The Missing Floor

by Jeremy Kerns

In all my time here at Thotplaces, and with all the things I’ve seen, it may be the one thing that I haven’t seen that bothers me the most.

That thing, it turns out, is the Thirteenth Floor. Yes, yes, I know, the number 13 is supposed to be all witchcrafty and weird and scary and all that other stuff. I choose to believe that it’s only a coincidence. You can believe whatever you want. All I know is that I have tried, repeatedly, to get onto the Thirteenth Floor and have yet to succeed.

It is there. I know that it is there. The Thotplaces Central Tower is 29 stories high. The floors are listed on a sign in the lobby – 29 floors. You can stand on the street, look up and count 29 floors. So it’s there. I can see the windows for that floor from outside. But on the lobby sign, there is no department listed for Floor 13. It’s merely blank. The elevators have no button for 13 – they simply go from 12 to 14. I have climbed the stairs, only to find a blank wall where the door to floor 13 should be.

It’s easy to dismiss, I suppose, if you consider that some architects are superstitious and leave out the 13th floor. It could be assumed that while the building had a thirteenth floor built, it was later sealed off and never used. That’s possible. But I’ve seen people at the windows. I’ve seen lights go on and later turn off on the floor. The floor is in use. By someone.

What I have never seen is a piece of mail come through my department for someone on floor 13. No one I ask seems to realize there is a floor 13. I’m beginning to think I may be the only person here, other than the mysterious denizens of Floor 13, who is aware of it at all.

I don’t know why, but this has become the most important thing to me right now. I lay in bed at night thinking about it. I have drawn up my own sketches and diagrams and schematics based on what I know of the building and its layout. The only relief I see is finally finding my way on there.

So, this is my stated goal now. I am going to find a way onto Floor 13. I will figure out who is on that floor, and why, and what reason they have for making access so difficult. Because if I don’t, I may wind up as crazy as everyone else here seems to be.

 

Where It All Began

by Jeremy Kerns

I don’t think I’ve ever told you about my first day at Thotplaces Inc, but I guess that’s as good a place as any to start.

After a lengthy interview process that involved seven managers and twelve applications, I received the call on a Friday that I had been hired and was to report to work in the mailroom first thing Monday morning. As luck would have it, Monday morning was a depressing gray drizzle – the kind that seems to soak into your bones and fog your head. I didn’t care much then – I was excited. But given some distance and knowing what I know now, this was ominous foreshadowing for things to come.

So there I stood at the bus stop, watching drops gather and fall off the end of my nose and avoiding sprays of puddle water flying off passing cars. I stood there for an hour like that, until a sweet old lady reminded me that the buses didn’t run anymore. I looked up at the sign and noted with some amusement the words “No Standing”. Of course, this is a company town and the public transportation had been shut down in the budget rollbacks of ’08.

I walked the remaining nineteen blocks to the Corporate Headquarters Tower and slipped my way across the lobby floor to the reception desk. The disinterested hag of a girl behind the counter wrinkled her nose at my rain-soaked appearance when I told her my name and she pointed at the elevators without saying a word. I walked past a sign on the wall that said the mailroom was in sub-basement M (short for Mail, I guess) and took the elevator down.

Upon exiting the elevator, my first thought was that the mailroom had been relocated. There were lines of desks running down each side of the corridor as far as the eye could see, every one covered in stacks of envelopes nearly to the ceiling. The lights were mostly off, save for the handful that flickered annoyingly here and there. I wandered the stacks for several minutes, looking for signs that someone had been there in the past decade. I didn’t find any. Finally, there was a ding from the elevator and a man with a handlebar mustache and small round spectacles stepped into the room.

“I’m Garvin D. Busslepot, Mail Manager. You must be Jeremy.” He said, extending his hand. His voice was like an announcer from a 1940s radio broadcast.

“Yes, I am. Sorry I’m late.”

He didn’t reply. He just walked over to a small rusty basket on wheels and pointed to a stack of envelopes on the desk nearest us.

“Load those up and start delivering.”

I looked at the first piece, while he stood nearby watching me like a creep, and noticed the date stamp was 1976. I showed it to him.

“We haven’t had a Mailboy in a while.” He said, almost as though he were apologizing to me.

I shrugged, loaded the cart and began to deliver the envelopes.

A lot has changed since then. There’s now four other people in the mailroom with me. But, delivering 2.3 million envelopes around the Thotplaces Complex was probably the best way to really get a feel for what this place is like.

So stick with us and we’ll try to give you some sense of what it’s like around here, too.

Fifty and Feeling Fine

by Jeremy Kerns

Well, this marks my 50th blog post for Thotplaces and my 7th in as many days.

I’m finally, after two years, starting to feel better about my writing on here. Maybe that’s because I’m not over-thinking it now or spending all my time trying to figure out what people want to read. I’m just writing what entertains me at this point and hoping that it entertains others as well.

After a week of daily posts to get back into the swing of things, I’ll be slowing my output now to take some pressure off and to free up a little time for other work, such as my novel. But, I promise to keep a much more regular schedule on here. I will post at least once a week – if not a bit more – for at least the remainder of 2013.

As a quick reminder, we would love to have you like us on Facebook. You can find us here. We’ve added a new manager to the page to try and keep it fresh with additional links and funny stuff. And we would love your feedback on how we’re doing.

In conclusion, I want to thank everyone for reading and look forward to the opportunity to continue entertaining you in the future.

Quit Planning and Write Already

by Jeremy Kerns

I tend to think of myself as the King of Procrastination. Truthfully, I’m more like the lazy, drunken party-girl heiress of Procrastination. If you are anything like me, you think about writing, you have ideas for writing, you plan on writing – but, somehow, you never seem to actually write. If that’s your problem, too, then I’ve made this post for you. I want you to do these things, in this order, right now (well, after you finish reading this post, let’s say):

Clear a Spot
I mean this in every sense of the phrase. Clear a spot on your daily calendar, clear a spot for a workspace, clear a spot in your mind for the writing you are going to do. Maybe this will take some conscious decision-making on your part. Maybe you already have these spots cleared and just never do anything with them. Today you start doing something. Clear them and then use them.

Get Your Idea
Do you have an idea already in your head? Great, go on to the next part. If not, Google (or Bing or whatever) ‘writing prompt’ or take another story and imagine how you would tell it differently. Whatever you do, just pick something quick or you’ll waste all your cleared time looking for something. Right now, it doesn’t matter what the idea is or how good it might be, we’re working on action.

Set a Goal
You need to set a reasonable goal for daily writing. Keep it simple, keep it within reach, but make it explicit. 250 words? 1000 words? A chapter? 30 consecutive minutes? Whatever. Just pick it and write it down on a post-it note, notecard, scrap of paper – anything – and post it within view. Tell yourself, everyday, that you will hit that number (or goal)*.

Just Write
I don’t know what your process is. Perhaps you brainstorm or outline or just wing it. For the purposes of this exercise, I want you to do this: write first to hit your goal, then do whatever your process is. That is to say, if you like to brainstorm ideas, you should write until you hit your goal FIRST and then brainstorm what you will do tomorrow. That means you avoid the process today (because today is your first day, right?) and actually put some words down on paper (or screen).

Don’t Go Back
Some people are perfectionists. Some lack confidence. I happen to be all of those people in one. The key is to keep pushing forward and do not waste time going over old stuff until you’re done.

Rinse
After you hit your goal, and perhaps after you do your process, step away from those cleared spaces and do something else. Feel good that you did something and move on. Confidence, positivity and rest are all your friends during this time.

Repeat
Do this everyday. Consciously. With purpose. Do not be deterred. Even a small block of time devoted daily to writing, or a relatively small word count, will add up over time. Set another goal to repeat this process every day for a month. Eventually, this will become a habit.

Action. Progress. Writing. You can do it – do it now.

*As an aside, I’ve been using yarny.me for writing and I’ve found it to be very useful. Not only can you track word counts very easily (and they appear pretty accurate), you can also set word-count goals for your writing and see your progress visually. And it’s free.

Movie Quotes to Live By

by Jeremy Kerns

Hollywood!I’m sure it’s well known that Hollywood is full of Zen masters. And it is the wisest and most learned of these that provide us with the quality films that grace your local cineplex every weekend. These true geniuses… ugh, no, sorry, I just can’t do that anymore. I hate lying.

But, that being said, I would argue that every once in a while a nugget of truth or gem of wisdom falls out of the cesspool of narcissism and greed that is America’s movie industry. Truths that transcend the banality of the moving picture shows that contain them.

So, without further ado, here’s a list of some quotes to live by:

 1. “Do. Or do not. There is no try.” (The Empire Strikes Back, 1980)

The sticky wicket that is Star Wars philosophy aside, I do believe we have to approach things with a belief that we can accomplish them. Maybe we succeed, maybe we fail. But we cannot tip-toe through our lives like Tiny Tim in the tulips, trying to do things without putting a real effort into it. I’m really bad about this. I tell myself more often than I truly care to admit that “I’m trying to do this” or “I’m trying to make that happen”. But really all I’m doing is thinking and planning and scheming and wasting time. You can’t pretend to do it. You can’t do it without believing that you can do it. Do it or don’t.

2. “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” (Forrest Gump, 1994)

As humans, it’s very easy to take a myopic view of whatever your current situation is. Good or bad, it can be difficult to remember that life is a series of moments and those moments can vary greatly from one another. Remember Mr. Gump’s statement as often as you can. Savor the taste of those sweet moments, choke down the less desirable ones, and keep reaching for the next moment with a sense of wonder and adventure. Oh, and life will make you fat.

3. “If you build it, he will come.” (Field of Dreams, 1989)

I’m going to stretch this one a bit, so try to stay with me. I think the deeper meaning here is shared by this article at Cracked.com. In a nutshell, if you want something – money, friendship, success, love, respect, whatever – you have to act first and deserve it. You don’t achieve by just being a pleasant person or because you want it really bad. People need things and if you don’t deliver for them in some way that is unique to you, they will go elsewhere and you’ll be left without whatever it is you want. It’s a hard truth, as the article says (much better than I do here, I might add), but it’s a truth that is worth learning sooner rather than later. Quit wishing and hoping really hard and start building.

4. “Clever girl.” (Jurassic Park, 1993)

Two lessons from this simple phrase. Girls are smart and should you ever find yourself being hunted by velociraptors in an island jungle, watch out for the one on your left. Hmmm, now that I think about it, I could switch the terms “girls” and “velociraptors” in the previous sentence and probably still make a valid point.

5. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” (The Princess Bride, 1987)

Professionals, especially those self-employed, take note. This is how you package yourself; make a brand out of you that people can identify with. It’s short, it’s well-rehearsed, it identifies the man, it has a clear statement of intent. Your brand is more than your business card and letterhead. It’s your willingness to slay the people who murder your family.

I’m sure there’s plenty more quotes out there that you can live by, but seriously, at some point you have to stop lugging that giant book of quotes around and start living. So go, my minions, and do it, build it, taste it, watch out for the one on the left and let the world know you have a mission.

That’s all folks.

Career Building: How To Be A Mad Scientist

by Jeremy Kerns

Position: Mad Scientist
Halloween
What Kind of Wage You Can Expect: Whatever those poor fools will give you to disarm your Death Ray

Job Outlook in The Next Ten Years: Greater with every day your superior intellect is mocked and ignored

Requirements:
First, it’s terribly important that everyone knows you are a doctor. You needn’t actually possess a doctorate, of course (but a fancy looking paper with a shiny seal mounted on the wall never hurt). You must – I repeat MUST – begin adding Dr. to the front of your name at all times. Once you begin receiving junk mail addressed to you as Dr. [insert your name here], then you know it has stuck.

Second, and this is vital, you need a secret lair. Ideally, this would be an island as you’ll want to be in international waters and not subject to any particular laws. You also want to make access difficult for would-be heroes and secret agents hellbent on stopping your world domination. Consider shark-infested waters or perhaps somewhere in the arctic circle. Or both, if you want to keep separate summer and winter homes.

I know what you’re saying. “But Jeremy, how can I afford an island?” Shut up and quit whining. It’s beneath you.

You have two options. If you’re already wealthy, then just buy it. If you’re not, then you’re going to need…

An army of goons. These can come in many different flavors. Hired goons (of the flesh-and-blood variety) are probably the best, but they require food, rest and – most of all – money. Other suitable options, depending on your area of mad scientific expertise, is either robots or zombies or animal-people hybrids. Just remember, robots need a lot of power and tend to let you down when they are needed the most. Zombies need plenty of brains to keep them strong and they are notoriously bad at following orders. Animal-people hybrids will also need food and rest, but if you let them share the weakest member of the pack (when that member falls in your regular death-cage match) then they should have enough to sustain them.

You’re going to need beakers, a fair number of Tesla coils and at least one dedicated henchman or assistant. These can be purchased for fairly cheap at government auctions, going-out-of-a-life-of-crime sales, or Craigslist. Shop around for the best deal. Don’t be afraid to buy gently used items.

Mad Scientists
Finally, you need a plan for world domination. No, no, not that one you’re thinking of right now. In fact, it won’t be the second, third or fourth, either. You need to dig deep. It has to be complicated. If it doesn’t involve you getting caught, then escaping, then holding people in mortal danger, then destroying a national monument to show you mean business, then faking your death, then taking control of one of the world’s important infrastructure systems – well, then you’re just not trying hard enough.

Recommended Course of Action: Your resume is a little weak in certain areas, so I recommend you intern for the summer with an established mad scientist. He will mentor you, challenge you, flog you and finally be destroyed by you.

And then you will be ready to do science to the world.

The Thing in the Attic

by Jeremy Kerns

Spooky Door

It was late morning on a Wednesday, as I was working on my latest piece in our upstairs bedroom-turned-studio, when I heard the creak from the hallway. It was a slight metallic creak, like the spring in a mattress. I must admit I thought very little of it at first until I was struck by the realization that my wife could not have returned home from the baby shower so soon after we last spoke on the phone. A tinge of fear crept up my spine as I laid the brush down and held as still as I could, waiting for another sound. After several seemingly endless moments of holding my breath and resisting all urges to turn around to face the open door and the hallway beyond, I heard it again.

With a deep and silent breath I swiveled in my chair and gingerly took one bare foot off the chair’s footrest bar to plant it on the plastic sheet I had laid out on the floor and then, confident I had not made any noise to give myself away, did the same with my other foot. I stood slowly and walked with a deliberate and quiet, albeit swift, gait to the doorway. I paused, summoning my courage and chastising myself for overreacting to a sound I had doubtlessly imagined, before poking my head out into the hallway. To the left was the empty wall that marked the end of the hall. To the right I was shocked to see the ceiling panel to the attic was down and the old wooden step ladder attached was extended. I started out of the room, but stopped abruptly after a mere two or three steps.

On the ladder was a thing. A watermelon-sized ball of ratty gray fur with spindly arms the texture of barbecued mummy gripped the rungs as two equally spindly legs searched fruitlessly for the floor. Even extended fully, the ladder came three feet short of the carpet and the thing was simply not large enough to step easily down. But at the sound of my startled gasp, it dropped down and turned to face me in a crouch. Its eyes were like shiny quarters, set in deep furrows on a patch of dry and wrinkled skin. Save for this and the short snout that protruded from below the eyes, the rest of its body was the same matted and coarse gray fur.

“Hello…” It said in a helium-tinged voice just three hairs above a whisper. Its demeanor and voice were that of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ”I did not think anyone was home.”

I studied the creature as it stood upright and brushed down the fur on its lower half.

“I was working in my studio.” I replied after finding my voice again.

“You were working quite silently.” It stated, eyeing me with equal parts fear and amusement.

I motioned over my shoulder toward the room behind me. “I was finishing my latest piece. Paint and brush don’t make a lot of noise.”

“A painter!” It exclaimed with a hideous grin sliding across its snout. “Oh how I love the arts!”

“Who are you?” I asked. “And what are you doing in my house?”

“Your house?” It chuckled. “By what right do you lay claim to this house?”

I stared at the furry lump with disbelief and disdain. A sense of profound superiority bubbled up in my chest. “Because I bought it. It’s mine.”

The thing waved its hands to dismiss my argument like it was wafting vapors from the air. “Meaningless paper exchange. I mean by what right do you lay claim to this house? Have you bargained away your soul for it? Have you protected it from the spirits of other realms? Have you imbued it with the magic of ancient secrets that have not seen the light of this world for eons?”

I had to admit that I had done none of these things. As thick as the paperwork had been, nothing in there that I could recall required me to take any such drastic actions to acquire the house. I tried to counter with talk of escrow and inspections, but the thing would have none of it. It took a step toward me, tentative at first. Then another. And another still.

“I have done all these things and more.” It hissed. “This house is mine. It is you who trespass here.”

I shook my head and took a step back. I wanted to argue, but the words stuck in my throat. It must have been a sight to see: this ball of fur no taller than my knee that backed me down the hall and into my studio.

“I have sat up there,” It said, pointing at the ceiling, “day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Waiting. And waiting. And at every turn another family, with snot-nosed children and barking dogs and obnoxious cats and worthless deeds, has trampled their way into my house and laid claim to that which is not theirs. And every time, I plot and scheme and wait until the right time to act. And then I do. And then they leave.”

Its silver eye spots twinkled. I felt the crinkle of plastic beneath my bare feet as I backed further into the room. I tried to think of what might be near at hand that I could use to defend myself, should this tiny thing suddenly attack.

“This time you have forced my hand. This time I –”

It stopped abruptly. Its snout wiggled and its eyes of mercury danced as it looked around the walls of my studio.

“Beautiful…” It whispered. “How marvelous. You painted these?”

I nodded and held my breath. It clapped its hands and I jumped.

“I will take them. I will take them all.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’ll do what?”

“I propose an exchange.” It said with glee. “The house for the paintings. I should like to have them all. I am, as I said, a fan of the arts.”

It extended a small, withered claw in my direction. With no small amount of hesitation, I returned the gesture and we shook. By that evening, when my wife had returned home, the thing and all my paintings were gone – never to be seen again.

I know my story may be hard to believe. I sometimes doubt the veracity myself on those nights when I lay in bed and play the events over in my mind. But I can assure you that it is all true.

And that, dear sirs, is why I refuse to accept your foreclosure on my house. You do not own it. It is my house. Paid for not with money, but with souls, magic and thirteen painted canvases.