It started quietly. Sarah from accounting was the first to notice something strange about Carter. He showed up to work in a sharp suit, sleek hair, and with eyes that were somehow both mesmerizing and terrifying—completely different from his usual tired, slouched, and often short-tempered self.

Our manager, Carter, wasn’t exactly a people person. The sort who used words like "synergy" and "value add" as though he were getting commission on them. He’d never hesitate to corner us for something we hadn’t even done wrong yet. But that Monday morning, something was definitely off. For one, he greeted people. Polite, professional greetings. He looked right at Sarah with those intense, almost black eyes and said, "Good morning. You’re looking productive already."

That was weird. But fine, I thought, maybe he’d had an epiphany. Perhaps he’d tried meditation. Or taken a “Managing Humans” seminar. 

Then he continued.

Carter floated—yes, floated—into his office, which I convinced myself was just my tired brain playing tricks. But his voice rang out, crisp and clear, *“All right, everyone. Let’s gather for our morning meeting!”* 

The way he spoke, we all just sort of… obeyed. No one rolled their eyes or even thought of making up an excuse. Even Todd, who usually tried to skip every meeting he could, followed along without a word. It felt natural, like his voice was a warm coat on a cold day, keeping us all comfortable and compliant.

A week passed, and it only got weirder. Carter’s changes weren’t all for show—he was getting results. Productivity shot through the roof. Tasks that used to linger in email limbo suddenly got finished. Deadlines? We hit every single one of them. 

Instead of snapping at us, he began offering solutions. In one meeting, he waved his hand over the whiteboard, and every single task we were struggling with somehow became color-coded, clear, and completely understandable. It was like magic. No, actually, it was magic.

I caught him levitating a paperclip once. It danced mid-air as he spoke. But honestly? Nobody cared. Under Demon Carter, things ran smoother than they ever had.

One day, I noticed he’d drawn a glowing pentagram on his wall. “What’s that for?” I asked, figuring it was best to act casual about these things.

“Team-building,” he replied, with a faint, dark smile.

The office rumors were relentless, but oddly positive. Todd started calling him "Carter the Enabler." Sarah was thrilled because, for the first time, she’d gotten a raise—and it wasn’t some pathetic 2%. It was an actual, life-changing raise. When she tried to thank him, he’d just given her a curious smile and said, “Your work deserves compensation.” 

At that point, most of us knew. Carter was, by all appearances, possessed. By a demon, an eldritch being, a mysterious otherworldly entity—whatever. And yet, we couldn’t help but enjoy it. We were treated like people, the work got done, and best of all, Carter wasn’t Carter anymore. He didn’t breathe down our necks, never barked orders or sighed with exasperation. He was efficient, polite, and terrifyingly competent.

One day, I asked him, “So, um… are you, like, still Carter?”

He smiled with those unnervingly sharp teeth that only appeared sometimes, in the low afternoon light. “Carter is… resting,” he said, his tone smooth as silk.

Some coworkers were more curious than others. I’d catch them sneaking glances, trying to figure out exactly what happened to our manager. Was he trapped somewhere, calling out for help in some ghostly void, or had he willingly let this “entity” take over? But honestly, nobody really wanted to break the spell.

One Friday, Carter even hosted a casual happy hour. He poured drinks with that unnatural calm, setting out wine, cocktails, and a pitcher of something that looked suspiciously like it might glow in the dark. When Todd asked about it, Carter shrugged. “A family recipe,” he replied. “Helps with morale.”

We toasted to deadlines met and stress levels reduced. For once, no one complained about anything. We were genuinely, bafflingly content.

And then, the strangest part. One morning, Carter came in with that familiar frazzled look, messy hair, bags under his eyes, the faint scent of last night’s desperation still hanging around him.

“Uh… good morning, everyone?” he said, looking more confused than ever.

The collective groan that escaped the office was almost ritualistic.

“Carter,” Sarah said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, “please tell me this is just a phase. Because productivity has gone up 40% since… you know.”

Carter blinked. “What?” He looked at her, then at the rest of us, almost betrayed. “I’m here now! Isn’t that better?”

A heavy silence fell over the room, full of awkward shuffles and sidelong glances. No one wanted to say it, but the truth was plain: we missed the demon.

A few days passed, and our once-motivated office turned sluggish. Deadlines were missed, emails went unanswered, and Carter’s rants about “synergy” started up again. He reprimanded Sarah for not cc’ing him on something, lectured Todd about productivity… The familiar cycle of stress and dread returned like a bad flu.

Finally, a delegation formed. Sarah, Todd, and I marched into his office, where Carter was reviewing some pointless spreadsheet with his usual scowl.

“Carter,” Sarah began, carefully, “have you considered… going back to wherever you were?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean? I’ve been here all along.”

Todd shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, but, it was different… you were *different.* Things ran better. You were, I dunno… possessed?”

Carter stared at us, then laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

But we were. We missed our demon boss.

After that conversation, things were awkward. He clearly didn’t know how to respond, so he went back to his old ways—micromanaging, nagging, making us redo everything twice just because he could. The fluorescent lights seemed harsher, the coffee weaker, and our spirits lower.

A week later, I came in early to catch him floating just an inch off the ground, his eyes dark and aglow. He gave me a small smile, sly and knowing.

“Oh,” I said, both surprised and relieved. “You’re back.”

He winked, adjusting his collar. “Carter’s taking another ‘personal day.’ Now, let’s make some progress, shall we?” 

And just like that, productivity returned.