Synergeist: The Haunted Cubicle Read Free

being properly afraid of death. It’s often what you were not watching out for that gets you. Like the car that runs you down because you jumped out in the street to avoid the piano falling out of the window or choking to death on a bit of organic goat cheese which you were eating to avoid slowly destroying your body with unhealthy food.
    She watched him. His aura seemed familiar to her as though she already knew it. She watched the steady pulse and swirl of the patterns and colors that were Martin. He seemed lonely and discontent. Was it insanity-induced delusion, or did her new senses afford her an interpretation of the auras, as though reading cosmic body language?
    I should go visit him. The thought gave her a thrill of fear and excitement. Then it occurred to her that she had not moved from the spot where she first became aware of her new condition.
    Could she move around in this holographic Color Field painting? Maybe she was stuck in this spot. If she moved around, how would it work? Would she sprout ectoplasmic legs and walk? Would she float around all ghostly, or would she disappear from one place and reappear elsewhere in an instant?
    She tried to picture herself right outside Martin’s cubicle. Nothing happened. She pictured legs, sprouted a couple of appendages, and moved them across the floor in a walking motion. This produced the sensation of an interaction but no movement. She focused on moving toward Martin, and she moved. It surprised her when she bumped into her cubicle wall. Wasn’t flowing through walls as if they weren’t there supposed to be a perk of being a ghost? That’s how it worked in the movies. She felt a strong resistance as she touched the wall. She experimented. With force (force of what, will?) she pushed her way into the wall, but it was painful. At least she interpreted the sensation as pain. She had no doubt it was bad for her.
    She could follow the path her living self had followed, but what fun would that be? Instead she floated up to the space beneath the ceiling but above the cubicle wall and then began to move towards Martin. As she did, she experienced a rather curious sensation, as if being drained. Did she only imagine it? She didn’t think so. Slight at first but growing the further she went. She stopped, and the increase ceased. She hovered a moment to be sure. It didn’t stop or decrease as the fatigue of a physical exertion did. She didn’t recover by holding still. A steady discharge continued, as if it took an effort to hold still. If moving around used this much energy, then so much for carefree travel as part of her retirement lifestyle.
    What happened if she used too much? Could the dead die? Then what? Wake up in Purgatory II where the dead go when they die? There should be a manual, dammit, with “Don’t Panic” in large, friendly letters on the cover. In a panic, she retreated to her cubicle. As she did so, the draining receded and then ceased. Something about her cubicle sustained her. Stuck for eternity in a six by six box. Perhaps this was Hell after all.
    She monitored her sensations while she explored her immediate surroundings. She moved toward and away from different objects. The number of objects, each affecting the flow in differing amounts, made it a complicated procedure. After floating about a while, she concluded that she drew life support (death support?) from the items in the cubicle she touched the most. Her recently upgraded keyboard, mouse, and computer tower were good energy sources, as were the two sculptures on her bookcase. But the best was her chair. She supposed that was because she had the largest contact area for the most time with her chair. Newsflash! Sitting on your rear could save your life, story at 11. She sat on her chair. It felt much better sitting in it than it had when she was living. The stupid ergonomic chair did not accommodate people who were barely five feet tall. She sat and pondered.
    Well, this was motivation to