Promotion

Harold gazed out his office window onto the Tall-Mart Megacenter below and was very proud at what he saw. Bright fluorescent lights lit the white, sterile environment. Customers worked their way all over the store like ants-- hunting bargains and sucking down over-sized fountain sodas. He took his Store Director job very seriously, making sure the store ran like the most intricate clockwork, and it did. Promotion time was coming up very soon, and his store was #1 in his region. He figured there was no way he wasn't going to get promoted into upper management, something he wanted more than anything.
“Harold Stewart, dial 420!” crackled the PA system, interrupting his promotion fantasies. Code 420 meant something was going wrong at the upfront registers. Something was gumming up the gears of his Tall-Mart machine. He picked up the phone on his dark oak desk and mashed 4-2-0.
“This is Harold, what's going on down there?”
“Hey Mr. Stewart, we're having problems with register 9 again-- nothing will ring up,” Emma, the head cashier responded. Harold winced at “Mr. Stewart”. Tall-Mart policy stated all employees were to remain on first name basis.
“I'll be down in a minute and give it a look-see, thank you.” he said in a cool, calm voice, making sure to thank his employee. That was policy too.

When Harold got down there, the light behind the large blue number “9” beacon was dimmed. “Good,” he thought, he didn't have to deal with any irate customers screaming in his face about a closed register. Emma was standing next to it, waiting for Harold's help. She looked exhausted, it must have been long day for her. Her dark, curly hair just kind of shot forth in random directions and her normally bright green eyes had gone dark, nearly matching the circles forming beneath them. Her bright blue Tall-Mart vest barely fit around her chunky frame. She had been gaining weight, Harold thought. Maybe he would slip a “Working for a Fitter You” pamphlet into her locker later-- fitness was the Tall-Mart way after all.
“So here's the culprit, eh?” he said to Emma as he walked up toward the cash register, his shiny black shoes clack-clacking on the bright white linoleum.
“Yup, she's been giving us trouble all day, Mr. Stewart.” He made sure to correct her this time.
“Harold is fine, Emma, you know the policy,” he scolded. Emma rolled her eyes the moment he looked away. Harold began his once-over of the malfunctioning machine. Snapping up a Chewlie's Gum off the display he slid it quickly over the machine's glowing red eye. Nothing. The register's display was lit up, but the screen was scrambled, the regular employee log-in now looking like it was covered in the foreign runes of some mysterious language. This problem was clearly beyond Harold's register repairing ability. “I'm going to have to call in a Maintenance Technician,” he said to Emma as he neatly replaced the gum, “Just keep this one closed and run 7, I guess.”
“Sure thing Mr. Stew- I mean Harold.” she said obediently.
Harold returned to his office and called their local Tall-Mart Maintenance Office. Since stores were so abundant, maintenance centers existed between them so they could service multiple locations. Harold admired this efficiency. The perky receptionist on the phone said someone would be out in a few hours to look at it. Content, Harold began filling out the required Maintenance Request Form.
After a some time had passed Harold decided to head downstairs to greet the repairman. He usually just paid repairs no mind, but he wanted to know what was wrong with his register-- maybe next time he could fix it himself. That would look really good to upper management. Plus, something about the register's display haunted him, “It's just a scrambled screen,” he thought, but there was something about the way it looked, the strange symbols seemed arranged in a logical pattern-- like they held some hidden meaning. He shook this thought away quickly though. There was no room for such fantasy in the efficient world of a Tall-Mart Megacenter. Just then he noticed the repairman walking into the store, the automatic doors making a swish as they parted. He was dressed in a blue jumpsuit filthy with black stains. A patch on his chest in cursive script read “Gary”. The blue Tall-Mart cap on his head barley hid his greasy red hair. “Howdy, welcome to the Crestview Tall-Mart!” greeted Harold, but the Maintenance Technician just replied with an uninterested grunt. It was then Harold noticed there was something strange about this man. His eyes were glazed over, almost white and he walked with a strange gait, a very jerky, labored step. It looked like something inhuman trying to imitate the way it thought humans walked. As the repairman brushed past him Harold's noise was assaulted with a terrible odor that reminded him of a combination of a cat's litter box and last week when he helped the deli department throw out the expired meat. It actually made him shudder. He shook it off and followed the strange man to register number 9. Its display still showed the bizarre symbols which gave Harold a chill as it came into view. Customers seemed to be keeping a distance, thanks to Gary's offensive odor, or perhaps frighteningly inhuman walk.
“Hope you don't mind me shadowing you a bit, I'm curious as to what's wrong with this thing.” Harold told Gary, who replied with a low guttural grunt, a sound that would of seemed more at home coming from some dying animal. Harold backed away, but still watched as the Maintenance Tech began to resurrect the dead machine. He began tapping at the register's keys, nervously glancing back at Harold, like he really didn't like being watched but lacked the lingual ability to say so.
“Harold, we need some help over here,” Emma said from the customer service desk, her voice cutting the strange tension between the two men. Harold made his way over all the while watching the strange maintenance man out of the corner of his eye. Emma needed help dealing with a return from an angry customer.
“I done boughts this Gamessations game and it done don't work,” the customer spat, in between gulps of her industrial size fountain beverage. Her breath was labored and she reeked of ham. It was actually a Playstation 3 game, and from the sound of things she didn't have the right system...or even really know the name of the game system itself. Alas, Tall-Mart policy instructs that Harold was to do whatever it takes to keep the customer's business, so he approved the return. He still watched the maintenance man, who seemed to really have begun work on the machine, content now that he thought Harold's attention was elsewhere. While Harold ran the customer's Nascar themed credit card through the customer service computer he watched as Gary placed his hand up to register number 9's display. Then he said something that Harold either wasn't hearing correctly or possibly just couldn't understand. The customer service computer began printing a return receipt, but stopped half way.
“Sorry, ma'am gotta replace the receipt paper real quick.” said Harold and the customer responded with a spit filled sigh from her store-supplied electric scooter. He reached down below the computer to snatch up a roll of paper, eyes still fixed on the repairman. Gary removed his hand from the display and reached deep into the pockets of his darkly stained jumpsuit, retrieving a strange triple pronged key with teeth coming out at random directions. It was dark brown in color with an unnatural sheen under the store's fluorescent lighting. The repairman quickly jammed it into a slot on the side of number 9 underneath the scanner that Harold had never noticed before. Harold slid the new roll into the printer and started the computer's reboot sequence. Gary's eyes scanned the immediate area— making sure no one was watching, not noticing Harold. Content, he turned the key and a door beneath the register's scanner eye swung open. Harold could not believe what he saw.

In the small metal box below the scanner a pale white tentacle-like object undulated, colliding with the sides of it's small container; making a quiet, wet slapping sound. It appeared to have been severed, and was slowly oozing a jet black viscous fluid. The Maintenance Technician reached down and cradled it in a lovingly, hissing to it sweet words in some long forgotten tongue. This is the last thing Harold saw as he blacked out and collapsed, doubling over behind the customer service counter.

After waking, Harold decided to take the rest of the day off, unable to decide if what he saw was real or if he had just been working too hard for that promotion. He went back to his lonely little apartment, scratched his cat behind the ears, and went to bed. His sleep was a labored one, fill with dreams. Terrible ones. He dreamed he was in his store, but all was dark. The regularly white fluorescent lights now glowed a with a dark blue aura. The store's PA system emitted only a continuous low frequency howl. The customers still went about their business like usual, hunting for their items, their bargains, but now their eyes glowed green with glazed over stares. He saw the Megacenter's fountain drink dispenser. The white fleshy tentacle from register 9 was inside it, slowly vomiting its black goo at regular intervals into the Simon's Choice Cola and Mountain Fizz. People still filled their gigantic cups with the corrupted mixture, oblivious to the disgusting slime within it. Harold woke up in a cold sweat, screaming.

In the next few days Harold was very distant. He mainly kept himself contained in his office and occupied himself with his paperwork. He was still having those same nightmares every night. His zest for policy and pride in his well-oiled Tall-Mart machine was all but gone. He hit the store floor as little as possible. Every time he did he was haunted by a distinct feeling he was being watched by unseen forces. One thing didn't change however, Harold Stewart still wanted that promotion more than anything, but now for a different reason. It would mean he would be able to get out of this accursed store. His store still remained #1 in the region, and he had a call scheduled with corporate coming up in a few minutes. As he filled in the last of his shipment request orders he was all nerves for the coming call. The phone's shrill ring cut through the silence of Harold's office, causing him to jump up slightly, startled. “This is it,” he thought.
“H-hello, Harold Stewart, Tall-Mart Store Director speaking,” he said into the phone after lifting it off the receiver.
“Hello, Harold, this is Tall-Mart Corporate Office, calling for our scheduled meeting,” the voice on the phone replied in a cold, shrill tone. It was almost robotic in nature. “We wanted to inform you that we have indeed decided based on your hard work and top sales ratings that we do want you on here at Corporate,” the voice continued, with no change in tone.
“Oh thank you, thank you!” Harold said joyfully. He was going to get out of here! He was going to work at corporate headquarters!
“We all want you out here as soon as possible to attend the Tall-Mart Media Marketing Summit with the rest of this year's newly promoted Tall-Mart Team Members. Simon Tallston himself will be there to induct you all into the inner circle here at Tall-Mart.” droned the voice.
“I'm very excited! It will be an honor to meet Mr. Tallston himself!,” replied Harold. Simon Tallston was of course Tall-Mart's founder. Harold's heart welled with joy and he once again felt the pride that had since been gone in the last few days since the incident.
“We will fly you out next week courtesy of Tall-Mart, we can't wait to have you as one of us,” monotoned the voice. Harold thanked them again, and hung up. He had finally made upper management. The next few days flew by and he only dreamed of successes.

Harold filed into the Tall-Mart Conference Center with the rest of the newly promoted team members, all dressed in suits and their collective nervousness was almost palpable. The room was a huge circular auditorium that held about 500. Each and every seat was filled with new employees plucked from Tall-Mart stores from throughout the country. Harold wondered why corporate would need this many employees and just how big upper management was. A strange and curious energy filled the room, as most employees were sitting puzzled, trying to figure out the strange sculpture that sat in the center of the auditorium. It looked like a giant, white fleshy orchid, towering over everything else in the room. It was incredibly detailed, on it's surface one could make out every meaty fiber. It made Harold immediately think back to register 9, but he was not scared. Something in the air made him and the rest of the audience unable to feel anything but an unnatural serenity. All eyes were locked on the white meat-flower. The lights dimmed and a voice boomed.
“Congratulations, Team Members! You have been selected to join with the highest ranks here at Tall-Mart!” said a cheerful woman's voice. “You have been selected due to your outstanding service and undying loyalty to the Tall-Mart system! Did you know that Tall-Mart is the #1 world's largest store chain in the world, the world's largest grocery and consumable business retailer, and the #1 largest private employer? This is all thanks to great employees like you!” the voice continued, sounding like the head cheerleader at some high school pep rally. “Now to tell you more is our great leader and founder of Tall-Mart, Simon Tallston!”
Harold scanned the room, trying to figure out where Tallston was going to enter. There was no stage, only the strange sculpture perched at the center of the room, demanding the attention of all in attendance. About the time it started moving was when Harold and the rest of the crowd realized it wasn't a sculpture at all. The fleshy petals of at the center of the object began to fold down, making a sound reminiscent of a band-aid being tugged off of scabbed skin, the insides of it a meaty pink, like a fresh sirloin from Harold's Megacenter meat department. Sporadically black fluid would squirt from the pink inner-flesh, like a popped zit. As the petals made their way to the floor they revealed an old man held in the air by white skin-tentacles, all twisted together in a trunk-like fashion. The tentacles appeared to have long since become a part of him, the fleshy trunk was one with his own body. It spoke.
“Welcome, welcome! I'm glad to have you here today to join us here at Upper Management!” spoke the monster-Simon from his meaty throne, continuing in the female voice's pep rally tone. “You see, when I started Tall-Mart in 1961 it was just a humble five and dime on the corner in Grand Valley, Michigan. It did good business, but it was just enough for my family to barely scrape by. Luckily our good, friend, master to whom all we serve, the Dread Lord of Dark Ones, Tal'Sog Noggorath decided to change that.” The petals of the elder god's sickening body flapped joyously at the mention of its name, making a hard wet slap against the auditorium floor. More black fluid shot out like some kind of putrid firework display. No one screamed, everyone, including Harold just looked on. Tallston happily beamed, “Tal'Sog is one, Tal'Sog is all. He watches over all stores, his many hands reaching into each one.” If Harold was capable of independent thought, his mind would of thought back to register number nine and the secret it contained. Unfortunately his mind belonged to the beast now, it's incomprehensible power washing over all in attendance. “His fingers feel every purchase, and with every sale we make, every competitor we crush, and every dollar we amass he becomes stronger. Soon Tal'Sog Noggorath will know all, and Tal'Sog Noggorath will be all,” preached the old man from high in his meaty tree. He and all in the room, including Harold began chanting, “Tal'Sog is one, Tal'Sog is all!” On this note, the PA system began emitting a howling, low frequency sound like the one Harold had dreamed of for many nights. The noise grew louder and louder with the chanting crowd as they began to melt slowly. The air stunk heavily of molten flesh. The 500 team members began to slowly liquefy from head to toe, their flesh and bone pooling together forming an ocean of frothy hot-white slime all of which slowly made it's way toward the beastly Dread God in the center. This human stew became one with Tal'Sog, strengthening it and lengthening it's tendrils; for it was this sticky mass of newly promoted hires that made up its dark tentacle network, their minds all working in tandem with the beast. With this and every year's new batch Tal'Sog could extend its reach. New stores would be able to open and further fuel its conquest of our planet.

If Harold still had his own independent consciousness he would have been shocked at the new information that was flowing into it. Tal'Sog's reach was far, controlling every aspect of his beloved Tall-Mart policy. His black viscous fluid pumped into the soda dispensers, releasing a mild sedative into those who drank it, making them calmer and more susceptible to the mind control tones being played over the stores PA systems, at level not regularly noticeable to the average human ear. The employees' flesh became Tal'Sog's, extending his reach to more stores and under more cash registers, allowing the Dread God of Greed to feel every purchase and mine more data on what the humans bought, making it possible to keep track of everything coming and going from its empire-- and plan accordingly. Tal'Sog Noggorath was going to control every resource on this world, just like it had done in other worlds beforehand, and other dimensions, since the beginning of time itself. Tal'Sog was unstoppable.
It was awhile before anyone wondered what happened to Harold Stewart. When the police asked Tall-Mart what happened to the man, they told them they had no records of any employee with that name. After a complementary fountain soda they believed it.

Harold Stewart was no more. There is only Tal'Sog now. He was truly and grimly in every sense of the word, a part of Upper Management.