The Room That Eats People

Jason, the new guy, was the first to notice.

“Hey,” he said, sipping bad coffee in the breakroom. “Has anyone seen Karen from accounting?”

Silence. A few shrugs.

“She went for paperclips last week,” someone muttered.

Jason frowned. “And Steve?”

“He was getting staples.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Does anyone ever come back from the supply closet?”

More silence. A cough. Everyone suddenly found their spreadsheets very interesting.

Fuelled by equal parts curiosity and crippling workplace boredom, Jason devised a plan.

He folded a paper airplane, scrawled IF YOU’RE ALIVE, SEND BACK on the wings, and launched it into the supply closet. It vanished into the gloom.

Nothing came back.

Jason upgraded his tactics. He tied a company lanyard to a stress ball and tossed it in. Tugged the string. Felt resistance. Tugged harder. The lanyard snapped.

The room had eaten the ball.

At this point, Jason could have reported it. But, honestly? He was two weeks from quitting anyway.

So, when his boss, Greg, barked at him for missing deadlines, Jason did the only logical thing.

“Hey Greg,” he said, forcing a fake smile. “We’re out of printer toner. I can’t print those urgent balance sheet reports.”

Greg grumbled, rolled his eyes, and stormed toward the supply closet.

Jason waited.

Silence.

A burp?

The closet door shut itself with an oddly satisfied click.

By the end of the week, office morale was at an all-time high. Productivity skyrocketed. No more “urgent” Friday emails. No more passive-aggressive post-it notes about fridge etiquette.

The supply closet door stood slightly ajar, content. Full.

For now.

Jason leaned back in his chair, sipping coffee, contentedly.

Then a single paper airplane fluttered out of the closet.

It had one new word written on it:

“HUNGRY.”

Jason sighed.

“Janice, could you do me a favour and grab some staples?”