Wiley E. Suzzi #3

Monsters and Mayhem

Wiley E. Suzzi was already regretting her decision to come into the office early. The Florida humidity was curling her hair in all the wrong directions, and she hadn’t yet had her coffee. She was still reeling from the bizarre but strangely exhilarating lunch with Pam Blondi the day before. The way Pam had listened, the way her pen glided so elegantly over the paper—there was something magnetic about her. But there was also that strange salad dressing and the way the room had seemed to glow by the time the meeting was over.

“Maybe I’m just overthinking it,” Wiley muttered to herself as she pushed open the door to her office.

The first thing she noticed was the rose.

It lay in the center of her desk like a scene from a mystery novel: a single red rose, its petals lush and dewy, accompanied by a small white envelope. Wiley froze in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob.

“Okay,” she said slowly, “this is either very romantic or very creepy.”

She approached the desk cautiously, as though the rose might leap up and attack her. Picking it up, she inhaled its sweet fragrance before opening the envelope. Inside was a card, blank except for a single heart drawn in bold, red ink. No signature. No explanation.

Wiley turned the card over, searching for clues. “Well, this isn’t unsettling at all,” she said, setting it down.

“Morning, Ms. Suzzi!” her assistant Sandy chirped as she bustled into the outer office.

“Sandy, did you see who left this?” Wiley held up the rose and card.

Sandy shook her head, her ponytail bouncing. “No idea. Oh, but Pam Blondi sent breakfast for you! She said it was a thank-you for yesterday’s meeting.”

Wiley glanced at the desk where a neatly wrapped breakfast burrito sat waiting. The foil gleamed temptingly, and her stomach growled in response. “Well, at least someone around here knows how to brighten a girl’s day,” she said, unwrapping the burrito.

The first bite was perfection: warm eggs, gooey cheese, and just the right amount of spice. Wiley sighed in contentment, momentarily forgetting the mysterious rose.

But by the third bite, something began to feel… off.

At first, it was subtle—a tingling in her fingers and toes, like the aftermath of an overzealous foot massage. Then the office seemed to shift. The walls wavered as if made of jelly, and the ceiling stretched upward, morphing into a swirling vortex of color.

Wiley blinked hard, but the world only grew stranger. Her desk elongated into an impossible spiral, and her computer monitor started whispering her name.

“Uh… Sandy?” Wiley called, her voice trembling.

Sandy poked her head in, her smile immediately replaced by concern. “Ms. Suzzi? Are you okay? You look… sweaty.”

Before Wiley could answer, the monsters arrived.

They burst through the jelly-like walls, their glowing eyes and razor-sharp claws making Sandy scream and drop her clipboard. The creatures roared, their voices a cacophony of growls and screeches that rattled Wiley’s bones.

She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Looking down, she gasped in horror—her legs were gone, replaced by a mass of writhing octopus tentacles.

“This is not happening,” Wiley whispered, gripping the edges of her desk with her newly transformed tentacle-arms.

Sandy rushed to her side, oblivious to the monsters but clearly alarmed by Wiley’s thrashing. “Ms. Suzzi, what’s wrong?”

“They’re here!” Wiley shrieked, pointing a tentacle at the nearest beast. “The monsters! Don’t just stand there—help me fight them!”

Sandy looked around, her eyes wide. “Uh… what monsters?”

Wiley grabbed a lamp with one tentacle and hurled it at the nearest creature. The lamp shattered against the wall, but the monster seemed unfazed. “They’re everywhere!” she screamed. “You can’t see them? They’re enormous!”

Another staff member poked their head in, looking alarmed. “What’s going on?”

“She’s hallucinating!” Sandy cried. “Call an ambulance!”

“I’m not hallucinating!” Wiley yelled, flailing her tentacles. “This has to be a flashback. That acid I took in the ’50s… I knew it would come back to haunt me!”

The paramedics arrived in record time, wheeling in a gurney as Wiley continued to thrash and shout about monsters. They tried to reassure her, but she wasn’t having it.

“Don’t touch me!” she barked, slapping one paramedic with a slimy tentacle. “You might be one of them!”

The paramedic, to his credit, simply nodded. “Okay, ma’am. We’re just here to help. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Somewhere between the office and the ambulance, word spread that President-elect Donold J. Grump was being rushed to the hospital. By the time the ambulance pulled onto the highway, a convoy of reporters was in hot pursuit, their cars weaving dangerously through traffic.

Inside the ambulance, Wiley continued her tirade. “They’re everywhere!” she yelled, staring at the ceiling. “And they’re working with the witches and demons! We’re doomed!”

The paramedics exchanged nervous glances, one of them jotting down notes on a clipboard. “Possible psychotic episode,” he muttered under his breath.

By the time they reached the hospital, the parking lot was swarming with reporters. Cameras clicked furiously as Wiley was wheeled out, her eyes wide with terror.

“Monsters!” she screamed, pointing at the journalists. “Witches! Demons! They’re all here!”

One particularly bold reporter stepped forward, only for Wiley to hiss at him like a feral cat. The poor man stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Inside the hospital, doctors and nurses scrambled to sedate Wiley, who continued to flail and shout about the creatures attacking her. Meanwhile, outside, the media frenzy reached a fever pitch. Rumors swirled about what had caused the incident, with some speculating it was an assassination attempt and others blaming Grump’s mysterious mushrooms.

As the sedative finally took effect, Wiley’s tentacles faded back into arms, and the monsters dissolved into the fluorescent hospital lighting. Her last coherent thought before slipping into unconsciousness was of the red rose and the heart on the card.

Who sent it? she wondered, the question echoing in her mind like a riddle she might never solve.