The Stapler

A stapler with magic powers drives our unnamed protagonist mad. What horrors await in the Tale of the Stapler from Hell!

March 18

Received a FedEx package today. The return address was smudged to the point of being completely illegible. I was surprised to find nothing inside but an old beat up stapler. Very odd.  Seems to be perfectly functional.

Almost finished my TPS report today.  I hope to finish by the weekend, and then I’ll perhaps ask for my raise.

March 21

Well, after a major revision or two, I finished my TPS report.  It’s pretty impressive.  And long.  (Which reminds me, that old beat up stapler is great.  It managed to staple through all 42 pages.)

Hopefully, the boss will be impressed and set the stage for that raise I deserve. Just a little more, and I’ll be able to afford that BMW down payment. 

March 22

What a total idiot! My boss is a moron. Too short?  I spent two weeks on that report. He didn’t even read it, just measured it with a ruler.

Well, so much for the raise. I was so frustrated I couldn’t work; just spent the rest of the day playing with the junk on my desk.  That old stapler is really a good piece of work: never jams, never sticks, staples through pretty much anything I throw at it. At least something can do its job correctly. 

The day was not a total loss. Belinda, the boss’s secretary, sympathizes with me. She hates him too, says he’s a perfectionist. And the girl is hot.  Maybe I can ask her to lunch or something. 

March 25

That stapler is strange.  i wonder who sent it to me.  Belinda walked into my office today (which is a good sign, I think we’re getting closer, she accepted my lunch yesterday...anyway more on that later) and her stapler had jammed and she wanted to borrow mine.  I started bragging to her that my stapler can staple anything, and that I’ve stapled 50 page reports with it before. She looked kind of funny, and told me that was impossible, that the staples would not be long enough, and that she has to go down to the postal center to staple her biggest reports. 

So, I told her I’d prove it. I opened my printer and counted out 50 pages and with one smooth movement, stapled them together. It was a perfect job, with the staple flat against the paper on both sides. She took the stapler out of my hand and opened it. Removing a staple, she held it up to the stack. It was about a sixteenth of an inch shorter.

I remarked how that seemed impossible, and tried to remove the staple from the page to compare the size. It was tight, and no amount of prying, twisting, or using the staple remover would budge the tines. We started ripping pages off. But the staple, impossible as this seems, seemed to shrink. By the time we were down to five pages, the staple was just as tight as ever. Even with one page, the staple was impossible to remove. 

Belinda and I stared at the page. At this moment, our boss started yelling. I offered Belinda the stapler, but she backed away warily and went to the office next to mine. I put the stapler on my desk and took an early day. 

Now that I look back, it all seems so silly. Maybe I just need some time off. I think I’ll take a vacation. 

April 10th

Back to work after an extended stay at the cabin. Lots of work now. My boss isn’t thrilled with me taking so much time off, but I hadn’t taken a day in over six months, so there was not much he could do.

The stapler was gone when I got back. I should have been relieved, but strangely, I panicked. I ran to Belinda, to see if she had seen it, and found her using it. She looked up guiltily.

I realized that my state of mind was odd, and smiled, and asked about her week, and she asked about my trip, and I said it was good. And then I politely asked if the stapler still hadn’t jammed, and she said that it had been very useful. And then, once again being very polite, I asked for it back. 

For a fraction of a second, her face dropped into a snarl. Quickly regaining her composure, she replied that she was just borrowing it, and she had a lot to staple today, and could she use it just a little longer. I was hesitant, but I agreed as long as she gave it back at the end of the day. 

But she did not. I watched her. At the end of the day, she looked around (not seeing me behind the office plant) and hit it in a drawer. After she left, I went and took it and locked it in my office.

April 11th

Belinda didn’t talk to me all day. I tried to say hi, but she just turned away. Women can be so petty, and they overreact all the time. 

Decided to bring the stapler home tonight in case she tries to break into my office.

April 14th

Decided to hide the stapler in a safe deposit box. I offered yesterday to staple some things for my coworkers, sometime 50, 60, even 100 pages. But they all wanted to touch it afterwards, and would get all offended when I ran away. It’s better this way. It’s safe.

April 15th

I don’t know what I am going to do. The bank security won’t let me back into the bank. The accused me of casing the place, and after my fifth visit to make sure the stapler was still there, pulled me into a back office and said I couldn’t come back to the bank until they ran a background check on me. Well, if they would hire trustworthy people, I wouldn’t have to check so much. The teller in charge of the safe deposit room kept eying my stapler when I was putting it into the box. I bet she set this up to keep me away while she steals it. I bet there’s a lot to staple at a bank.

April 17th

Who am I? After two days away from that wretched device, I realized what a hold it has over my soul.I am obsessing over a common desktop office supply.

I went to Belinda and told her about how I felt. She said she felt the same way when she had it during my vacation, and that’s why she wouldn’t talk to me. Apparently, she actually brought a gun to work one day to force me to give the stapler to back, and realized what a monster she’d become. She calls it a stapler from hell, but I doubt that as I’m sure any reports would burst into flames in such an environment.

I threw away the safe deposit key. I don’t plan on going back. It can rot there forever.

April 20th

Life’s much better. The boss liked my last report, finally. I couldn’t believe it. He even said “With work like this, we’re going to have to pay you more or our competition will steal you away.” I’m sure that raise is coming any day.

And Belinda and I are going out tonight. It’s just a first date, but we seem to be so close after the past events I have described. I mean who knows?

I need to go get ready.

April 25th

The worst has happened. While I was gone to lunch, the bank sent a courier to my office. A note was waiting for me. It ways that although my background check was clear, the bank manager still does not want me in the branch. They apologized for the inconvenience, and decided under the circumstances to send the items in my box to my office via courier.

And beside the note was a box. I haven’t opened it yet. I don’t need to. I can feel it calling to me.

At first, I decided to throw it out the window. I angrily reached for the box, but as I touched it a sharp pain stabbed at my hand. I jerked my hand back quickly and noticed two small spots of blood, about a half inch apart, on my palm.

It’s evil. I can’t explain it, but it’s just wrong. How can such a thing exist.

I will burn it. Tonight. After everyone leaves I will set fire to my office and let it perish in the flames. It came from hell, so let it burn.

[EVIDENCE NOTE]

This journal was found in the office where the victim was found, stapled through the heart to the office door. All attempts to remove the staple from the victim failed and the door eventually was removed.

After cremating the victim, along with the door, in the ashes was found a melted mass of metal, presumably the door handle and hinges, and a perfectly preserved common office staple.

The stapler mentioned was never found, though there was a FedEx receipt laying on the desk. Unfortunately, the tracking number and address were too badly smudged to be legible.

Belinda MyGray has not spoken a word since the event. She is in protective custody at St. John’s Psychological Hospital.

Investigations are continuing. 

Author's Note

A throw away piece, not meant to send to a publisher. Will probably make it on my website sometime.