Apps just appeared on the screen without warning, sometimes, begging you to pay for them. Howard swiped past what was either an elderly woman with chickenpox or a slightly decayed horse’s head.
“It’s down here.” Bob nodded, quickly easing from polite interest to polite boredom. By the time Howard had swiped to what he was looking for, Bob was poised for escape.
And the new shrubs in the yard, Howard’s accomplishment for the three-day weekend, were kind of anticlimactic, Howard had to admit. “Is that Meredith? I wonder how the reunion went.” Bob nodded to Howard and was around the corner.
Howard nodded too, sitting back down at his terminal. On with the To-Do List. He reached to set his phone between the In Box and the mousepad, but brought it back. Just what WAS that ugly….
His head went back, and he ran his tongue across his upper teeth. A face, but WHAT a face: scarred and scowling, it glared out over the letters RCFT. Well, weeding apps would lend some entertainment at lunch. Time to attend to the bigger screen now.
Given the sheer number of apps on his phone, Howard might not have remembered the newcomer had he not gone to Business Thai for lunch. He had their app, and as he swiped around to cover the cost of hot and sour soup with three egg rolls, he found the face again, sticking out among the brightly colored squares like a sore thumbnail. Paying, he moved to a booth to set down his tray and, like eighty percent of his fellow diners, stared into his phone.
What was RCFT? One way to find out. He tapped the face.
It rose screaming from the screen, its voice something like a woman and something like a sandstorm. “Free at last! My revenge begins with you!”
Each word was louder. Howard slapped his hands over his ears. That hurt. He started to put his fork down but remembered he had soup. He stared at the metal in his hands.
Spikes, some barbed, sprouted from his fingers and palms. There was blood. Automatically reaching to check his ears, he stabbed them again. What had seemed a useful super power was apparently meant to hurt him, not anyone else.
“Feel the pain I know so well!” screeched his phone. “All will burn alike soon!”
His hands did burn: razor blades were replacing his nails. In growing pain, Howard thrust his hands into his soup, hoping it was more sour than hot.
His screams as the soup ignited nearly drowned out the phone’s laughter. Hot and sour flames, pouring up his arms, caught in his shirt and cardigan, melting his pocket protector. Leaping up, he tore at the garments, shredding them and much of the skin beneath. People were staring, not seeing that their own bowls of soup were emitting black smoke.
Howard plunged into the street. Pedestrians scattered screeching or, from a safe distance, gawked at the half-naked burning man dashing up Walton Street. Sheer habit made Howard veer left at the corner. The office: he knew where the first aid kit was and maybe the flames would set off the sprinklers, dousing the flames gnawing his muscles. (He knew—now—that swatting at them just rendered more flesh available to them.)
Kim dove from the security kiosk, and apparently locked the turnstile. Howard tried to jump, but found his fire-gnawed legs unreliable. He crawled under, realizing he could never have jumped it even without the flames.
The elevator opened as he reached it. “Is that Howard, from Advancement?”
“He’s naked! Look at that….”
Howard started to explain, but the door slammed as someone decided to try a different floor. Looking around the lobby, he dove for the fire door. The stairs would take him….
He stared at the fire hose and, sobbing, lunged for it. He put out his hands, saw those hands, and pulled them back. The hose would be shredded before he could do any good with it. He threw himself on the heavy metal wheel instead. Start the water, get in front of it: that was his whole To-Do List.
The wheel squealed. Something else creaked. The hose was moving by itself, uncoiling from the wheel like a snake. For a moment, he sagged with relief, but then pulled away as he realized where that nozzle was headed.
His burning body arched. “That…is not…going to fit!”
“Does that matter to me?” screeched his tormentor.
The wheel spun without his help. Howard watched blood spurt from dozens of cuts on his swelling body. The world went black as the torrent burst from his mouth, drowning screams.
“More water, sir?”
Howard shook his shoulders and then his head. “No. I’m good.”
He was in the café, phone in hand, his soup still steaming. A voice whispered, “This concludes your Random Curse For Today. Come back tomorrow for another horrid adventure.”
THAT was it. Howard set the phone down. Least lame app he’d ever bought, too. Every day, he could escape from cubicle, commute, and the tedium of normal life. Sighing happily, he dipped his spoon into the soup.
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