TRICK OR TREAT
I.
The creepy keyboard version of Fur Elise blared over the stereo as I carved pumpkins to be displayed on the porch. You see, Halloween's approaching in three days. I haven't even decorated the house with cobwebs but I got two tombs and three medical mannequins-that should scare the shit out of the kids. As of now, I have four pumpkins waiting for a burning candle to show their unique crooked smile-and I'm busy with the fifth one. Carving has always offered an escape in my hectic editor life. Thank goodness I've got an excuse to take a breather because I caught a 40 degrees Celsius fever last week and Shin-the name of the publishing house where I work-follows a weird tradition of taking the Halloween week into special "consideration"-in other words, all the employees are granted a one-week vacation. Guess the person who is smirking and flipping her hair right now. The odds are exactly in my favor-I really need the two weeks to heal and find tranquility to keep myself productive.
I was about to carve the left eye of the pumpkin when my lively ringtone pierced through my spine-chilling instrumental. I placed the carving knife beside my unfinished work on the table and fished the phone out of my jean's pocket. I rolled my eyes from the moment I saw the caller's ID. With an annoyed expression, I answered the call.
"Hello Caroline!" A cheerful voice greets me, making me regret my actions earlier. Why did I even bother to answer this nonsense call? I'd rather carve a pumpkin than talk with this brilliant idiotic character.
"Million seller, state your intentions or else I'll end this call." I replied nonchalantly.
"That's a relief. You're already restored to health, I see. I want to greet you my scary editor whose birthday is three days from now. You're gonna be 32 years old soon. What do you want?" Oh, I forgot to mention, Halloween is the day I was born.
"I want a penthouse and your manuscripts on time." I answered with a straight face, even though he can't see on the other line. I heard him laugh.
"I knew you're gonna say that. Speak of the devil; I want you to come over to my house today. I'm having hesitations about the manuscript." I massaged my head upon hearing his request-it doesn't sound like one though.
"Did you read malicious comments again? Give me thirty minutes." I ended the call immediately as I ran towards the bathroom to take a fast bath. After 15 minutes, I am rummaging in my closet for clothes while combing my hair. Thirty minutes later, I'm in my white t-shirt, black ripped jeans and brown Timberlands. With my galaxy-themed drawstring bag clutched tightly on my right hand, I ran towards the train station-which is thankfully meters away from my house.
With an uneven breath, I arrived at the station. I immediately bought my ticket and take a seat at the bench, waiting for the train. The next train will arrive for another thirty minutes so I decided to shut the world out by listening BTS' new album through my trusty earphones.
As I listened to the first song called Serendipity, I remembered my original intentions. I dreamed to be an author but the rejection of my manuscripts is my harsh reality. Somehow, I was determined back then that I ended up applying as an editor with no journalism-related experience at all. The CEO, Sir Hope Shin accepted me despite the fact that I'm an evident liability to his publishing business. In order not to be a laughingstock, I exerted much premium effort to master editing. The aftermath is that I'm an ace to the said field now. The first and only author assigned to me was Million Seller, the one who ringed me up earlier. As I described him earlier, he's a brilliant idiot. He can come up with unique and original ideas in a short period of time and his literary works are a hit, in fact he's one of our million-selling authors-that's why he's brilliant. On the other hand, he's too caught up with the pessimistic side of life-making him a complete idiot. I can't remember his name, even though he's the only author assigned to me. The sole reason why I only get to supervise Million Seller is that he's a huge pain in the ass and he's been tossed around in the editing department before he was assigned to me. He got this weird personality and creepy side whenever the deadline is approaching and no one seems willing to handle the peculiar guy. The publishing house can't afford to lose an asset like him so out of desperation, I was assigned to this guy. Luckily, I'm crazy enough to handle him well.
