Tentacle Dance

"There was only one rule: don’t open the door. That was all I asked. There's fucking millions on the line, I'm going to need a fucking moment!"

Spit flew from Jeff's mouth as he exploded with rage. All of it aimed at his young, overworked secretary.

"Of course, I'm so sorry sir" she anxiously muttered as she bowed out of the Highrise office suite returning to a cacophony of paper shredders and panic. Unfortunately, it was too late. The door was open and in the mind of the ageing CEO a long overdue madness finally took hold.

Hunched over his lavish, oversized desk, Jeff scanned the pile of audit papers and collected his thoughts. It's OK, the money's been transferred offshore. Any incriminating document is shredded. We anticipated this, no one runs a Ponzi forever and...

"Why the fuck can't I get this fucking Henry the octopus song out of my head!" The words spewing from his mouth as he swept the papers across the room.

Veins on Jeffs forehead grew like tentacles searching for escape while purple tentacles of another kind began to fill his mind and through myriad demonic tones a voice rang out.

"Would you care to tentacle dance?"

Violently, the entire Highrise floor filled with an immense writhing octopus. Its sudden appearance bending natural laws to accommodate its incomprehensible form. Instantly, it propelled tables, glass and staff sideways as slick pinkish tenacles whipped chaotically in search of Jeff. It didn't take long. The tentacles, now calm, slowly made their way into Jeffs every orifice as his eyes rolled skyward. The pressure incrementally building until his bursting insides stained the glass walls red.

Elsewhere, among red lines and candles in a dimly lit basement plays Henry the octopus on a dying CRT.

"Don't wake up Jeff."