Booths stretched endlessly under the glow of flickering LED signs. The air reeked of synthetic carpet, stale coffee, and desperation. Derek Langston, Senior Event Strategist (which was a fancy way of saying guy-who-pretended-to-care-about-swag), adjusted his name badge and sighed. It was day one of the Global Synergy Trade Summit, and he had one job: generate leads.
Then he saw him.
A man—tall, vaguely familiar—approaching the booth with an expression that sent a chill down Derek’s spine. He extended a clammy hand.
“Hi, I’m Gary,” the man said, his grip lingering a second too long. “I’d love to hear about your solutions.”
Derek, ever the professional, launched into his spiel. AI-powered engagement tools, seamless CRM integration, buzzwords, buzzwords, buzzwords. Gary nodded enthusiastically, filled out a lead form, and pocketed a stress ball shaped like a miniature brain.
And then… he disappeared into the crowd.
Hours passed. Derek forgot about him. But at 4:07 PM, just as his brain was starting to liquefy, Gary returned.
“Hi, I’m Gary,” he said, extending the same clammy hand. “I’d love to hear about your solutions.”
Derek frowned. “Yeah, uh, we spoke earlier?”
Gary’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Nope. First time here.”
He filled out the lead form again. Took another stress ball. Wandered off.
Derek stared after him, suppressing the creeping unease.
Day two – 9:14 AM
“Hi, I’m Gary. I’d love to hear about your solutions.”
Derek knocked over his coffee. “You’re messing with me, right? We met yesterday—twice, actually. You signed up then.”
Gary tilted his head. “I don’t think so.”
Derek checked his lead list. There it was: Gary Smith, Pacific Tech Logistics. Signed up twice. Same email. Same phone number. Same eerie enthusiasm.
By noon, Gary had come back five times.
By 3 PM, eight times.
By closing, fourteen.
Every time, the same handshake. The same question. The same stress ball pocketed like a sacred relic from some unholy ritual.
Day three – Derek loses his mind
Derek didn’t sleep. He was convinced Gary was some kind of conference demon—a cursed entity, doomed to wander exhibition halls for eternity, absorbing every pitch but buying nothing.
At 10 AM, Derek hid behind the booth’s retractable banner. It was childish, sure, but he needed one single hour without hearing:
“Hi, I’m Gary. I’d love to hear about your solutions.”
Then came the rustling. The faintest shuffling of shoes. The muted press of another stress ball being taken.
Derek peeked out.
Gary was already filling out a lead form.
A scream bubbled in Derek’s throat. He shoved the banner aside and lunged forward. “WHO ARE YOU?!”
Gary blinked. “I’m Gary.”
“NO, REALLY. Are you a plant? A test? Is this some kind of sick joke?” Derek was unraveling.
His coworkers were whispering, the neighboring booth reps were staring. A passing CEO glanced at him like a feral raccoon.
Gary smiled. The first expression that wasn’t polite enthusiasm.
“Let’s just say,” he murmured, leaning in, “I’m very interested in your follow-up process.”
Derek’s blood ran cold.
Gary stepped back, clutching his fifteenth stress ball. He winked. And then he vanished.
Derek quit event marketing that evening. He didn’t tell anyone why. He just packed up his things and walked into the night, leaving behind the flickering LED signs, the synthetic carpet, and the ever-growing stack of lead forms.
When his manager called weeks later, fuming about a mystery lead named Gary who had been impossible to contact, Derek simply hung up.
He knew the truth.
Gary was never meant to convert.
Gary would never die.
