"Temple of the White Frog" by RJ Lippold
Temple of the White Frog
by RJ Lippold
Most office Christmas parties take every ounce of motivation in one’s soul to attend. Excuses are so easy, especially if you have kids. Patti wanted to tell the others in procurement that her little Becky had an onset of croup or a catastrophic case of pink eye. Guys, this is serious….she could go blind….damned daycare germs. Patti went over her excuses, wondering if her coworkers would bite. She was only new to the company, and she did know this was in her best interest to attend. She had always been terrible at networking, and the LinkedIn culture brought her to fucking tears.
“Patricia, I do expect to see you at Azteca’s on Friday. I’m allowing everyone to leave the office early to get ready. I have forwarded everyone menus and a questionnaire to be completed before arrival.” Patti’s manager Bob stared blankly, awaiting her response.
“I’d be delighted.” Patti lied.
“But, why the questionnaire, like for Mexican food? Allergies and all, is that why?” She asked.
Bob almost cracking a smile replied, “No, for something different our event planner has arranged for a shaman to sit with us all and guide us through a meditation.” He continued to drone “This is our gift to you all; dinner, drinks and a unique holistic experience.”
What an absolute load of horse shit…the cheap bastards! Patti thought. Who the hell wants a guided fucking meditation?! How about an actual bonus, Bob? You bald bastard! Patti’s mind vented her disappointment. She wasn’t loving her new position with McKinley and McKinley, and certainly wasn’t impressed by Cueball Bob. She opened the attachment in the office party email.
Holiday salutations, friend! McKinley and McKinley are hosting an evening of festive wonder and astral delights at Azteca’s Mexican restaurant on MLK Blvd at 6pm. A guided meditation by a real-life shaman will kick off the festivities! Reply with responses to the following questions so that we may prepare before your arrival.
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Are you familiar with shadow work?
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Shall we walk into the Temple of the White Frog?
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Enchiladas with beans and rice or the Desert-Drifter fajita sampler?
Arriving early, Patti hunched in her car seat so that the other arrivals didn’t see that she was there yet. After everyone had shown up, she made herself go in. As she swung open the door to Azteca’s, she was hit with flashes of metallic garland and buzzing chatter which overpowered a mariachi band, which tried desperately to hold its position with a very sped up Feliz Navidad. Rushing past the clamour, Patti made her way into the private area in back, reserved this evening for Cueball and company. Unfortunately, Patti saw that all tables were packed except for a chair right beside Cueball. Damn it all, thought Patti.
Looking around, she noticed something was off. The room was filled with the general bumble of gossip and corporate ass licking, but none of the thirty folks present were moving their mouths. In fact, they weren’t moving at all.
“Secure the sanctuary!” Squealed a small elderly man in a white robe. He had sidled alongside Patti, silently out of thin air. Most of his face was obscured by a hood. He held a large plate covered by a shiny silver domed dish. Patti’s shocked face looked like a sick caricature, reflected in the dome.
The double doors behind her slammed shut. Two twists of locks clicked into place. The mariachi music and any possible help, now muffled behind the oak. The roaring conversation in the room settled to whispers. Speculation and hearsay.
“Oh Lord, here’s Patti…Will she do it?!”
“She has to!”
“It’d do her good.” The voices went on. The bodies sat still.
Just behind her, two large arms grappled Patti and pinned her to a barrel-chested man. He wore the same white robe. She gave a yelp and began to kick back at the man’s shins. Desperately shaking back and forth and stomping for all she was worth.
“Help! Helmmmmmmmph” He covered her face in a moist rag he’d fished from his robe. It tasted like medicine. Arctic vapours danced around her face. She held her breath and continued to fight.
“Will you walk into the Temple of the White Frog?” Asked the little Grandad. He lifted the dome with his liver-spotted hand and set it on the ground with all the reverence of a Japanese tea ceremony.
A hefty frog, the size of a Christmas ham, turned around on the dish to face Patti. Void of eyes, it lifted a round face as if sniffing her out. Unable to take it any longer, Patti gasped and swallowed the chemical haze. Patti was still awake when she felt a thick tongue rocket from the great frog and slap her throat. It coiled softly and grew wet. Her body radiated warmth. An oily corruption explored her being.
Patti found she was now staring down on the frog. Down upon the Frog, grandad, the henchman and herself. The large man drug her to the table and positioned her body next to Bob’s. Dozens of shadow people surrounded her, all shifting along the ceiling like party balloons. Bob was next to her.
“So glad you came out in the end, Patti. This will really help you to progress.”
The frog was placed into the centre of the table. It raised its head towards the ceiling and opened a gaping mouth, unhinging it and almost rolling its pale face inside out. Standing back away from the gaping frog, the grandad held out his wizard-sleeved arms towards the ceiling.
“Now that we’re all here on this most sacred of events, may I invite the guest of honour the privilege of being the first to enter the Temple of the White Frog? Don’t be shy, for he is waiting.”
Clearing his voice, to sound more managerial, the shadow next to Patti’s proudly made his announcement. “Without further ado, the Employee of the month goes to….Patti.”