I shush Eric. His new sneakers continue squeaking on the linoleum, but at a softer, more deliberate pace. We are in the office an hour before everyone else gets in, but I am still paranoid that someone might be here. It's the first of April and they are in for a surprise when they come in today.
We unlock the utility closet. Eric knows the janitor.
"Got the dye?" I ask.
He hands me the bottle. I slosh it around.
"That's all?"
He shrugs. I tell him to fill the mop bucket with water. When he comes back, I add in the corn starch I brought along with the dye and start mixing it into a thin slurry. It looks like almost-set red jello.
Eric has a mischievous grin on his face. "Let's go," he says with barely controlled excitemement.
We start slathering the aisles with the fake blood with mop, tracing a chaotic struggle that it is supposed to represent. When we are done, it looks like a masterpiece. A crime scene in thirty minutes.
After I am done cleaning up, I go to our hiding spot where Eric is already keeping a lookout.
"Shh!"
"What?" I say.
"Harriet is here early."
Harriet is our boss, and not a very good one. We peek around the corner of a wall to observe the unfolding result of our efforts. She turns the light on, takes one step, screams at the sight of the floors, and slips on the slurry. She falls hard, landing on a wrist, which makes her scream louder.
Eric looks at me with wide eyes.
"Oh crap..." he mouths.
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