Have you noticed any weird movement from your coworkers lately?
Some birds have tube-shaped eyes. Owls, at least. That’s why they can move their heads all crazy-like - because their eyes are tubes, and can’t rotate in their sockets to look at things.
Well, it all started when I noticed a coworker was moving his whole face back and forth as he scanned over financials. It was just really … uncanny and bird-like, you know? Nothing super creepy or insidious yet, just … weird.
Sometimes he went full Batman and moved his entire upper body as one stiff unit.
I was curious what that was all about, but how the hell do you ask him without sounding either like a crazy person or a stalker? “Hi, why don’t you move your eyes?” Hell, I bet most people never noticed.
But I did. And I got curious. It seemed like so much extra effort - and for what? So I thought I’d try it.
It’s hard. Your eyes subconsciously try to keep your line of sight stable and focused as it pans. I managed to ape his gaze by unfocusing my eyes as I moved my head, and refocusing once I landed at my ocular destination. That way, my eyeballs never moved a centimeter in their sockets. Jackpot.
I didn’t see much benefit to it, but I still did it every now and then when I was bored and needed a mental break from my spreadsheets. I got pretty good at it. I could scan documents like a bird - like Randy - without losing a beat. I wouldn’t call it “fun,” exactly, just a slight break from the tedium of P&L analysis.
Sometimes I’d catch Randy glaring at me. I felt bad - like I was mocking him. I guess I kind of was. What if he had some sort of neurological disorder, or spinal injury, or something? Was I making fun of a disabled person?
But I couldn’t stop. Despite the eye strain it occasionally caused, I felt oddly compelled to keep my eyes staring straight ahead. Any time my attention lapsed and I found myself glancing sideways, there was this sense of dread at the pit of my stomach.
I wanted so badly to ask Randy about this, but now I’d look even crazier than before! I was stuck. That is, until one day the firm hosted a dinner with an open bar.
I’d never seen Randy drink, but tonight he was slamming back Jack and Coke like I’d never seen. Finally imbued with sufficient liquid courage, he locked eyes with me and approached at alarming speed.
“Oh, uh, hey Rand-“
“So you saw them too.”
My blood ran cold.
“Th… them?”
“The smiles from the edge,” he whispered.
Awkward silence lingered for what felt like an eternity. At last, he spoke again.
“That’s a no, isn’t it?” he queried, clearly disappointed and not hiding it very well. “Fuck. Forget I said anything.” He closed his eyes, allowing him to shake his head without worry. When they at last opened again, they were filled with tears.
I placed a hand in his shoulder. “It’s okay, man. I don’t - this is about the - I don’t even know how to explain it. I’ll just be blunt.”
I explained everything, and holy shit, the relief from this man was palpable.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a shaded alcove next to the restaurant, away from prying eyes and ears. “Mitch, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for someone I could talk to openly about this shit. I don’t know who’s compromised.”
Compromised. Okay, maybe he’s crazy after all. Maybe I just accidentally fed into some mad conspiracy theory. Not good.
“It’s like - okay, your nose, right?”
I stared blankly. “What?”
“Your nose. It’s there, right? You have a nose. It’s right between your eyes.” As he spoke, his speech quickened, and his gestures became wilder and wilder. “But you don’t see it!” He emphasized this last point by directing a finger through the space between us, pointing at my nose with a grand flourish.
“I guess not,” I admitted, confused and more than a little frightened at this point. “It’s always been there, so I’m used to it.”
“Right! Your eyes see it, but your brain erases it. Your brain lies to you all the time. What else do you see without seeing, Mitch? You ever think of that?”
I hadn’t. I shook my head.
“That’s where they come in. The smiles at the edge. If you notice them, they can come in. And if you get used to them, it’s too late. So don’t look at them. Face ahead.”
By now, Randy was manic. He was flailing about, pointing, stomping, talking so fast I could scarcely keep up - not that it would have made much sense either way.
But I couldn’t shake the pit from earlier. I couldn’t write it off as the deranged ravings of a madman, because I’d seen them too. When I shook my head, I let my focus slip, and kept my eyes centered on the man before me. And as my head moved, I caught a glimpse of teeth in the darkness. Right at the edge of my vision, there was an inky blackness fading into view, and from within shone a set of impossibly white teeth, grinning wider and wider by the second.
Petrified, I forced myself to stare straight ahead at Randy.
Nausea. Chills. Blurry vision.
I nearly collapsed onto the concrete. Randy clumsily caught me, his eyes closed tightly so as not to risk noticing the Smilers with the sudden motion.
“I gotcha, man. Be careful. That feeling - your peripheral vision is already infected.”
I steadied myself against the wall, eyes shut equally tight at this point. I was a believer. My heart was racing - those teeth terrified me, and whatever they belonged to exuded an aura of pure malefic intent. “What do I do?” I eventually stammered out.
Randy shrugged. “They’re powerless if you know they’re there, but they’ll be there forever. Eventually, you’ll get used to them, and then they can strike - your brain will subconsciously ignore them, like it does your nose.”
I slumped against the wall. “What happens then?”
Laughter. What an odd response.
The man composed himself, and his voice slowed down at last, dropping an octave or two in the process.
“Then you’ll be just like everyone else. The vast majority of the world is infected at this point. No one really knows what happens once they’re fully in control, but from that point on, you’ll never be able to trust your eyes again.”
To emphasize this point, he reached into his inner coat pocket and produced a pocketknife.
“That’s why I carry this baby. I suggest you do the same. Better to be blind than a slave of the Smilers. Carve those suckers right out of your skull. Before it’s too late.” And with that, he seemed to regain his full composure. He stashed his blade, whirled around, and marched off, casually waving behind him as he left. And just like that, he disappeared into the crowded restaurant.
It was a lot to swallow, but I couldn’t deny that it made sense in light of what I’d seen and felt. Still, something seemed off.
If he truly felt that he was the last bastion against some invading force, why go to work at all? Our job was important to our clients, sure, but hardly world-changing.
Maybe he felt like it was just one way he could cling to control in his life. Or hell, maybe he was just a crazy old man who convinced me of some mad theory because I got spooked by something reflecting in the shadows when I was already two shots deep.
I’ll never know for sure, because the next Monday, I arrived to the office to find police swarming the place.
Randy’s desk was cordoned off. The detective on scene escorted me past the police tape upon seeing my name tag.
“He left a message for you, Mitch,” he said.
Upon reaching his cubicle, my heart sank.
There was Randy’s body, slouched back, his face twisted in agony, his eye sockets bloodied, empty husks.
On his desk lay both eyeballs, alongside the knife he showed me that Friday night, and a hastily scrawled note, all drenched in his blood.
“To Mitchell Wyatt: Was too late. Saw them. Not taking any chances. Can’t stop smiling. Goodbye.”
——
I still have no idea of the smiles at the edge are real or if Randy was just a nut job, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m gonna keep looking straight forward, no matter what.
But I guess I got my answer after all. I keep showing up to work, not because of any grand rebellion against fate or misguided attempt to seize control, but because I don’t know what else to do. No one would believe me. I don’t even know for sure if I believe myself. So I just keep showing up, filing reports, and going home, because what else can I do?
But I make sure I always carry a knife, just in case.