HoM

The contents of Jun’s presentation binder nearly fall to the lacklustre blue-grey carpet tiles that cover the waiting room floor as he jumps from his seat. The tall woman wearing a beige merino wool vigour ensemble projecting the broad, well-practiced smile had just unexpectedly materialised in the HoM waiting area, startling the unexpecting, besuited young man.

With hand extended and broad smile beginning to strain, she waits for the candidate to regather himself, an unintended concern creeping into her expression.

‘Hello Jun.’ She says. ‘You are Jun?’

He looks up from his half standing, half crouching, mostly panickedly-clutching-my-presentation-binder-so-I-don’t-drop-it-and-look-like-an-idiot stance.

‘Yes.’ He says, forcing the now crinkled notes back into the binder and clumsily reaching for her greeting.

‘Jun Yamata. Yes, I am.’

‘Good morning. MNI Jennifer, Jen for short. FMP this way I’ll take you to the TIR to see Jane.’ She says, turning away.

Jun needs this job. Good location, accommodating hours and judging from the décor of the lobby, this place is swimming in cash, that is, as long as you don’t take into account the lacklustre carpet tiles.

Yes. Jun needs this job, and his plan currently is to get it. But a few seconds in, he finds himself struggling with both basic communication and gravity.

‘I’m sorry but I didn’t catch exactly what you’ve just said.’ He says with furrowed brow.

‘OMG. I’m so sorry. We talk all the time in TLAs here at HoM and I struggle to stop, TBH.’

‘TLAs?’

‘Oh, TIG agai-,’ Jen stops herself. ‘Sorry, there I go again. Three Letter Acronyms,’ she giggles, ‘always at the ready.’ The rehearsed smile again. ‘And TBH means To Be Honest. I can’t help it. It just… happens. I really struggle sometimes, y’know, to talk like an ANP.’

‘Erm… an ANP?’

This isn’t getting any easier.

‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘a normal person.’

Jun begins to wonder what his chances of employment would be here if he were to just turn around and walk out.

‘That’s… that’s fine.’ He says hesitantly, knowing that he’s inviting more usage of these things – these TLAs. ‘I don’t mind. Really. I don’t.’

‘IDM either, really, but it only happens when I’m here at work, KWI mean?’

‘Yeah. I think I do. I think I’m starting to get the rhythm of it.’ He lies.

‘TRG, sorry, that’s really good. It shows that you’re a QUP.’

She flashes him a lingering glance, expecting Jun to be able to read her mind.

Which, of course, he can’t.

‘A quick upper picker, y’know? And that’s exactly what we here at HoM look for in a CfE.’

‘Nope.’ Jun says, stumped. ‘I’m not with you on that last one.’

‘CfE.’ Jen says again, because saying the exact same thing a second time will make its meaning clearer.

‘Candidate for Employment.’

‘Ah.’ He responds.

Jen leads Jun through a series of crafted, clinical passageways, sweeping past closed sound-proofed doors, conspicuously placed water coolers and a gaggle of vending machines as they go on to wherever it is that they’re going. The sounds of bubbling spring water and loose change falling into coin slots echo repeatedly off the prefab walls and begin to overpower the music playing through the now distant speakers in the waiting room. Queen’s I Want To Break Free is not a song that’s enhanced by the addition of gurgling bubbles.

‘Could the T in TLA ever stand for anything else?’ Jun muses in an attempt at levity on their walk to the TIR. ‘Thirteen, perhaps?’

Jen stops and looks at Jun like he’d asked that question in Greek. A language Jen doesn’t speak.

‘No,’ she says flatly, ‘it means two.’

‘Ah.’ Jun realises that improvised conversation is a no-no.

Jen returns to escorting the CfE and he carries on following, binder firmly in hand.

Jun glimpses brief tasters of the firm’s functionings through the unshaded windows in the doors that line the corridors. Doors which open into R&D offices, laboratories and meeting rooms where operational strategies are proposed and marketing designs are hatched. He’s seen this sort of thing before and underneath all the idiosyncratic logos and quippy company-isms, firms like House of Mirrors are all the same.

‘Oh, poo.’ Jen puffs, trying the handle on a door with a plaque that reads TRAINING/INTERVIEW ROOM stuck prominently on it. She peers through the TIR’s picture window and between the slats of the blind hung inside to the personless area.

‘Jane’s OOO at the minute,’ she announces, ‘so we’ll have to wait till she comes back because she’s got the key to the TIR.’

Dejected, Jen resurrects her OTT smile and suggests that she give Jun has a quick tour of the GWF. The Glass-Working Facility, for those of us who aren’t au fait with the TLA’s yet.

‘Yes, that sounds good.’ Jun agrees.

Jen whips around and makes to lead the potential recruit further along the corridor. The water cooler in the TIR catches Jun’s attention as he glances through the picture window. The contents of its crowning upturned bottle bubbling away like it was at more than two-hundred-and-twelve degrees Fahrenheit in there.

Or 100°C+ if you’re that way inclined.

Surely not, he thinks, must be a leak. Rightly or wrongly, he decides to not bring this to his escort’s attention.

Meandering with Jen seemingly aimlessly through HoM’s hallways, Jun notices how clean and lemon-fresh everything is kept. Impressive, really, for a place this size.

‘Jan!’ Jen barks, noticeably at a loss without a script to follow.

‘Jen!’ Jan barks back, clipboard in hand and well-practiced smile firmly donned.

‘Jan, have you seen Jane?’ Jen asks.

‘No, sorry Jen.’ Jan responds. ‘I haven’t seen Jane, Jen. Sorry.’

‘Oh poo.’ Jen deflates.

‘Jan, this is Jun.’ Jen says. ‘He’s here to interview for the Engineering position.’

‘So,’ Jan says, reaching for Jun’s hand, feigning interest, ‘an engineer, are you?’

‘That’s right.’ He confirms. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘PDC. PDC.’ Jan says, still holding her clipboard in the reading position.

‘PDC?’

‘Pretty darned cool.’ Jan says.

‘Jun,’ Jen says, ‘this is Jan. She… she… Jan, why don’t you tell Jun what you do here?’

‘I’m in Development.’ She says, distractedly. ‘We design the best mirrors on the market. NTH you aboard.’ She says shuffling intently towards a closed door with an intense yellow/orange light glaring out of its window.

‘I’ve not actually started the interview yet.’ Jun says, but it’s too late. She’s already gone.

In the lab and door firmly shut behind her.

‘She’s an RNP. We’ve been friends for ages, me and Jan.’

‘A really nice person?’ Jun ventures.

‘That’s crazy cool.’ Jen squeals. ‘You literally are getting it!’

Inside the lab, Jan pulls a rather clashing coloured blind from the top down. Her panicked eyes meet fleetingly with Jun’s an instant before the blind is fully drawn, blocking the blazing light from emanating out into the corridor.

Jun hears sporadic, frantic voices coming from Jan’s lab.

‘That room is soundproofed, isn’t it?’ Jun asks.

‘Um… yeah.’ Jen says through a smile, unsure if they actually are.

‘What’s going on in there?’ Jun begins to think that this is all a cleverly designed element of the interviewing process.

‘I’m NRS.’ Jen mutters hesitantly, her smile, for a second time today, straining.

‘No.’ Jun says. ‘I’m not really sure they know either.’

HoM’s prevalent décor scheme and, in fact, company colours are 16-1150 topaz and 14-4310 blue topaz – the blind in the lab, which causes physical pain when looked at against this azure-sandy backdrop, is silver with a black, red and yellow pattern stencilled on it. Intrigued, Jun steps closer to inspect the mismatched pattern. Do Not Enter is written repeatedly in black, DNE in a large red font behind the black, and Caution in an annoyingly bright yellow pantone, somewhere around 13- 630 TN.

‘Jen!’

‘Jane! Where have you been?!’ Jen snaps back to smile mode.

‘My phone’s been ringing nonstop this morning. Hang on, I’ve got to take this. Hello?’ Jane says into her phone. ‘Wait… what?... how many?’ Jane pulls the phone away from her ear. ‘Jun, you are Jun?’

‘I am.’

‘Sorry, Jun,’ Jane says, ‘but we’re gonna have to reschedule your interview.’

‘But Jun’s driven a fair distance to be here with us today.’ Jen says.

‘Look,’ Jane says to Jun as the shouting starts over the phone. ‘Hang on!’ Jane shouts to the caller. ‘Look, we’ll pay for your travel but things are just going crazy downstairs!’

‘Was that Jan I could hear shouting on your phone?’ Jen asks.

‘Yeah, it was Jan all right.’ Jane says.

‘But Jan’s in that lab right there.’ Jen announces.

‘Not anymore she’s not! Floor in there’s just collapsed and she’s now on the floor below us.’

‘What’s below us?’ Jun asks, sensing the panic.

‘Production. And it ain’t looking good.’ Jane says.

The shouting coming from Jane’s phone’s speaker suddenly stops and the line goes dead.

Jun can smell smoke.

‘Jane?’ Jen says quietly.

‘GFU Protocol.’ Jane whispers.

‘What?!’ Jen screeches.

‘Three things: EYS, CtF and HFE.’ June says darkly.

‘You’re joking!’ Jen can’t believe it. ‘Now?! Here?! Today?!’

‘Yeah.’ Jane says. ‘NHT.’

All of the upturned water bottles mounted on their coolers are now bubbling wildly and the shrill building alarms have just started. The sound is intense.

Jane looks frantically from Jen to Jun. Jun to Jen.

‘JEN!’ Jane shouts over the alarm, ‘TAKE JUN TO THE WAREHOUSE! TAKE HIM TO FRANK! THAT’S PROBABLY THE SAFEST PLACE! I’LL GO TO PRODCTION AND…’

‘…AND… WHAT?!’ Jen says.

‘AND SEE IF I CAN GET JAN BACK!’ Jane darts off in the opposite direction from the warehouse.

Towards the stairs that go down to Production.

Jen motions for Jun to follow her on through the corridor and down the stairs to the warehouse and whatever chaos may or may not be going on down there. Jen sprints as fast as she can in her six-inch, power ensemble co-ordinated heels. 6” PEH for short.

Jun abandons his presentation folder and tears off after her.

Windows in doors, one by one, begin to shatter. Growls and shrieks come from the recently unsoundproofed labs, accompanied by the yellow/orange light seen earlier. The sound of exploding water bottles like popcorn on steroids.

‘IS THIS A FIRE?!’ Jun calls to Jen, Jen who’s working up the nerve to take on the smoke-filled stairwell.

‘IT’S WORSE THAN THAT!’

‘WORSE?!’

‘FOLLOW ME!’

Flames lick at their faces as they rapidly descend. The sounds of smashing walls come from where they just were. The alarms go silent as the plastic-insulated circuitry melts.

‘Who’s Frank?!’ Jun asks.

‘HoM’s owner!’

‘Why’s he in the warehouse?!’

‘It’s where he works! HLI!’

‘What?!’

‘He loves it!’

The bottom of the embering stairs put the pair at the entrance to Frank’s office, all fifteen-thousand square feet of it, complete with blue/orange racking and a pallet truck.

Jun steps hesitantly into the warehouse, looking round for this Frank he’s just heard about. Jen wanders in with him, inspecting her suit for scorch marks.

Jun finds the old man standing at his desk, rapidly rifling through a pile of pastel pigmented delivery notes.

‘Frank?’ he says.

‘That’s my name, don’t wear it out.’

‘What are you doing?!’

‘I’m looking for the last glass delivery! Now get over here and help me find it!’ Frank orders.

‘Shouldn’t we be evacuating?!’

‘No point, kid.’ Frank says without looking up.

‘Why?!’

‘They’re coming for us all and we don’t stand a fucking chance.’

Jun isn’t sure he’s heard Frank correctly. He looks to Jen for some sort of corroboration, an indicative reaction to the old man’s words.

The face of the company, Jen nods in agreement with Frank and presents as if all is going exactly as was planned.

How can this guy be so calm? Jun thinks.

‘Aha!’ Franks shouts in triumph, holding up the glass merchant’s bright pink delivery note.

‘Found it!’

‘Found what?’ Jun asks.

Scrutinising the document, Frank shouts, ‘You bastard!’

‘You found a bastard!?’

‘I left John from Production in charge and he’s bought in the wrong fucking glass!’

‘Is this really something worth worrying about right now?!’

Frank drops the delivery notes to the ground at his feet and looks unapologetically at the interviewee.

‘Look, sonny, if you think makin’ mirrors is easy, if you think makin’ mirrors is safe… then you think wrong, ok?’

Jun suspects that there may be more going on here than just a fire. He looks again to Jen, who has lost interest in the conversation and is now in the process of composing a selfie with her phone, timing the exposure to capture at least a couple tongues of fire leaping from the burning stairwell. Unimpressed, he turns his attention back to Frank.

‘What’s John from Production done?’

Frank rolls his eyes when Jen emits a high-pitched squeal as she posts her photographic accomplishment to the HoM Notice Board. It was, literally, a very good selfie.

Three tongues.

‘Last week. I wasn’t here.’ Frank says, ‘Our John boy was doing the ordering while I was in Barbados and not here where I should’ve been… to stop him ordering in the WRONG FUCKING GLASS!’ He shouts to John. Who isn’t present.

Jun’s exasperated expression tells Frank everything he needs to know.

‘Lemme explain.’ Frank says, dropping heavily into his chair pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

Smoking isn’t allowed on company property but today feels like it’s going to be one of those days.

KWI mean?

‘Here at the House o’ fucking Mirrors, we use 1863-2 and that stupid John asshole ordered in 384 grade, like the training I gave him never bloody happened. And now they’re over there in Production… bloody using it!’

Jun still stares blankly at Frank, non-plussed.

‘Ya see, kid, mirrors ain’t natural.’ He starts. ‘We people aren’t supposed to be able to see what we really look like. Now I know you’re gonna say “well what about water, Frank?” but the reflection you see in the water ain’t a true representation of our actual selves, is it?’ Frank blows into the air a cloud of his own smoke. ‘What you see when you look in the water is like a rough idea… a draft of your… being, it ain’t exact.’ He lurches forward dramatically in his chair. ‘But a mirror is exact. And mirrors, well… we’ve convinced ourselves we need them… but they invoke something, they call something… something not of this world, well, it is of this world but they’re not meant to be able to cross over to our side so fucking easily. But when these here things we manufacture crack open a column of earthly light into the underneath void of darkness those fuckers dwell in… well they just can’t help tryin’ their damnedest to get through. They see that light of ours shining down on ‘em and they just come a-runnin’ like somebody’s ringin’ the goddamned dinner bell. And that’s why we need to always use THE CORRECT GRADE OF GLASS! JOHN!’ He pulls a long drag from his cigarette and reclines again. ‘They come right through the cheap shit they’ve been using since… since… JOHN!’

‘Demons coming through the glass? The mirrors?’

Frank looks placidly at Jun.

‘Aye.’ He says.

From the smouldering stairwell, a lava-encrusted hand, the size of the Statue of Liberty’s, bursts out and reaches for anything it can grasp. Jen screams as she realises that she’s become that thing. Holding her tightly, the hand retracts, pulling her with it.

‘WTF!’ She shouts. ‘Get off me!’ Jen beats at the hand with her fists but to no avail. ‘I’ve DMP! She screams as she drops her phone. ‘You’re on fire! Do you have any idea how much this suit cost?! It’s wool! Marino! Wooooooooo-’ and she was gone. Dragged up the burning stairwell, through the door with the clashing yellow silver blind, into the newly sunroofed Production and down, down to the depths of the hellish inferno from whence it came.

‘Ya see that? That’s what happens when you use the cheap glass… JOHN!’

‘Wha-’ Jun attempts. ‘Wha-’ again.

‘At least you can’t accuse him of false advertising.’ Frank says.

‘Him?… Him who?’

‘CtF.’

‘What?’

‘Consigned to Fire, that one’s called. And I’m sure his friends’ll be right behind him.’

‘Friends?!’

‘Y’see, these bastards come through and all their little demonette buddies start pouring out right on through with ‘em like it’s some sort of goddamned field trip day out to the zoo. So, that’s why… my friend… there’s no point in evacuating.’

Jun realises that he’s hearing the voice of experience.

‘You’ve seen this before. You know what’s gonna happen.’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen it happen twice, but that was in the old place before we came here, had the correct grade o’ glass built into the walls so we could contain ‘em if an’ when they ever got through. Which they did. Contingency. Now there’s a fucking new word for you. JOHN! These new prefabricated buildings? They ain’t worth the paper they’re written on.’

‘So, this CtF, he’s not alone you say?’

‘Yeah, EYS and HFE won’t be far behind.’

‘More acronyms? Really?’

‘Yeah, proper names Eat Your Soul and Hell Fire Earl. Acronyms and demons. Don’t know which one’s bloody worse.’

‘Hell Fire Earl? What kind of name is that for a demon?’

‘Hey kid, these are demons we’re dealing with here, ok? They’re not Marketing.’

Jun leans on Franks desk, realising the end is nigh.

‘How log do you think we’ve got?’

‘’Bout ten minutes, I figure. There’s a smoke if you want one.’

Jun pulls one from the packet and muses again after lighting it.

‘I’ll see if I can come up with the thirteen letter acronym.’

Levity. It’s a lifesav-… never mind.

‘A thirteen letter acronym?’ Frank says. ‘Here’s one for you – WTFGTNPRRLTNT*, cause there sure as Hell won’t be!’

* When They Finally Get Through, No Point Running, Relax Like There’s No Tomorrow

The End