Warnings

by Matilda Charlton, Year 8, University of Canberra High School Kaleen

Cursing my stupidly high heels, I race into the news tower. I’m late, and if I’m any later I’m going to get fired. In a split-second decision, I take the elevator. I jab the eighth floor button repeatedly, unsuccessfully trying to make the lift go faster.

As the lift starts to rise, the awkward tension between myself and the other guy slowly thickens. By the time the door opens for a fourth time, I’m seriously regretting not taking the stairs. And I probably would’ve, if not for my heels. I swear, next time I’m wearing flats. Still, we haven’t had any more stops since the guy with the Skechers came in, so this should all be over soon.

We’ve just passed the sixth floor when Mr Skechers speaks. “So, you’re probably wondering why I called you all here,” and he SLAMS his fist down on the emergency stop button.

We wobble a little when the elevator stops. I think we’re all a bit in shock.  And then the other woman in the lift starts yelling, “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? DO YOU KNOW HOW LATE I AM? WHO EVEN ARE YOU?” and so on and so forth.

Original Image by Matilda Charlton

Mr Skechers, to his credit, doesn’t appear to be all that bothered. I slide to the floor in my corner and whisper faintly, “I’m so fired.”

“No, no! Ms Alicia, it’s your day off, remember? And Ms Caroline, you’re not going to get fired. I said I’d call you all here, didn’t I?” Mr Skechers says, stopping the woman’s tirade. Everyone is really staring at him now.

“So… it was you who sent that text from my boss’s phone?” I say.

He nods, “Yep! He shouldn’t contact you for another, oh…” he checks his watch, “ten minutes or so. Which means we should probably get started!”

He turns to the shouty woman while I get up. “Ms Alicia Thompson, from accounting, floor two, correct?”

She nods, rendered speechless.

He looks at the guy dressed like a handyman. “Mr John Cartell, floor one, receptionist, yes?”

John’ shakes his head. “N-no. I’m applying for the job now, actually. Or… supposed to. I got called in half an hour early, so I’m guessing that was you?” The man looks both confused and delighted, if that’s possible.

“You aren’t? How wonderful! And yes, that was me.” He goes on like that through every person in the lift.

“Dan Colton from floor nine, manager.”

“Mickey Paul, gofer.”

“Jasper Kelley from floor nine, editor.”

When he gets to me, he says, “Ms Caroline Connors, floor eight, reporter?”

Hesitantly, I nod my head and clear my throat to speak. Mr Skechers gets there before me. “Excellent! Wonderful! Brilliant! I’ve got all of you here, and on the first try no less! That’s got to be some kind of world record, right?”

Well, he’s weird, I think to myself as he rambles. I glance at the others for some solidarity. I find it in spades. Well, I add to myself, someone’s gotta take control around here, and it might as well be me! “Who are you?” I demand, interrupting him, “and why are you here?”

He pauses, reasserts himself, and says, “Right. You’re quite right. Mr John, do not, and I mean do not, take the job. It will end in your untimely death one year and three months from now. If you take the job, that is the only possible end for you.”

John’s about to speak, but Skechers moves on before he can, leaving us all in the dust.

“Mr Mickey, in one year and three months, you will be given some packages to be delivered from floor eleven down to the basement. They will come with very clear instructions on how to handle them, and dire warnings of what will happen if you open them. DO NOT OPEN THEM. Instead, swap them with the boxes of paper in storage room three, and anonymously deliver the original packages to the police station. You may quit your job afterwards, but not before. I’ll make sure you get a position elsewhere, don’t worry.” He pauses for a second and adds, “You may, of course, keep your job, but if you do…” Suddenly, he is right in front of Mickey, “…be very, very careful.” Mr Skechers nods to himself, and steps back.

Mickey, very pale, asks, “W-what’s in the boxes, sir?”

“Can’t tell you that, it’s classified. Now Mr Jasper, in seven months, you will be given an article to edit. You will be asked to omit certain things, important things. Do not publish the article as it is, no exceptions, including spelling errors. You will be fired, but, fortunately, a position as an editor in a different news tower will become available three days later. Apply for the position, and you will surely get it!”

Jasper slowly nods, but still asks a question. “How do you know this stuff?” This time he’s completely ignored as Skechers moves on to his next victim.

“Miss Alicia, in five months you will notice that the numbers aren’t matching up. If you investigate, you may find the truth too much to bear. And if you go too deep, the price will be far, far too great.” Skechers notices that Alicia’s about to speak and says, “No, you won’t die. You will simply lose what you love the most.”

At this, Alicia goes incredibly pale, as if she’s about to be sick. “What should I do?”

“Report it to the police. Move away – and take your sister with you. Find a new job. I’ll help you with that.”

Then he looks to Dan, the manager. “Dan, as a trusted manager of this news tower, you receive some strange requests from your boss, I am well aware. In three weeks, you will receive a message to pass on to one of your employees. It seems relatively simple: a request to meet, along with a time and location. But you should not deliver it. Burn it. You may choose to stay or you may choose to go. If you pick the latter, I will help you find a job to support you and your growing family.”

“My what…?” Dan is cut off.

“Your wife is one month pregnant. It’s going to be a girl, but shhh… don’t tell her I said that. Congratulations, by the way.” Skechers finally turns to me, leaving a dumbstruck Dan in his wake.

“Now, Ms Caroline. In one week and two days, your boss will ask you to investigate and report on something unspeakably horrifying; something that will also go against your moral compass, I might add. However, you might feel about it, refuse. It will cost you your job, but I implore you to refuse. I will give you an application form for a job at a reputable company to fill in if you choose.” Skechers nods to himself, thinks for a moment, and says, “Yes, that is all I need to do. Well then, toodles!”

Ignoring our confusion, he looks at his watch which is very strange, now I can see it, and starts counting down. “Five… four… three… two… one!”

The lift goes dark, causing us to scream in shock amid the chorus of cries from people around the building, mourning their unsaved work before lighting up again, revealing Skechers to be gone.

We all stand there shakily for a moment before Mickey exhales loudly and falls to the floor. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out to look at it. It’s from my boss.

“Ten minutes,” breathes Alicia.

“What?”

“He said your boss wouldn’t contact you for another ten minutes. It’s been ten minutes exactly.”

“How do you know that?” I asked unsteadily.

“I have eidetic memory. It’s what makes me so good at taxes and accounting.” A pause. “Also, I saw his watch. It’s really weird. Did you see it?”

“Yeah, it had like five hands or something.” I press the button for my stop.

“Oh my God,” whispers Dan. “I’m going to be a father…”

“Yeah, we know that! Get with the program already!” snaps Alicia.

As the doors open to floor eight, John suddenly speaks up, “I don’t think I’m going to take that job after all.”

“Good idea.”

…

Exactly one week and two days later, I get the report. Immediately, I can see what Skechers means by it. It’s horrifying. It also comes with the offer of a raise. A huge raise. It’s almost too tempting, but I remember Skechers’ words.

I refuse. And I’m fired.

I get home, and there’s an application form sitting on my kitchen counter. The doors and windows are all locked, and there are no signs of forced entry. I stare at them before pulling them towards me. And slowly start to fill them in.

After all, who am I to argue with a time traveller?