New Untitled Story

                The man grabbed his sunglasses from the passenger’s seat and put them on, blocking the sun’s glare.  He looked at the digital clock and grunted disgustedly.  He snatched his cellphone up off the passenger’s seat and pressed the button which automatically dialed his office.

                “Green, Callahan, and-“ a cheery receptionist answered the phone.

                “I know who the hell I’m calling, Janet.  Just put Jack on the phone,” the man grumbled.

                “Yes, Mr. Green.  I’m sorry.”

                There was a click as Janet placed the man on hold.  It was only thirty seconds, but it seemed longer.  Under his pin-striped, black suit and white shirt he knew sweat was forming.  He turned up the air conditioning to combat the hot July sun.  The traffic was heavy and the man’s car slowly moved up the street, coming to a stop every few seconds when the traffic ground to a complete standstill.

                “Dennis?” an eloquent voice asked.

                “Yes, Jack, it’s me.  Traffic’s pretty tight.  I’m probably not going to be in until ten,” Dennis said as the traffic began to move again.  He looked at his clock again and saw that it was creeping up on nine fifteen.  “I’ve got a nine-thirty appointment.  Can you take that for me? I’ll buy the first round tonight.”

                Dennis could hear papers being shuffled on the other end of the call.  “Two rounds and you’ve got a deal,” Jack said with an audible smile.

                “Thanks, Jack.  I owe you one.”

                “Two,” was Jack’s only reply as he disconnected the call.

                Dennis tossed the phone into the passenger’s seat and slammed his hands onto the steering wheel.

                “Can’t you move that heap any faster?”

                The car ahead of him continued to move slowly toward the traffic light.

                “Damn it! The light’s gonna change.”

                As if in response the light switched from green to yellow.  Two cars separated Dennis from it.  The first went through easily.  The second passed underneath as the yellow went to red forcing Dennis to stop.  He mashed his foot down on the brake and the BMW immediately obeyed.

                Once he again had the green light Dennis slammed his foot on the gas and watched as the speedometer quickly rose from zero to forty miles per hour.  He glanced up into his rearview mirror and spotted the two baskets of laundry he placed there the night before.

                “Crap!” he called out to himself and switched lanes without looking.  He then jerked the wheeling, pulling the car into the parking lot of a strip mall where a Laundromat was located.

                I can’t believe I’m doing laundry, he thought to himself.

                Laundry has always been something his wife had taken care of throughout their six years of marriage.  That was, of course, until she’d left him two weeks ago.  Traded him in for a younger model.  One with less miles and a more powerful engine, no doubt.  The thought made him sick.

                Dennis found the parking space closest to the doors available.  He carried the two baskets into the building.  He walked up the counter where he found a heavy woman chewing bubble gum and reading a thing romance novel sitting behind it.

                “Ma’am,” Dennis said, glancing at his watch.

                She raised her meaty hand in a gesture which said: “Hold on.” And then blew a bubble with her gum.

                Dennis did.

                She turned the page, appeared to read a few more lines and then folded the corner over.

                “Can I help you?” she asked, still chewing her gum.

                Dennis stared for a moment, disgusted by every open-mouthed chew.  “Yes,” he said and indicated the two baskets behind him.  “Can you get these washed and dried for me, please?”  He grabbed for his wallet.  “I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.”

                “Sorry,” she replied and continued to loudly smack her gum between her teeth.  “We don’t do that he-ah.  You have to go to Bangah fah that,” she said with a thick Maine accent making washing clothes sound like a sick sexual favor that only specific ladies would perform.

                She opened her book and once again began to read and chew.

                Dennis looked from her to his baskets of laundry and back to her again.

                “Where can I get some…?” he started to ask, but was cut off as she pointed to a wall dispenser.

                “Detergent’s over they-ah.” She answered without even looking up.

                He walked to the dispenser and deposited a few coins.  He scanned the room which was nearly empty, but all of the washers appeared to be in use.  He sat on a bench at the front of the building.  To his left was a seemingly oft-used pinball machine, a piece of cardboard underneath one leg prevented it from rocking.  Beside that was a small table on which stood a coffee maker.

                At least they have coffee; he thought and walked over to it.

                He poured himself a steaming Styrofoam cup and added cream and sugar.  He returned to the bench and pulled the cellphone from his suit jacket pocket.  With his thumb he stabbed the button which autodialed the firm.

                “Janet, put Jack on,” Dennis said firmly when the phone was picked up.

                “Uh, Mr. Callahan is in a meeting.  Your meeting,” Janet replied.

                “Okay, then let him know I’m not going to be in at all today.  Something came up.  Can you please reschedule all of the appointments that he can’t cover for me?”

                “Sure, Mr. Green.  Is everything okay?” she asked with obvious concern.

                “Just peachy,” Dennis replied and hung up the phone.

                The bell over the door tinkled and a balding man walked into the room.  He passed within a few inches of Dennis and brought with him the smell of coffee, stale cigar smoke, and body odor.  The jeans he wore were greasy and paint stained.  By the looks they may never have seen the inside of a washer.  The man walked to a nearby bench and sat down heavily.

                “Mistah, if yer looking for a washah there’s one ovah they-ah.”

                Dennis eyed him with mistrust.  He stood and surveyed the room again, this time finding a washer that seemed not to be running.  He stacked the two baskets and brought them with him.  This washer was in the far back corner which may explain why he hadn’t noticed it initially.  As he approached, however, he spotted a   hand written note on its surface.  The short note was unsigned, but the message was simple.

                Do not remove my clothes from this washer or you’ll be sorry.

                Dennis chuckled as he read the note for the third time.  “You’ll be sorry,” he said and laughed again.  “Sounds like a threat from a fifth grader’s attempt at a horror story.”

                He crumpled the scrap of paper and tossed it onto the floor in the corner of the room.  He opened the washer’s lid and for an instant his head was surrounded by swirling particles, like dust.  They floated around his head like a swarm of bees, so real he could almost hear them buzzing.  He inhaled, frightened, and choked as he breathed some of them in.  His eyes watered as he gasped for air.  He managed a strangled sounding cough and was finally able to clear his throat.  Composed, he began to remove the clothing from the washer.  Seeing no basket he simply dropped them onto a nearby table.

                “Don’t remove my clothes from this washer or you’ll be sorry,” a voice said.

                Startled Dennis glanced around the room.  The man who smelled of stale smoke and sweat was standing before a dryer.  A young mother sat reading, looking up every few seconds to speak sternly to her son and then return to her reading.  Near her a young couple was talking animatedly about a program that was on the television.  It looked like something from the early eighties.  The voice had come from none of them.

                “Just my imagination,” Dennis said to himself.  “Just stress.”

                Dennis loaded the washer as best he could from memory.  He’d never joined his wife in laundry, but when he was younger he did on occasion be in the basement when his mother was performing the task.

                As he closed the washer’s lid he felt a wave of lightheadedness come over him.  He staggered backward, bumping into the table he’d put the orphaned clothes on.  He felt on the verge of collapse.  His mouth was dry and his stomach was doing somersaults.  He got a small cup of water from the bubbler on the back wall and sat down.  Colored spots appeared before his eyes and the room seemed to be spinning.  He drank the water down in two gulps and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  He stood on wobbly feet and filled the cup once more, finishing this one just as quickly.  He wretched once and moved quickly toward the door which said, ‘Restroom’.  The door led to a small, gloomy area behind the dryers.  The controls for all the machines were contained there and it was incredibly noisy.  Dennis spotted the door for the bathroom and felt around for the light switch.  The overhead fluorescent flared to life with its characteristic hum.  The bathroom was small and dirty, but would do.  Dennis dropped to his knees on the filthy floor in front of the porcelain bowl and gripped both sides so tightly his knuckles turned white.

                The walls were covered in writing.  Some were confessions of love while others were failed attempts at poetry.  All were the products of idle time and an available pen. 

                Some day I’ll come back here and write something on these walls, Dennis thought.

                He felt his stomach turn and he wretched.  He vomited his breakfast, still slightly recognizable as bacon and eggs, into the toilet.  He wiped his mouth and nose with a wad of toilet paper and began to stand, but before he could turn for the door his knees again felt weak.  He pitched forward, breathing heavily, and again resumed his iron grip on the toilet bowl.  He vomited again this time seeing threads of blood.  He gasped for air between wretches.  There was more blood.

                That can’t be good, he thought.

                Dennis saw movement to his left out of the corner of his eye.  He turned his head slowly in that direction.  His gaze fell upon a pair of grease and paint stained jeans.  Slowly feeling his life slip away he raised his eyes and saw the balding man.  His mouth was open in a missing-toothed grin.

                I didn’t lock the door, Dennis thought as he looked at the handle, but saw that the lock was indeed still engaged.

                “How you doin’, rich man?” the balding man, who seemed not to be a man at all, asked.

                Dennis vomited again this time all over the floor.  It was almost entirely blood now.  A small stream of it trickled down his chin.  Some had splattered on his shirt and pants.

                The balding man smiled again, its mouth now filled with razor sharp teeth.  Its face was little more than a bubbling, swirling mass.  It raised a gnarled, clawed hand to its mouth and blew out a breath which stank of decay.  With it came a fresh swarm of spores, swirling around Dennis.  His arms and legs grew numb and let go beneath him.  He lay on the concrete floor limp and paralyzed.  The balding man-thing took a step closer.  It was a careful step like a predator sneaking up on its prey.  Then it sprang forward, mouth open and dripping saliva.  Dennis felt the pain as it sunk its claws into the side of his head to hold it still and then used its teeth to rip into his throat.  He had enough time to open his mouth in a blood spewing gurgle before the world went black.  His life blood poured from the ragged tear in his throat.

*

                The balding man walked down the sidewalk in Woodstock.  He had a laundry bag clutched in his right hand, swinging slightly as he walked.  A sign up ahead proclaimed: ‘Laundry. 24-7”.

                “That looks like a good place,” he said as he took a final puff on his cigar and exhaled.  He tossed the stub into an ashtray and opened the glass door.  A bell tinkled overhead.  It was very early in the day and there weren’t many people in the small building, but there would be.  He spotted a free washer in the back corner.