**The Dark Soul**
The sharp click of heels echoed down the hallway, stopping just outside the office door. Katie glanced up from her monitor, catching Maddy’s nervous stare. The door swung open, and both girls turned their heads at the same time.
Their boss, Barbara Wilkins, strode in—tall, immaculate in a fitted black suit, pencil skirt hitting just above the knee. The crisp white collar of her blouse made her tanned skin glow. Her dark hair was cropped short, perfectly styled. Everything about her was polished, exact—and she expected the same from her team. At thirty-five, she was young for her position, yet even the CEO avoided crossing her.
Barbara made a beeline for Katie, who’d only been with the company six weeks and was desperate to prove herself. As her boss closed in, Katie scrambled to remember if she’d slipped up somewhere.
Barbara stopped at her desk, fixing her with a look that promised trouble. Katie’s face flushed red with panic.
*“Your report was due yesterday. Where is it?”* Barbara’s voice was ice.
*“I—I brought it to your office yesterday,”* Katie stammered, her ears burning now.
*“Oh? Then where is it?”*
*“I don’t know. You weren’t there, so I left it on your desk.”* The excuses tumbled out, useless.
*“When you were hired, I made it clear—no missed deadlines.”* Barbara spoke each word like a verdict, ignoring Katie’s explanations.
*“But it was only once! My gran fell ill—I rang, I told you!”* Katie turned to Maddy, who ducked behind her monitor.
*“Consider your probation failed. Submit your resignation by the end of the day—or I’ll terminate you.”* Barbara pivoted on her heels and marched out.
*“She lost it, and *I’m* the one in trouble?”* Hot tears spilled as the door slammed.
Maddy leaned over, whispering, *“I tried to explain about your gran, honest! Print the report again—maybe she’ll listen?”*
*“You think?”* Sniffing, Katie pulled up the file.
Her direct manager, Amelia, frowned. *“Redoing the report? Did you find an error?”*
*“No, Barbara says I never handed it in. She’s firing me.”*
*“Bloody hell—here, I’ll sign it.”* Amelia scribbled her name. *“Hurry—maybe she’ll soften for Christmas.”*
Katie rushed to Barbara’s office. No answer. She slipped inside, placing the report front and center.
*“It’s over. How’ll I find another job now? What’ll I tell Gran?”* The hallway was eerily silent—no chatter, no slamming doors, like everyone had vanished.
Around the corner, an elderly woman shuffled toward her—small, bundled in a quilted coat and knitted hat.
*“Love, where’s the director’s office?”*
*“Huh?”* Katie blinked.
*“Someone hurt you?”* The old woman studied her.
*“I got sacked.”* Katie pointed down the hall, then trudged off.
*“It’ll sort itself, dear,”* the woman called after her, shaking her head.
Back at her desk, Maddy winced. *“That quick? Didn’t even let you explain?”*
*“Wasn’t there. Pointless.”* Katie gathered her things, numb.
Outside, she hesitated. Too early to go home—Gran would fret, her blood pressure spiking. The unseasonal rain had melted the snow, leaving puddles everywhere. Too cold to wander. She headed to the café she and Maddy sometimes escaped to for coffee and cakes.
Meanwhile, the old woman stepped into reception. Barbara was berating the secretary.
*“Excuse me—where’s the director?”*
Barbara spun around. *“Gone for the day. What do you want?”*
*“Tomorrow, then?”*
*“We don’t deal with walk-ins. Come back after the holidays.”* Barbara’s tone sharpened.
The old woman tilted her head. *“I need the director.”*
*“Are you deaf? He’s *not here.*”*
*“No need to shout, dear. I hear just fine.”*
Barbara faltered, then snapped, *“Security! Who let her in?”*
The woman didn’t budge. *“Look at you—eyes like coal. Full of hate. No wonder you’re alone. Ever check a mirror? The ugliness inside *shows*.”*
*“Call security!”* Barbara barked at the gaping secretary.
But when she turned back—the old woman was gone.
Barbara stormed to the bathroom, glaring into the mirror. A twisted face glared back—sallow, lips sneering, a wart by her nose. She staggered, touching her face. Nothing.
The reflection snarled.
She fled, racing to her office. The mirror on her cabinet showed the same monster.
*“That witch cursed me!”* She grabbed her coat, bolting outside.
Pedestrians skirted around her as she dashed through the streets, frantic. Then—she spotted the knitted hat.
*“YOU! Fix this!”* She blocked the old woman’s path.
*“I can’t.”*
*“Why not?”*
*“Because,”* the woman sighed, *“grown women shouldn’t believe in curses.”*
Barbara’s hands trembled. *“What do I do?”*
*“Who’ve you hurt? Who’s cried because of you? *Apologize.* Only then will your soul mend.”*
The old woman walked away, leaving Barbara frozen.
Back at the office, she demanded HR files—names, addresses, numbers. One call after another:
*“Barbara Wilkins? *You?!*”*
*“Please—I’m sorry.”*
Silence. Then, grudgingly: *“Fine. Water under the bridge.”*
Each apology lifted weight. Then—Katie’s number.
*“Katie? It’s… Barbara. I was wrong. Your report—I found it. Tear up your resignation. Come back after the holidays.”*
*“Really? Thank you! Happy New Year!”*
Warmth spread through Barbara’s chest.
Downstairs, the office party was in full swing.
*“Barbara! Why so late?”* A colleague tugged her toward champagne.
She laughed—actually *laughed*—startling everyone.
In the mirror, her reflection was *hers* again.
The CEO caught her smiling. *“You’re different. Human, almost.”*
*“And before?”*
*“A monster, frankly.”*
Barbara grinned. *“Best compliment I’ve had.”*
He offered coffee. She accepted.
Funny, isn’t it? We polish our looks, neglect our souls. But the soul *shows*—in our eyes, our faces. Children’s faces glow; life hardens the rest of us.
Look in the mirror. Guard your soul.
Happy New Year. May it bring kindness.
