t want to be patient! I want him gone! I’ll go pick up the furniture myself if I have to!” Dave is lying when he says he and Frank have a love-hate relationship; love has nothing to do with their relationship it at all.
While I wait on Frank’s furniture to arrive, I’m all set up in my new workspace in the back next to his new office. I have a window now, so I can get sunshine whenever I crave it. Behind the ¾ wall of my workspace is the back door to the building where the smokers often gather right where I can watch them all on the back porch puffing away. After I got back to my desk I could see Joe smoking his cigarette now out of the wind and the direct sunlight. I began working on my computer when I heard two short knocks on the back door. The door is left locked unless someone is outside smoking and I knew Joe had walked from around the front of the building, so I called out that I would be right there and got up to open the door for him. When I opened it, though, Joe was standing a good 15 feet from the door with half a cigarette still between his lips.
“Did you knock on the door?” I asked him.
“No. I was standing over here.”
“I heard a knock.”
“It wasn't me.”
I pondered this for a moment. I was certain that I'd heard two very distinct, sharp knocks, and they were definitely coming from the door. I also knew Joe isn't the sort to sprint anywhere; he's more of an ambler. I didn't doubt that he hadn’t moved from where he was standing. “Okay, whatever. Would you like me to leave this opened so you can get back in when you’re done?”
He shrugged. “That’d be nice.”
When he walked back to his office a few minutes later, he discovered where the noise had come from. His office is an executive-style office and has its own bathroom, which had a large framed art print on the wall. This print had fallen to the floor and the glass had shattered. As Joe swept up the mess, I heard Cheri in Donald’s office saying, “He shouldn’t have told me he’s afraid of ghosts. See, now he’s got one after him.”
“I don’t believe in them,” Donald said.
I told Cheri about the knock on the door while Joe was out smoking. “I know; I heard it, too,” she said. This made me feel a little less crazy.
“Joe wasn’t standing next to the door.”
“I know.”
“I think we do have a ghost.”
“So do I,” Cheri said. She is originally from St. Bernard Parish, outside of New Orleans. The culture in south Louisiana assumes ghosts and spirits are as real as the air you breath. As for me, I’ve lived in worked in a few places with a resident haunt before. So long as they are playful but not mean, I don’t have a problem with most phantoms. The big corporate office for the funeral industry giant I worked for has no ghosts in it and I always thought this was a damn shame. After all, what building would be more suited to a ghost than one housing multi congromerate funeral home business?
“Funny,” I said, “this is a new building. Have you noticed that new buildings are just as likely to be haunted as old ones?”
“That’s true. It could also just be someone visiting someone here. They do that sometimes,” Cheri said. She could be right. None of us have noticed any ghostly activity here before this.
“He seems to be after me today,” Joe grumbled from his office as he used a broom to push a pile of broken glass onto a dustpan.
“What do you mean ‘he’?” I asked. “With the sense of humor this one has, I think it’s a woman.” I should mention that Joe is a young, good-looking guy; perhaps the specter has a crush on him and wants his attention. Joe looked up at me balefully from the pile of glass he was bending over, but didn’t comment.
It’s been awhile since I’ve worked with a ghost in the office. They do have a way of making things more interesting. It occurs to me that this may be the first time we’ve noticed it, it may not be the first time anyone has noticed something weird in this building. Cheri’s 21-year-old son cleans the building a couple of times a week late at night when we aren’t here. Cheri has mentioned on a couple of occasions that he has called her up and told her, “Mom, there’s some freaky stuff going on here.”
Cheri has always assumed that he was talking about horse play of some sort between the security officers who use this office as a base. “I don’t want to know anything about it,” she’s told him.
Next time her son drops by, I’m going to ask him about the “freaky stuff.” I want to know whether he is talking about people being freaky in particular, or if stuff is just freaky in general around here at night. I suspect the behavior of the security guards are not what's been bothering him at all.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
We all heard the crashing, breaking glass sound from the direction of Joe’s office this morning, at least those of us who are here on Good Friday did. The sound wasn't so alarming that we came running toward it, but a few of us got up to see what it might have been. Joe is the property manager and the son-in-law of the entrepreneur who owns both the office condo and all the companies we all work for. His office has a door that leads to the parking lot, and he was outside smoking. Donald, Cheri, and I poked our heads into his office, but could see nothing amiss.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Cheri said, looking into the kitchen to see if it might have come from there.
“It sounded like it came from here,” Donald said, nodding toward Joe’s office, which is just next to his.
“Maybe it was from outside?” I asked. Everything outside looked normal, though.
I could see from out the windows that Joe was walking toward the back of the building to finish his cigarette and get out of the wind. I recently moved from working up close to the front lobby to working at the back of the building, along with the new operations guy, Mike. My boss will follow us next week. Dave, who runs the security franchise company, is so happy at the idea of no longer having Frank in the office next door to him that he can’t sit still. Frank’s new furniture is back ordered and is supposed to arrive today.
“Where is it? The furniture? Why is he still here?” Dave has asked me every single day this week.
“Back ordered. Be patient.”
“I don’t want to be patient! I want him gone! I’ll go pick up the furniture myself if I have to!” Dave is lying when he says he and Frank have a love-hate relationship; love has nothing to do with their relationship it at all.
While I wait on Frank’s furniture to arrive, I’m all set up in my new workspace in the back next to his new office. I have a window now, so I can get sunshine whenever I crave it. Behind the ¾ wall of my workspace is the back door to the building where the smokers often gather right where I can watch them all on the back porch puffing away. After I got back to my desk I could see Joe smoking his cigarette now out of the wind and the direct sunlight. I began working on my computer when I heard two short knocks on the back door. The door is left locked unless someone is outside smoking and I knew Joe had walked from around the front of the building, so I called out that I would be right there and got up to open the door for him. When I opened it, though, Joe was standing a good 15 feet from the door with half a cigarette still between his lips.
“Did you knock on the door?” I asked him.
“No. I was standing over here.”
“I heard a knock.”
“It wasn't me.”
I pondered this for a moment. I was certain that I'd heard two very distinct, sharp knocks, and they were definitely coming from the door. I also knew Joe isn't the sort to sprint anywhere; he's more of an ambler. I didn't doubt that he hadn’t moved from where he was standing. “Okay, whatever. Would you like me to leave this opened so you can get back in when you’re done?”
He shrugged. “That’d be nice.”
When he walked back to his office a few minutes later, he discovered where the noise had come from. His office is an executive-style office and has its own bathroom, which had a large framed art print on the wall. This print had fallen to the floor and the glass had shattered. As Joe swept up the mess, I heard Cheri in Donald’s office saying, “He shouldn’t have told me he’s afraid of ghosts. See, now he’s got one after him.”
“I don’t believe in them,” Donald said.
I told Cheri about the knock on the door while Joe was out smoking. “I know; I heard it, too,” she said. This made me feel a little less crazy.
“Joe wasn’t standing next to the door.”
“I know.”
“I think we do have a ghost.”
“So do I,” Cheri said. She is originally from St. Bernard Parish, outside of New Orleans. The culture in south Louisiana assumes ghosts and spirits are as real as the air you breath. As for me, I’ve lived in worked in a few places with a resident haunt before. So long as they are playful but not mean, I don’t have a problem with most phantoms. The big corporate office for the funeral industry giant I worked for has no ghosts in it and I always thought this was a damn shame. After all, what building would be more suited to a ghost than one housing multi congromerate funeral home business?
“Funny,” I said, “this is a new building. Have you noticed that new buildings are just as likely to be haunted as old ones?”
“That’s true. It could also just be someone visiting someone here. They do that sometimes,” Cheri said. She could be right. None of us have noticed any ghostly activity here before this.
“He seems to be after me today,” Joe grumbled from his office as he used a broom to push a pile of broken glass onto a dustpan.
“What do you mean ‘he’?” I asked. “With the sense of humor this one has, I think it’s a woman.” I should mention that Joe is a young, good-looking guy; perhaps the specter has a crush on him and wants his attention. Joe looked up at me balefully from the pile of glass he was bending over, but didn’t comment.
It’s been awhile since I’ve worked with a ghost in the office. They do have a way of making things more interesting. It occurs to me that this may be the first time we’ve noticed it, it may not be the first time anyone has noticed something weird in this building. Cheri’s 21-year-old son cleans the building a couple of times a week late at night when we aren’t here. Cheri has mentioned on a couple of occasions that he has called her up and told her, “Mom, there’s some freaky stuff going on here.”
Cheri has always assumed that he was talking about horse play of some sort between the security officers who use this office as a base. “I don’t want to know anything about it,” she’s told him.
Next time her son drops by, I’m going to ask him about the “freaky stuff.” I want to know whether he is talking about people being freaky in particular, or if stuff is just freaky in general around here at night. I suspect the behavior of the security guards are not what's been bothering him at all.
