“Reaping Karen: An HR Horror Story”
- Andrew Toney
- Sep 3
- 3 min read
Filed under: Reap Reports, HOA Hostility, HR Nightmares, & Soul-Crushing Coffee Dependency
There are days when I wake up in the Afterlife, drag my bony ass to the office, and think,“You know what, Steve? Maybe today won’t suck.”
Then I remember three things:
I work for Dead Inside Co.
I haven’t had enough coffee to legally operate my own scythe.
The HOA exists.
This morning’s dispatch landed with all the subtlety of a chainsaw through drywall:
TARGET: Karen Whitlock, President of Whispering Pines HOACAUSE OF DEATH: “Natural causes”(read: Steve’s scythe and a restraining order)
The Reap: Karen vs. Reality
Karen opened the door before I even knocked, armed with an HOA handbook the size of a Gideon Bible. She didn’t scream. She didn’t run.She lectured.
“You can’t park a hearse within fifty feet of my azaleas!”“Skeleton décor must be historically accurate!”“Fog machines after 6 PM are a class-C misdemeanor!”
By the third complaint, I had already tuned her out and was mentally calculating how many espresso shots it would take to endure her voice in Hell’s eternity.
She jabbed the handbook at me like it was an enchanted artifact. “I’m fining you $500 for… excessive scythe display.”
I smiled.She didn’t.My scythe hummed like a migraine.
Her soul left her body screaming about “property values.” I guided it to the elevator. Pressed the “DOWN” button. Didn’t wave.
The Summons
I should’ve known better than to whistle on my way back to the office. Dead Inside Co. hears joy. Joy is a punishable offense.
The intercom crackled:
“Steve, HR. Now.”
Janet Killjoy.Head of HR.Patron saint of weaponized bureaucracy.
Her office door is a monolith of black steel with a sign that reads:“Abandon Hope, All Ye Noncompliant.”
Inside, the air is colder. Quieter. There’s no sound except the rhythmic ticking of a clock that isn’t there.
Janet sat behind her obsidian desk, sipping from a mug that says, “HR Finds You Eventually.” Her expression is permanent disappointment sculpted into human form.
She slid a folder across the desk. My name. Thick as a tombstone.
Janet: “Explain the incident.”Me: “Karen swung first.”Janet: “Karen is… dead, Steve.”Me: “Exactly.”Janet: “We’ve had eight HOA lawsuits this quarter alone. Do you enjoy making my job harder?”Me: “No, Janet. I enjoy coffee. Reaping is just… part of the gig.”
Her eyes didn’t blink. I’m not sure they can.
Mandatory Reprogramming
By the end of the “discussion,” I had:
Three new HR violations (“Improper Customer Service Tone,” “Unnecessary Swagger,” and “Blood Mist Within City Limits”)
Eight hours of mandatory “Empathy for the Recently Deceased” training
A behavioral improvement contract written entirely in blood. Not mine.
Janet leaned in, close enough for me to smell her perfume — scorched ink and something ancient.
Janet: “Steve… your metrics are excellent. Your attitude is not. You’re very good at ending lives, but Dead Inside Co. expects you to end them quietly.”
I laughed.She didn’t.
The Twist
As I left her office, my inbox pinged with my next assignment:
TARGET: Greg Whitlock.RELATION: Karen’s Husband.NOTES: “High emotional volatility. Avoid spectacle.”
Great.I’m being asked to reap Karen’s husband less than six hours after sending her screaming into the void. HR is either testing me… or setting me up.
On my way out, Janet called after me. Just loud enough for my bones to vibrate:
“Steve… remember who signs your soul checks.”
I swear the lights flickered when she smiled.I’m 70% sure she has Karen’s soul in a jar on her desk.
Final Thoughts
If I disappear after Greg’s reap, assume HR won.
Tell my coffee mug I loved it.Tell Dispatch I hated them.Tell Janet Killjoy… absolutely nothing. She already knows.
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