Pentober 2026 - Day 26: Book

Ok so, what is Pentober? Promptober? It's a writing tradition that's been around the web for a while where you write up a short story every day in October based on prompts. Some go for pen and paper, some digital; everyone has their own style. I'll be posting here, and I'll be using the prompts from https://www.topinfiction.com/p/pentober-2026 

House rules are that I vomit-write the story; no planning, just taka taka taka on the keys. I get ONE edit at the end of the draft (if I even have time, lol), then we post it. House rules also say that I get to play catch up and do multiple days separately on one day or combined if work gets wild and I can't write. Get it? Got it? Good! Here we go.

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"You book that deal yet?"

"Yeah, it just came in as countersigned. What's this last step of the process?"

"Oh, yeah. That's a formality. You've got to go into your local main office and file it physically. There's a printer there. It's an old hang up. Legal industry, you know? Bubbled up after the pandemic made everyone go remote."

"What about people who aren't near an office?"

"Some bundle them up and drop them off in bulk, some mail it. The SOPs are different per individual but this is what everyone in the Huntington office does."

"Ok then, I'll make my way over. Thanks!"

About an hour, driving through the cold, late Fall sleet, later Randall had arrived at 513, 72nd Street, floor 8 in Huntington. It was filled with the sort of run-of-the-mill hellish facilities like dentists, notaries, chiropractors, and the like. The building was nondescript through and through. The lobby had boring brass-colored elevator doors, faux-marble walls, granite floors, and a security guard that felt entirely insecure. The floors of the building themselves were even more predictable and drab: go-away-gunk patterned carpets, off-white walls, tube lighting, and generic wood doors with generic numbering.

The only exception was Randall's main office, Masqueron Inc's main office, it was made of a different sort of wood, or at least a different sort of stain: dark red, a sour cherry, nearly, with old brass signage, door knocker, and door knob. It even had one of those glass windows that you couldn't see through. Randall figured it was vintage; he knew the office head was a bit of an eccentric like that.

He opened the door and went inside and was met with a narrow lobby that had a secured door going into a small hallways the turned to the right and off into what, Randall assumed, was the rest of the actual office.

"Visitor or employee?"

He turned and noticed a secretary, one Ms. Saibona if the placard was right, sitting behind the desk to the right of the lobby.

"Employee, I have a deal to drop off," Randall held up the printed paperwork.

She wagged a finger at him to come forward.

"No badge yet? First time?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Randall Groening if you need to look it up." She was pretty, he noticed. She had high cheekbones and full lips, with dark hair and tanned skin that radiated warmth despite the weather. She wore a monochrome gray outfit: camisole, skirt, boxy and padded blazer with some interesting looking silver jewelry he couldn't place. He felt underdressed in his polo and slacks with tennis shoes.

"I see you and your intake info. Stand back there, we'll take your photo and get you a badge so you can just tap in here," she tapped a sensor, "and get in quickly next time."

He stepped back, there was a bright flash, and before his eyes could clear out the red afterglow she had a badge printed, in a lanyard, and handed over to him.

"Tap here on the desk, again at the door, turn right, and deal intake is to the back right of the floor, behind the door that says 'Contract Archive'."

He thanked her; she nodded and went back to whatever she was doing on her computer. He tapped. He tapped again. He turned left. He opened another door and he was there, on the floor.

It was empty.

About forty rows, ten desks each, with computers, all empty. There was a small kitchenette to the left and bathrooms along the wall to the left as well. The right had a little door for 'Secretary' followed by a few generic conference rooms, and then, finally ' Contract Archive'. The wall that faces the exterior had glass offices with a view, all listed for nameless 'Executives'.

Randall opened the door to the 'Contract Archive'. He didn't know what to expect but, regardless, he was disappointed when he did. It was a bunch of filing cabinets and some sort of machine in the center. The back wall had a poster with instructions.

He followed them in sequence. He took the butterfly off the file, inserted it into the machine which seemed to count and read the pages, and then put his hand on a sensor which, unexpectedly, pricked his finger and drew some blood. Then, he picked up the counted filed, affixed the printed label to a manila envelope of the right size, and stored the file in the right cabinet. The cabinet was empty. That was odd. His finger hurt. He shook it off, said by to Ms. Saibona, and drove back home to get back on his work station.

"What the hell was that, man? It's totally empty in there except for the secretary."

"Yeah they're all like that."

"Why the hell does the machine take your blood?"

"The machine runs on blood, apparently. Not sure how. Some super advanced machine. I don't question it, the pay is too good. What contract did you end up closing, by the way?"

"Ah it was a pharma deal. New, cheaper compounding facility resold from one of the big companies to a distributor. Will save them about 30% of the cost to produce while letting them raise the price 10%"

"Nice. That's going to put a lot of people in the book."

"Book? What book? I booked the deal but who else is going into a book?" "Oh. The book of souls. Did they not go over that in your onboarding? I know that Amanda's been on leave. She usually runs that session."

"The book of what?"

"Souls. A portion of each deal we sign comes with an agreement to send a certain portion of the company's psionic energy to us as payment. It's easier than increasing prices 20%"

"People know this?"

"Yeah it's on all of our shareholder calls. Pretty standard stuff."

"So the soul exists? That's been proven?"

"I guess, yeah. Like I said, the pay is too good for me to question it too much."