Sharing again one of my published short stories taken from – Under the Apple Tree and other dark short stories. Hope you enjoy Clocking Off…

Clocking Off

It was my first day in a new job. I stood before the old Victorian building looking up from the street. It was so imposing and loomed over me, making me want to lean back as if it would come crashing down on me, like reverse vertigo. But it didn’t. Instead I walked up the steps and opened the door.

It was so different inside, completely modernised and fresh with clean furniture and décor, large bright windows filling the front office with light. A complete contrast from the outside view. It was a publishing company that had been established for over a century, and I had been keen to work for them for quite some time.

With a reputation of quality and a great name, working here meant a lifelong ticket to the industry. There had been rumours of other things occurring here other than success, but I had brushed those from my mind. I was not a superstitious person and didn’t go in for bedtime stories or industry gossip, so paid no heed. I wanted to get on and asking silly questions about legend and history wouldn’t serve me well I decided.

I would be meeting with the owner today Mr. Whittle of Whittle & Schumer Publishing, he was of course not the original, but in fact was the 3^rd Mr. Whittle, but nonetheless carried the family business forward carrying the name and responsibility.

Solely it turned out. I did ask one question while I was being shown about the building.

“So is there a Mr. Schumer anymore?”

It seemed a reasonable query. Mr. Whittle gave a very small smile before he spoke.

“Bob pops in upstairs from time to time, but not as a general rule. For quite some years now.”

I wondered how old he was, was he the original Mr. Schumer? They didn’t speak of another so on that I was left to wonder, but did not ask.

“That’s his office down the hallway at the end, currently being used by Jim, in fact, it’s only had 3 occupiers since Bob. They say whoever works in there comes up with publishing gold.”

He nudged me upon saying this and gave me a strange wink.

“You’ve started at the right time, Jim will be retiring next year, give you time to get your feet under the table and see if you can cut it first!”

And with that I received a hearty slap on the back. It was the old ways here and I realised I felt at home already. I made my way to my new office and got down to it. I had to learn all about our authors, new projects, marketing and editing, meet all the people and start contributing.

I had a huge pile of books on my desk that had been stacked and marked up into genres with a note on top.

‘For Jim’

I looked around, wondering why this was on my desk and not in Jim’s office on his. I wasn’t here to be a dogs body but didn’t want to rock the boat on my first day. No-one appeared to be interested in what was on my desk, so I bundled the books into my arms nearly dropping them before I noticed a trolley next to my desk. Obviously for the books! Of course people don’t have to carry around stacks of books. I felt like an idiot, but again no-one noticed what I was doing, or cared.

As I pushed the trolley down the corridor, I glanced at some of the titles of the books, they were all varying genres. I wondered why one publisher would be given so many books, did he have to read them all? It worried me for my future here as a publisher, there was no way I could read that many books. Not this side of the century anyway.

I got to Jim’s office, although it still had the old letters of Robert C Schumer delicately painted on the glass. I knocked and opened the door not leaving much time for reply. To be honest I was still a little miffed at having to deliver his books like a lackey and didn’t feel like being made to wait outside. But to my surprise (and quite possibly his) Jim had been asleep upon my entrance, being promptly awoken and nearly falling from his chair in the process.

I was not amused. Jim looked flustered and gave me a look up and down, confusion on his face over the unfamiliarity of mine.

“Who are you? Why didn’t you knock? Had a rough night you know, I don’t make a habit of sleeping on the job. Ah, new books and submissions, wonderful. Oh, you must be the new chap, Prendle is it?”

He went from flustered and agitated at being caught, to charming and dismissive in one moment. It was astonishing.

“It’s Randle actually, and yes just started today. These were left on my desk for you, do you have to read all of them?”

Getting my name wrong riled me, but I let it go. It could be a simple mistake or simply the man was just being an arse. I couldn’t tell at this stage.

“Er, yes. Of course, as the Head Publisher it’s my job to pick the next big thing, the next bestseller, discover the next star of the literary world. There have been quite a few you know. I’m quite known for it.”

The self-adoration in his description of what he does nearly made me laugh and want to be sick just a little. But despite the arrogance and dislike I held for him now I had met him, he was right. He and each of his predecessors had discovered big names and published extremely popular novels. It’s what made them the best publishers and why I was here.

But I was disappointed that Jim was the man behind the magic, and then glad when I remembered he was retiring next year. Hopefully I could just learn what I needed to from him without having to spend too much time with him.

The next few weeks passed and I learnt more and more, but not from Jim. Every time I tried to pin him down for a meeting or review time, he would make an excuse and disappear for a few hours, claiming to be busy, have an appointment or just had to ‘catch up’. I even caught him napping again a few times and if it had been anyone else in a job, I would have sacked them. But he was the Head Publisher and somehow kept giving us the next great book from the massive pile. In all honesty I don’t think I had ever even see him reading. Sleeping yes, but reading no. It puzzled and perplexed me.

But we got along generally on a professional level and I fell into the office routines like everyone else. Still wanting to impress I was working late one night. Only the cleaners on the ground floor for company and my desk lamp for light. It felt nice and calm and a quiet change to the usual hum and noise of the day. Just as I was getting thoroughly engrossed in the review I was preparing, I heard a clatter at the end of hall near Jim’s office. I immediately went to investigate, the notion of anyone else working late didn’t even enter my mind as I hadn’t yet witnessed it. Upon reaching Jim’s office I could see a dull light on inside and the door slightly ajar. I chuckled to myself, thinking maybe I had mis-judged Jim and he was a worker really, even sometimes working late too to get in the success but didn’t want to admit to anyone he had to try.

I pushed open the door and started to say something about being here past his bed-time, but the room was empty. I was so confused. I had thought I could hear the rustle of pages turning, sure there was a faint shadow over the lamplight through the frosted glass. But there was an empty room with a lone lamp on in the corner. But there was also a manuscript. An open one in the middle of the tidy desk, as if in the process in being read.

I glanced around me, half sure that someone was going to jump out at me, or appear from nowhere suddenly. It was unsettling. Instead of leaving right away, I wanted to see what the book was. I had never seen a manuscript or book on Jim’s desk before so I was intrigued as to what it was actually doing there.

I walked over and sat in the chair. It was a nice office from here, it all looked very antique and so set, not very Jim at all. This room had a bit of class. I sat back in the chair and wondered if this ever would be my office, would I ever be good enough to carry the reputation of Whittle & Schumer. I felt a great sadness then come over me, the lamp seemed to dim and room grew a little darker, a shiver escaped me as a cold draft swept by my ankles.

As I was about to stand and make my way back to my desk, when the pages in front of me started to turn, as if being moved by an invisible reader. Surely that was the draft I told myself, pages often move by themselves. I backed towards the door not taking my eyes off them. I knew pages didn’t move by themselves, these were fairly heavy manuscripts being proofed or reviewed. It seemed to take an age to get to the door, and as I did, another page slowly turned. I left, closed the door and returned to my desk. I wasn’t sure I wanted that office anymore.

Only the very next week we had our next best seller. Apparently Jim had been working tirelessly to find the ‘One’ before he retired and he said he had it. We all eagerly awaited his presentation to know what we would be working on and see what gem he had found us this time. As the worksheet was handed around and Jim held the manuscript up, I could see exactly what it was. The one that had been on his desk that night, the one reading itself. Now I was bewildered. Who was doing Jim’s reading for him?!

I wasn’t going to find out it seemed, at the end of the presentation, Jim announced his retirement. He would be leaving that day. There was a fake sounding speech about how he would miss everyone and lots of insincere gushing, but on the whole a rather quick round up. I could tell he didn’t want to be here anymore, not even for his own leaving party.

As he was on his was out, he came over to me and shook my hand furiously.

“Good luck Randle, sorry I didn’t have any time to show you the ropes and stuff, this retirement thing sort of sneaked up on me you know. But anyway, good luck, and here’s a tip. If you aren’t sure what’s next, try leaving the books on the desk, you might find it comes to you in the morning.”

With that I got a strange wink, my hand released, and he was gone. I really wasn’t sure what he meant at first but it didn’t take me long to work it out. I spotted Mr. Whittle at the back of the room and made my way over to him.

“Sir, I’m not sure I can live up the reputation we have, I just want to be honest now before you make a mistake. I don’t want to let you and Mr. Schumer down.”

“Firstly, Jim was nothing special and he managed to do ok. Secondly, Bob’s been dead for decades now, he didn’t have any children so it was only him. He and grandpa built this business from nothing, we though he deserved to have his name kept on it. But it’s only really Whittle now and I believe you’ve got what it takes.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Thank you, but what do you mean there is no Mr. Schumer anymore? I though you said he popped in from time to time?”

I really was going to need this clarified I realised.

“I apologise, that is just our office humour here. There have been a few strange occurrences and sightings since he passed away so we try and make light of it. Died at his desk you know, reading, he really was dedicated to the job. And well I guess we figured he just never left. Just seemed to be luck too that whoever got his office, got the golden touch as well.”

He was so matter of fact about it I almost forgot what we were talking about, forgot about my office experience and though hey, that sounds reasonable.

“Oh. OK.”

It was all I had. I thanked him for the opportunity and returned to my desk, it wasn’t quite my office yet and I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be. Now I knew that, it creeped me out just a little bit more to know he died in there. Reading no less. Would that be my fate?

I sat there wondering. Why was he still here, didn’t he trust anyone to take over? Did he haunt the people in his office? No, that couldn’t be right, Jim had sounded very upbeat about his advice and with his regular sleeps, certainly wasn’t afraid. And then it struck me, all these years people had been taking advantage of Robert Schumer’s dedication and situation. They had forged careers from his knowledge and eye for a bestseller, it had been him all along!

And they all knew it. That’s why Jim was never around to explain how he did it, he didn’t know! It shocked and annoyed me all at once. The fear I had first felt was now replaced with disgust, but not towards the idea of a spectre, but of the living. I decided this would end with me. I would either be a great publisher because I was, or I wouldn’t be, because I wasn’t. Not because of Robert Schumer doing my work for me.

The next day I moved into my new office. I actually liked everything where it was and felt no need to change it yet. It was the overhanging sadness I was looking to remove, no-one else seemed to notice it or care, but it was a thick sadness that made the room feel stuffy, even with the window open.

At the end of my first day, I tidied the desk and put one book in the middle and went home. Feeling that my new career was finally here and I could start taking on the world. I wanted to get in early the next day to make a start on the next round of submissions, and to see if my idea had worked.

Saying my good mornings, I made my way to my office. As I got there I noticed the name had been removed from the frosted glass and a pot of paint was on standby ready to paint a new one. I opened the door and entered what could only be said, was a different room. The light streamed through the window blinds, the heavy stuffy atmosphere had been replaced with a calm fresh feeling. It was nice. And on the desk was the book I left, open on the last page on which I had written

“Thank you Bob, we can take it from here. You can finally retire”

And under that was a reply which simply read

“Thank you”

(c) K Wicks