Graveyard Shift

                I glance down at phone again and away from the crumbling building in front of me, hoping that I’ve made a mistake. This can’t be the right place. I must’ve thought that was an eight instead of a three, or the one was a seven. I must have made a mistake because this old, crumbling factory on the outskirts of town absolutely cannot be the place I’m interviewing at.

                My stomach churning, I step towards the door. This is insane. I don’t even know why I’m doing this anymore. Nobody wants to hire me. It’s a side effect of worker’s comp, I guess. They all think I’m defective because of my bad ankle. I’m not—my ankle’s healed just fine. It’s strong again. Those doctors knew what they were doing, after all. But on an application, they see that I’ve been damaged in the past year, and that I had to quit because my last job managed to shatter my ankle. I guess it’s all for the better, though. I’d rather they not hire me for my ankle than my arm.

                Taking another deep breath to steady my nerves, I open the door. There’s a hallway that looks like it came right out of the sixties. The walls are warm wood paneling, and the carpet is a deep red. It’s a stark contrast to the outside of the building, but it’s still a little eerie. I shudder a little, thinking of the warning in the job posting, then push forward into the building.

                The posting for this job was the strangest thing I had ever seen. It included a one sentence description and an address, but nothing else. There were no hours of operation listed, no name of a boss or their contact information, no mention of the salary, and no job requirements. Instead, the posting contained one sentence: “Team seeking full-time associate who isn’t afraid of ghosts.” That sentence was enough to send a chill up my back, but in the end, desperation won out in the end. I can’t live on unemployment. I need a job, and coming here to ask a few questions is the closest I’ve gotten to an interview in a long time.

                I’m at a set of frosted glass doors. I’m scared to go in, but after everything that I’ve been through, I know I have to do this. I pull them open to see a room with a large round desk in the middle and a few chairs lining the walls. There’s a white girl with red hair sitting behind the desk, casually filing her nails. It seems so ridiculously normal that I almost laugh out loud.

                The girl didn’t seem to hear me open the door, so I walk up to the desk and clear my throat. “Hi, there,” she says, her voice sunny even though she doesn’t look up or otherwise seem to care about me. “How can I direct you today?”

                “Um,” I stutter, fiddling with the strap of my purse, “I’m here about the job posting.”

                Her hand freezes in mid-stroke. Slowly, she takes her eyes off her fingernails and turns her head to face me. “The job posting?” she asks quietly. Her eyes dance with some sort of emotion, but I have no idea what it is. It scares me a little.

                “Yeah. There really wasn’t much info online,” I say, my fingers searching out my canister of pepper spray. “So I thought I’d come in and ask.”

                Then, the girl does something even stranger.

                She squeals loudly and starts clapping her hands.

                “Really?” she exclaims, her pitch escalating rapidly as my fingers slip off the canister. “You’re here about the job? Oh dear, it’s been online so long we had almost given up hope!” Now she’s squealing more and slapping the desk. “Oh, Mr. Barney will love this! He really will!”

                She’s so excited that I’m starting to feel guilty about wearing a sleeveless shirt. This job is obviously a big deal, otherwise this girl wouldn’t be making such a fuss about it.

                “Tell me,” she gushes, putting her elbows on the desk and leaning forward with her head in her hands, “how long ago did you see it? And are you a real human? Are all humans missing a limb? How long have you been human? Oh, wait until you meet Mr. Barney, he’s going to be so pleased with you—and look! Mr. Barney! Mr. Barney, did you see? This nice woman is here about the job! Isn’t that just something?”

                I try to say something—anything—but my mouth is too dry to even consider forming words. I try to at least move, but my legs are too wobbly to listen. Mr. Barney just came through the door. He walked through it, but he didn’t open it. He walked through the closed door. The word “ghost” flits back into my head, and I start to feel dizzy.

                Ghosts.

                Mr. Barney looks towards me, and his eyes widen. We stare at each other for a few moments. He seems middle-aged. He’s bald, he’s wearing thick glasses, and he has a bit of a potbelly. His facial expression is so exaggerated, he looks almost comical. In fact, if he hadn’t just walked through a solid door, I might have laughed at him and his startled expression. Instead, I’m paralyzed.

                “Oh,” he says quietly. “Cassie, I believe Henderson is having a problem with the copier. Can you go assist him?”

                She nods excitedly, glances over at me with a small wave, and then bounds through the wall.

                Mr. Barney looks at me timidly. “She’s quite an excitable girl, you know. I’m afraid she doesn’t always think before speaking.”

                “Who does?” I say, almost breathless. I’m terrified, sure, but I’m also not. I can’t explain it—I’m not even sure it’s fear, exactly.

                “I apologize for frightening you,” Mr. Barney says, moving over to one of the chairs against the wall. “I’ve grown careless. Our advertisement doesn’t seem to have garnered much attention. You’ve been the first to come in.” He sits and gestures to a seat near him.

                “I’m not surprised. It was a little weird. There wasn’t a job description, and it mentioned ghosts.”

                He chuckles as I sit down. “Yes, I suppose that was a poor choice. However, it did succeed in getting you here.”

                “Only because nobody else wants me. I just got off worker’s comp. You know how it is. Well, at least I assume you do.”

                “I understand the concept, at least. You were injured. I assume it wasn’t your arm.” He gestures vaguely to where my right arm should be. “It looks far too clean to be recent.”

                It’s my turn to laugh nervously as I rub my shoulder. “Yeah, this thing’s been gone for a long time. Anyways, worker’s comp is a long story. Let’s just say my ankle’s half metal now. So that’s the real problem, I guess. I can’t do anything too strenuous, and there aren’t very many jobs that I can apply for what with only one arm. That’s why I’m here. Ghosts are nothing compared to unemployment.”

                We smile at each other. Even though he’s a ghost, I think I like Mr. Barney. He’s nice, and he’s at least trying to make up for nearly scaring me into the next life.

                “But,” I say carefully, “I still don’t know what this job will entail. That’s really why I came. There was no description.”

                Mr. Barney sighs. “Ah, yes. The description. First, let me explain what our company does. We have found that many of us become bored with life. Most humans don’t wish to associate with us, but we still crave interaction, so we’ve set up a little business. We provide services, and it eases our boredom. Since the 1990s, we’ve shifted our focus to the internet. Setting up a website here, managing a forum there. We’ve been hired out by many companies over the years, but at times, there are… difficulties.” He removes his glasses and pinches his nose. “You understand. This time, it was I who made the mistake, but in the past there have been many others who have made such mistakes. Many of us do not understand human life, and in order to truly learn how to interact with humans I believe it would be best to learn from one.”

                “So… you just want me to teach everyone how to be human?”

                Mr. Barney smiles, and he looks so old. I suddenly realize that he probably is old—possibly hundreds of years. “Yes, that’s exactly right. We will pay you for your time, make no mistake. As for your pay, we are willing to give you half our profit. It would be more, but we have utilities and an emergency fund—“           

                “Wait. You would pay me half? I mean, I’ll take the job anyways, but how much money are we talking here?”

                He smiles brightly and gives me a figure that makes my head spin. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” I sputter, extending my hand for him to shake. “Liza Tyler at your service.”

                This is going to be the best job ever.