Monday, May 30, 2011

The Third Room.

"Pray for the man in the Middle, one that talks like Doolittle"
Frank Black

Chris twiddled his thumbs, waiting patiently as always for the mail to go through the slot in his front door. Chris didn't do much for work these days so he time to wait around for mail. It was a Tuesday so Chris figured the mail would come around 9 am. Isn't it funny, Chris thought, I don't know who brings me my mail but I know when it comes

No mail came for Chris, so he decided at 9:15 am to pace around his apartment. Next to his dining table was his bathroom. He went into his bathroom at ran the sink, undid the toilet paper that was running clockwise to make sure it was running clockwise and then opened and closed the shower curtain three times. Chris scrubbed his kitchen floor and began to clean inside his oven before he realized he was going to need more Ajax and some food if he was going to clean the scrub down his bathroom today.

Chris took the bus to the store, was called a faggot by another customer and then short changed by the lady  the register. Chris said nothing the whole time. Chris cleaned the bathroom and ate a bologne and white bread sandwich, Chris came to the realization that he hated bologne but couldn't afford anything else.

Chris cried himself to sleep.

Chris twiddled his thumbs, patiently waiting as always for the mail to go through the slot in his front door. Chris didn't do much for work these days so he time to wait around for mail. It was a Wednesday so Chris figured the mail would come around 8. Isn't it funny, Chris thought, I don't know who brings me my mail but I know when it comes.

No mail came for Chris, so he decided at 8:15 am to go into his bedroom and get ready for work. Next to his dresser was a radio clock. He turned on the radio and detuned it back and forth all the way on the AM band. He did this three times and then tuned it back to classical. Chris took the bus to work where he was a dishwasher at a fast food cheap diner, he stood and stared at a wall all day washing dishes. His only two co-workers didn't talk to him, but Chris could tell they were saying mean things about him. Chris said nothing the whole time. Chris came home and scrubbed the walls in his living/bedroom and ate a bologne and white bread sandwich.

Chris cried himself to sleep.

Chris twiddled his thumbs, waiting patiently as always for the mail to go through the slot in his front door. Chris didn't do much for work these days so he time to wait around for mail. It was a Thursday so Chris figured the mail would come around 9 am. Isn't it funny, Chris thought, I don't know who brings me my mail but I know when it comes.

No mail came for Chris.

Chris scrubbed his kitchen floor and began to clean inside his oven before he realized he was going to need to go to the store. Chris took the bus to the store, was called a retard by someone in the parking lot and then given weird looks by the clerks at the sporting goods counter. Chris said nothing the whole time.

Chris made a mop bucket and placed it outside his bathroom with some clean towels. He then removed the floor mat, the used towels and shower curtain and put them in the washing machine. He took his clothes off and put them in the trash. Chris then ate a bologna sandwich as he sat naked on the toilet. Chris then put the Remington shotgun under his chin and then let rip.

The last thing Chris felt was the corners of his mouth curling up into his cheeks.


"Yeah, last guy was real quiet, real clean liver, always paid his rent on time" Pauly the landlord said, his eyes looking towards the bathroom nervously.
"So you said this place came with a washer and dryer, right?" said Charlie.
"Yeah" said Pauly " Washer and Dryer are just behind that closet door. All the basics are here, ya got your living-slash-sleepin' area there, and your bathroom"
Two rooms, Charlie thought, shit.
"It's 650-"
"-a month, I can waive the uh... deposit for ya" finished Pauly, still fixated on the bathroom.
Charlie thought it was a shithole, but it's all he could afford. Atleast it's clean, Charlie figured. It didn't even looked lived in. He moved in on a friday.

Charlie was in moving boxes of records when he noticed something different. He felt something was awry: no longer did the apartment feel clean and empty. It's tone had changed. Of course the apartment was still clean, save for the boxes charlie was moving in, but the mood the studio apartment made him feel was no longer sterile
He'd say you call him crazy if he said this, but he felt unwelcome. No, not unwelcome, but that even though he was in his apartment, he wasn't really in his apartment. It belonged to someone else. Then it hit him.

"What the fuck?" Charlie couldn't help but notice the big door in his kitchen where his fridge used to be.

The door was wooden, with fogged glass and painted in neat little writing with a single word on it. Charlie had to be close enough to open it to read the word "Regret" written in red. Opon touching the ornate door handle Charlie felt both a static shock and a chill up his spine. He tried to look through the fogged glass but it was no use. He just had to walk through.

To be honest, Charlie would have been surprized by anything he found in the third room of his supposedly two room apartment. But what he saw gave him room for even more pause the he originally bargained for when he opened the door.
What he saw were 4 objects in a room about 6 feet by 4. First was a Remington shotgun in the corner imediatly to his left. Secondly he saw a grocery store register desk complete with grocery bags on a hook and a conveyer belt. Then he saw an industrial sink full of dishes in the far right corner. Last he saw a mailman's bag full of letters adressed to no one. Just envelopes with the words "Regret" or "Ajax" written on them.

The thing that frightened charlie the most wasn't the fact that his fridge had literally just disappeared or that he really should be in his neighbors livingroom right now. It was the eerie randomness the objects had. He looked at them all individually. He put his hands in the sink, it was ice cold. He opened the register, it only had 35 cents in it. He held the shotgun, it...

Oh shit Charlie thought.

"I need your help, Charlie" Said the man with half a head, sitting on the conveyer belt, swinging his legs.


Charlie was at his wits end. He hadn't got a decent nights sleep in weeks.  
If Chris keeps fucking detuning my radio Charlie scornfully thought to himself I'll blow my fucking brains out too.
"I told you to help me, it's the only way I think I'll get out of this place" Chris said as if answering a question never asked.
Chris began to detune the radio.
Charlie could feel himself getting an anyuerism. He knew what Charlie wanted him to do, but goddamn it he wasn't going to do it. No way. No fucking way.
"If you want me to stop screwing with your stuff, I told you what you can do"
Charlie pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. "You can read my fucking mind?"
Charlie paused for a beat.
"34" Chris said.

Oh for fuck'sake, charlie thought as he grabbed the remington shotgun and headed outside to his car. Charlie floated behind him 4 or so inches off the ground, smiling with what was left of his head.


First stop was the grocery store just down the road. Charlie sighed, he knew he had a real decent court case for insanity, but Chris had told him it would never come to that. He'd never get caught, Chris told him over and over again. Charlie didn't know if that was even possible, given the tasks he was given in lurid detail to acomplish.

Eitherway, he guessed it would be crazy NOT to do everything the obsessive compulsive ghost told him to do.

Inside the grocery store Charlie found the lady at the ten items or less check out. She was in her late teens and had Pink dyed hair and seemed to be every bit the little bitch Chris had said. Even though, Charlie thought, God forgive me for what I've gotta do.
The little dyed haired bitch behind the register was talking on her cellphone about finals when Charlie brought the wonderbread and Ajax he was instructed to bring to the belt. Even as she rung him up, she never looked at Charlie. Charlie gulped.
"35 cents" Charlie said.
The little bitch wasn't even phased.
"35 cents" Charlie said, louder.
"wait a second... WHAT?" She said, as if Charlie was the one being rude.
"You owe Chris 35 cents"
Right as the cashier was about to say 'Who's chris?' Charlie did as he was instructed. He took the Remington shotgun and beat the living piss out of who Charlie only just realized was named "Suzy" as he did it.
First he only just swung the butt out at her, which knocked her in the mouth, shocked her and made her fall back into the little space she worked in. Charlie was to then get both hands on the shotgun to get more purchase. He blackened both her eyes, broke her nose, knocked out her teeth and broke her jaw. He wasn't sure if there was anyone coming to her aide or not because she was screaming bloody murder the whole time. To be honest, Charlie was too. This wasn't how he wanted to spend his Saturday.

The Second stop was a shitty little diner where the were just restaurantesque enough to feed people off of plates but too cheap to hire a dishwasher for more then 25 hours a week. Chis told Charlie this is where he use to work, and why Charlie found so many shells with the Gun. Charlie sighed and got out of the car. He decided not to sit too long and think about what he had to do. What he did at the grocery store was just to limber him up.

Charlie walked through the door with the shotgun aimed at waitress. She had neither time enough to ask him "Smoking or nonsmoking?" or scream "please don't kill me!" before she had a slug in her chest, roughly stopping her heart instantly. Or ripping it out. Charlie didn't ponder the physics of it. Next was the fry cooks. One, an older black man, never said anything bad about Chris, he was to be nodded out the back door. "Chris told me to let you go" Charlie said loud. The black man made no argument, he just ran.
"Now you, Merko, you fucking prick" screamed Charlie, in a voice not all his own.
The other frycook began to piss his pants "What!? Who are you!? How do you know my name?"
Charlie smacked him accross the skull with the butt of the shotgun, the wrath of an old testament god coursing through his veins. "Chris sent me, you cocksuckers!"
Merko began to scream back, his last attempt at asserting dominance "What? That fucking freak dishwasher? Fuck him! I'm glad he killed himself!"
Charlie found no difficulty in forcing the barrell of the shotgun through Merko's pursed lips and into the back of his throat. Charlie thought he heard Merko say something like "Stop" or "Please don't" when he told Merko to cry and beg for his life. It was kinda hear the around the gun barrell. Charlie then uncerimoniously blew Merko's brains out.
Charlie found Susana exactly where Chris said she'd be: Cowering in her office, trying in vein to call the police, and crying loudly. Charlie casted a shaddow over Susana as he balanced the gun over his shoulder.
"Phones don't work, do they?" Charlie asked, calmly
Susana sniffled pathetically
"I figured" Charlie said, holding just the slightest of smiles. Susana wasn't unnattractive, infact, if she wasn't balling her eyes out right now she'd actually be quite sexy. This made what Charlie had to do seem all the more fucked up, even worse the greivious bodily harm and double homicide. Was it worth a fridge and a decent nights sleep? Maybe because he was sleep deprived and had been fast food fed for the last month or two, he was inclined to say yes.
He put the shotgun down and lunged at Susana, grabbing her by the belt. Her hips and legs squirming as she screamed "No! No! Please don't! Don't rape me!".
"Lay still or I will fucking kill you" Charlie spoke stern, shutting her up. She just wimpered as he took off her belt, then ripped open her jeans. She was starting to cry loud again but Charlie just kept working on taking her pants off, or atleast down. After what seemed like forever, and funnily, given the gravitas of the situation, made Charlie ponder why are womens jeans so much harder to get in an out of then mens?, Charlie got her down to her underwear.
Susana saw Charlie look behind him at the dish sink and ask "What now?" he chuckled, "You serious?" Charlie looked back at Susana almost as if to say "Sorry" and put his fingers behind the front of her underwear. He felt first the warm, soft skin of her lower belly, then her pubic hair. He then grabbed at the underwear before he felt anything more personal and yanked her underwear all the way down. He saw her bush, trimed into a triangle, her pussy and a tattoo of a little tiny butterfly on her right hip. There was a long pause where Susana wondered if anything was going to happen. Finally Susana saw Charlie asked the dish sink behind him if it was satisfied. After another pause he looked back as Susana and stood up.
"You can put your pants back on" Charlie said, glibly.
"Wh... wh... why are you doing this?" Susana cried as she hastily yaked her pants up.
"Don't worry about it" Charlie said calmly as he yanked up the shotgun up to his shoulder and painted the walls.


"How do you know the mailman is coming in ten minutes?" Asked charlie sitting at the dining table twiddling his thumbs.
"Trust me" said chris watching the clock every 4 seconds and compulsivly organizing Charlie's record collection. "They should be outside... right... about... now"
Charlie walked out and shouldn't have been surprized to see a mail woman. A kinda cute one too. Charlie nonchalantly said "Hi, what's up?"
"Oh, you know, doing my job" Said the mail woman, nonchalantlier. "What are you doing, stranger?"
"Y'know, just moved in, killing... time. Killing time."
"You just moved in?" She said concerned "What happen to the last guy?"
"He, uh... He killed himself"
"Oh no!" She said, seeming sincerely sad "He was such a sweet guy, so quiet. Christopher, right?"
"Yeah, Chris"
"That's so sad, I could tell he was so lonely here, I hope he's in a better place now"
"Yeah, me too"
fucking 'A' Charlie thought.
"Hey, are you covered in... blood?" the mail woman inquired, eyebrow raised
"Uhm, yeah kinda"
"Why?" more confused then alarmed
"Long story" Charlie grimaced
"Well have fun with that stranger" The mail lady chuckled as she began to walk away.
"Hey, what is your name?" Charlie asked her.
"My name is Cindy" the mail woman said.
"I'm Charlie"
"Nice to meet you Charlie"
"You too"

Charlie walked back into his apartment and was flooded with a sense that all was alright. when he opened his eyes he saw a refrigerator. He walked up to the fridge and opened it, all that was in it was a half eaten tube of bologna and the wonder bread he stole earlier.

Charlie sat on his couch eating a bologna sandwich and stared at the morning sun through his window.

God, did Charlie love bologna.

Feeeeew *Wipes brow*
My back hurts!
Big Mike.

1 comment:

  1. I am growing pleased with these short stories.