When Christopher Utting walked into the toilets while his coffee was brewing, he had nothing else on his mind other than the impending urination, and the account he was currently working on, his desk a litter of papers, both printed and hand written. Yet when he left, he had nothing other than bloodshed and anger coursing through his system.
He stood by the bowl, whistling to himself, a strange habit had had recently gotten into when suddenly everything dimmed, his vision blurred and his head began to spin. A few seconds later and it was over. He was left trapped, stuck inside his own body, his brain was no longer in control. He told himself to wash his hands, but he walked away, he willed himself to go to the coffee machine, instead he walked straight into the managers office. The whole time a strong smell of rotten eggs, or a long overdue fart began to fill his nose. He could hear something, breathing, coming from behind him. . . no it was him, it was in him. He could hear it snickering, mocking him.
His co-workers watched on as he strode into the Managers office, slamming the door behind him. Christopher tried to speak, he called out in fact, but nothing came out of his mouth. Instead he saw his hands come up, reaching out towards his boss, whose flabby face was fishlike in surprise, and was still the same when the coroners placed the sheet over him an hour later. The only difference being that the majority of his insides were plastered around office like bloody Christmas decorations.
Christopher felt the strange cloud life from his mind not longer after he had taken three large bites out of his boss's heart, swallowing the raw meat with gusto. The cloud left leaving nothing but laughter to fill his head, a sound that didn't receded or lessen, but simply continued playing on a loop like a sadistic clown. When the police arrived Christopher was already in a catatonic state on the floor, teeth chattering his hair grey, his eyes bleached white, the pupils and cornea's simply wiped away without a trace.