So today was National Writing Date Day! My friend Erin and I decided to do a #WritingDate together, and it was everything I wanted and more. You can read an explanation of what we were doing
here on Erin's blog. We had decided ahead of time to share the results of our writing prompts, so I'm sticking to that bargain. Here is my version of
prompt #12 - to make the Easter Bunny scary.
Be warned, I decided to do no clean up whatsoever, so this is the madness of 1 hour of writing...
Carla knew her face gave them nothing, which was probably
why the rest of the room couldn’t hide their nervousness. Some looked like they
were struggling with outright panic. They thought it was about the money. They
thought someone, maybe everyone, was going to be fired for the colossal drop in
sales this Easter season.
With a huff of displeasure, Carla walked to the window. If
nothing else, being CEO of Bunny Stuff, Inc. gave her a gorgeous view of the
city. She tapped her nails, long and filed, against the glass. It gave her a
quick thrill to know she was prolonging the fear of her employees, but faded
just as fast as she thought about the real problem.
“Gentleman,” she started. She spared an internal grimace for
the sad fact that she was the only woman in power in the company, but that was
a battle for another day. “You tell me the drop is to be expected, yet you also
say that our competitors don’t seem to have gained any more shares in the
market in last year. Explain.”
She turned from the window to again confront the room. She
knew what they would say. It was a fool’s hope to expect anything else. However
she was mildly curious of who would speak up knowing they risked her further
displeasure.
Mike, her VP of sales, stood up. “With all due respect mam,
the consumer isn’t buying this year. It’s not just from us. My contacts have
indicated that even Break An Egg Company had a severe drop.”
Heads bobbled around the table in agreement. Carla stalked
back to the table, sparing a furious glance at every individual before settling
on Roger. She softened her voice. “What happened to all our marketing efforts?
I thought you said they were well received.”
“The new campaign did very well. Our email opens and clicks
have doubled, and site traffic has never been higher,” Roger said. He had
stayed seated, and in fact looked to be sinking even further into his chair.
Carla tilted her head. “What about our piece on the
psychological effects of hunting Easter eggs? How did that perform?”
“Er, not as good,” Roger sank even lower into the plush
chair. “Shortly after releasing it, another psychologist published a study that
refuted basically everything we said about the benefits of children believing
in the Easter Bunny.”
It might have been her imagination, but Carla could have
sworn she heard a sigh of relief from everyone else in the room. She slowly
walked toward the end of the table where Roger was sitting, speaking just as
slow so that the clatter of her heels punctuated each word. “And why am I just hearing
about this now?”
The sweat gleamed on Roger’s high forehead. “We assumed you
knew,” he stuttered. “It was on several front pages.”
By this time Carla was standing next to the quivering blob
some might call a man. She would call him a cowardly ball of fat. “It is not my
job to keep abreast on the market.” She moved in for the kill, leaning close
and lowering her voice even more. “That was your job. You failed.” She turned
suddenly, flinging her hair across his face. She hoped it stung. “Get out. You’re
no longer needed at the company.”
Of course, firing Roger wasn’t going to solve the greater
problem, but it made her slightly less angry.
“Ms. Webber,” Steve, her VP of Product, spoke up, “not all
of our products failed this season. There were several that saw significant
increases in sales from last year.”
Carla continued walking to her spot at the head of the
table, but chewed her lip momentarily as she digested this new information.
“Continue, Steve. What products excelled?”
“Baskets did particularly well this year. We also saw a
spike in demand for the crème eggs, mini bunnies, and the scented candy grass.”
Steve paused to fumble at his computer. “In fact if you look at this slide,
you’ll see that our lowest performing item was the egg dyeing kits.”
“Kits?” Carla asked. “Plural? As in more than one kind of
kit performed poorly?”
Steve blinked. “All the kits. We had developed a new glow in
the dark line, which saw the best return, but every single egg dye kit sold
less than expected, and less than previous years.”
Carla stared at the powerpoint in despair. It was worse than
she expected. There were only two weeks until Easter, and she didn’t see how
the season could be saved. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. No matter
what, she needed to try. The children deserved every effort and more to turn
this around.
“Listen to me,” she leaned across the table, trying to fix
the remaining VPs with her stare. “From here until Easter our focus needs to be
on those egg dyeing kits. Every commercial spot, every email, every salesperson
MUST push those kits. We’ll meet again the Friday before Easter and I expect
every person in this room to make those kits sell!” She lowered herself to the
chair before saying, “You’re all dismissed.”
As the room scrambled to escape, Carla swiveled to stare
outside once more. They still thought it was about the money. No one realized
how much was at stake. She knew that Mike, for one, was a family man. She
imagined if he realized the risk his children were in, he’d be pushing sales
harder.
Sometimes it felt impossible, trying to prevent the
inevitable crisis. Carla had debated many times over whether to clue her team
into the fact that she couldn’t care less about the sales numbers and profits.
All she cared about was what it meant – the number of families dyeing and
hiding Easter eggs.
There were only a few people still alive that knew the
truth. The Easter Bunny was real. He had always been real. But he wasn’t a
fluffy bunny of love.
Carla shuddered. He was terrifying. If her father hadn’t
woken up the Easter when she was eight, she’d be dead now. The Bunny had been
in her room. His mouth open, drool pooling from his fangs, and scarlet eyes
locked on hers. She knew he was about to eat her. She knew she was doomed. Then
thankfully, her father had heard a noise and come to investigate.
After that she had devoted her life to first researching the
Easter Bunny, and then trying to prevent his return. What people didn’t realize
was that the fun dyed Easter eggs hidden each year acted as a ritual. They kept
the Bunny away from their homes. They protected their children. But the
agreement was that if no offering, no eggs, were presented, the Bunny had every
right to devour any child under ten.
Every right, and the ferocious appetite to eat his fill
Easter night.
Carla stared outside,
but really she was staring ahead to the headlines. Each Easter more and more
children went missing, and the sales numbers indicated that this would be the
worst year so far.
