Monday started out normal enough. I woke up to the startling rattle of my iPhone, which had somehow made its way off my nightstand and onto the floor. Oh right, I thought to myself. Past Me purposely placed it there before climbing into my neglected bed just two hours earlier to force Current Me to get up. Not that I really needed any extra motivation; hell would have to freeze over before I’d even entertain the possibility of not making it in time to turn in my laborious research paper. I let out a defeated sigh and rolled over to get up.
I shuffled across campus to my ethics class on autopilot, calculating how many hours I would have to remain awake before I could return to my room to pass out. I had just decided to mentally scratch off my next two classes from my schedule for the day when I walked into the lecture hall. I went straight for the crowd of people stapling their papers and placing them in a disheveled pile on the professor’s desk. Once the room settled down and everyone took a seat, the professor cleared his throat at the front of the class. “I bet you all are glad that’s over with. Not to waste any more time, today I’ll be talking about your next assignment. You guys will be giving presentations on controversial topics of your choosing, in pairs.”
The room was suddenly filled discreet wandering eyes.
“--that will be assigned,” the professor continued. The wandering eyes stopped. “The list of pairs should’ve been posted online about ten minutes ago. Today’s class time can be used to meet up with your partner and begin your research. Presentations start next week.”
As he headed back to his desk, I--along with almost every other student--took out my laptop to see who I’d been paired with. I hadn’t made an active effort to befriend anyone in the class, but with a class size of about 30, everyone knew everyone. My only hope was that whoever I was assigned to would be chill enough to let me dip early because every fiber of my being was rejecting any effort-related activities for the day.
Alice Fitzpatrick. Oh. Crap. Okay.
Suddenly the idea of studying wasn’t so traumatic. I’d seen Alice around campus a few times. She had messy, shoulder-length hair, an inviting smile, and always wore oversized Easter-egg-colored sweaters. Most of the time she was curled over her notebook in class, doodling or actually taking notes I was never sure. She only spoke when called on, in a soft, steady paced voice.
I looked up to seek her out, but my gaze was immediately met with disarming brown eyes, standing in front of me.
“Oh hey,” I said, quickly and off-guard.
“Hi,” she replied gently, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. There was a long moment where we just stared at each other, me waiting for her to make a move to set her stuff down or say something more, and her waiting to do who knows what.
“Um. Do you want to sit down so we can brainstorm topics?” I heard myself say.
“Actually, no. I was going to turn in my paper and just leave,” she said honestly.
“Oh. Yeah, okay,” I responded, trying to mirror her casual tone.
“But I’m free tomorrow night if you want to meet up. We could work at my place?”
“Um yeah sure. Sounds like a plan,” I agreed a little too enthusiastically, my mind on soft plush pillows and warm covers.
“Great, here, type your number into my phone and I’ll text you the address.”
After inputting everything and handing it back to her, she warned me that she lived with her parents since they lived fairly close to campus, it saved money, and “I’m a little attached to my parents. Only child.” I told her not to worry, my family lives pretty close too and I visit weekends on occasion, it’s a totally normal thing. With a grateful smile and a small wave, she took off. I hastily packed my stuff and followed suit.
I didn’t hear from her until lunchtime yesterday, when she texted me her address. “Is 7 ok?” she asked.
“Yeah. See you then,” I said, trying not to seem like I was trying.
She texted back a single smiley emoticon.
The rest of my day leading up to our meet up unfolded like any other day--classes, group meetings, slacking on Reddit. When 6:30 rolled around, I slid my laptop into my backpack and headed out.
Google Maps led me into a neighborhood that looked like a scene from a movie. Each house was a little different, but they all seemed like the perfect size for a family of four, living out the sought-after American Dream. As I rounded the last corner, I rolled up to a quaint, sunshine-stained stucco house with white trim. The lawn was impeccably well-kempt and vibrant, as if every blade of grass was in its rightful place. Parked in the driveway was a white Cadillac sedan that looked fresh off the lot. Beyond the trimmed bushes, taillights of a bright green Prius were peeking out of the garage, a bumper sticker of our school’s logo plastered at the bottom of the rear windshield.
I glanced down at my phone to double check the address she texted me. After confirming that I was at the right location, I parked at the curb and got out of my car. My 1999 Honda Civic with its peeling gray paint seemed out of place against the backdrop of her house.
A quick walk down the brick path to the door and a doorbell ring later, Alice was welcoming me inside. Framed photos of rustic landscapes lined the cream colored walls of the entry way. All the furniture looked neatly placed and pristine, like her family hired the most expensive maid service the city had to offer. It was the spitting image of a model home in a home decor catalogue. I couldn’t help but wonder what her parents did for a living.
As I moved out of the way so she could close the door, she looked down at my feet.
“Oh, I’ll take off my shoes,” I offered, already kicking them off. She grabbed something off the floor behind the door and presented me with flimsy white house slippers, the kind you get at a hotel that also offers guests high quality robes to use. She was wearing the same kind. After I put them on, I followed her into the house.
“Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea? I think I want some tea,” she said as we passed the kitchen.
“Yeah sure, tea sounds great.”
“Sorry there’s nothing to eat, my mom hasn’t made a run to the grocery store in a while,” she explained as she opened the door to a completely empty refrigerator except for a water filter pitcher on the bottom shelf.
“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” I said automatically. She proceeded to pull out the pitcher and pour the water into a kettle on the stove. She turned it to high heat and turned away as she gestured toward a different part of the house.
I followed her down a long hall into her bedroom. Once again everything was so neat and clean it was unnerving. School and art supplies framed her laptop, which was placed dead center on the oaken surface of her desk. The comforter of her bed had few wrinkles, her pillows looked well fluffed, heck the books on her towering bookshelf next to the door seemed to be arranged by color, then in alphabetic order by title.
“Uh, where can I put my stuff?” I asked, afraid to ruin the scene before me.
“Anywhere is fine. You can take my desk, or you can sit on my bed,” she said nonchalantly.
Both options seemed nuclear. “I don’t want to mess it up,” I confessed as I placed my backpack on the floor. She opened her mouth as if she was beginning to say something and then stopped herself.
I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to do, so I bent down to take out my laptop. She pulled out the chair at her desk and opened her laptop as well.
I elected to sit on the floor next to her as I pulled up our professor’s website to see our assignment rubric. “So have you thought about controversial topics we can do our presentation on?”
“Not really.” She thought about it for a second. “I mean there’s the basic stuff: abortion, health care reform, assisted suicide...”
I chuckled a bit at the diverse range of topics she offered up from the top of her head. “Okay, of those, I think abortion is too unoriginal and health care reform sounds really boring. I’m cool with doing assisted suicide.”
She nodded and found the Wikipedia page about the topic. She scrolled to the very bottom and started opening each reference link in new tabs. “This is usually the easiest way to get legit sources.”
I was impressed at how naturally this all came to her, or maybe I was just excited that I wasn’t stuck with a dud of a partner.
I heard an airy hiss coming from the hallway. “Are your parents home?”
Alice perked up. “Oh, no they’re out for the night. That’s the water. I’ll go make the tea.” She stood up and left as the sound morphed into a shrill whistle.
Thinking about the tea suddenly made me feel hyper-aware of how badly I needed to pee, so I walked into the hallway to find the bathroom. I walked halfway down to the kitchen before I reached the first door. It was shut and her parents weren’t home, so I didn’t hesitate to reach forward and try the knob. No luck.
Just a few paces further and I reached a second door that was ajar. Through the crack I could make out the sink and toilet and I breathed a sigh of relief. I rushed in and shut the door behind me.
The bathroom was unsurprisingly meticulous as well. The embroidered hand towel hanging on the rack near the sink looked steam pressed, the rugs didn’t have a single strand of hair, the shower curtain rings were evenly spaced. I really really had to piss, but I made sure to cover the toilet seat with strips of toilet paper--just in case. The porcelain shined so bright I probably could’ve eaten off it. Ridiculous.
As I washed my hands off, I got a whiff of something odd. Like sweaty gym socks and Febreeze and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. As I moved toward the seemingly untouched hand towel to dry off, the air smelled stale and then just awful. And I mean horribly putrid. On the same level as rotting eggs. My first impulse was to sniff my hands and see if it was the soap. Nope, definitely not the soap.
I circled the bathroom, trying to find the source of the smell. It seemed to be coming from the connecting door to what I assumed was the master bedroom. By the condition of this house, I was half expecting Alice to have some weird hobby like saving all her toenail clippings or collecting an assortment of taxidermied pets, and I was just curious enough to investigate. What could possibly be causing this smell, but more importantly, how on earth would it go unnoticed by the small army of housekeepers who probably maintain this level of orderliness?
Just like the other door in the hall, the handle wouldn’t twist. I tried jiggling it in odd directions. At one point I shifted it to the left and it gave a bit. It moved the locked bar of the handle out of the slot of the frame just enough so that I could push the dark stained oak door into the room. It was dark; the blinds shut and the curtains pulled taut over the windows. I fumbled for a light switch. The room lit up.
At the far wall sat a dresser with spare change, papers, and stray articles of clothing heaped onto it. Next to it was a shelf filled with an odd assortment of knick-knacks, books, and picture frames. Nothing was neat--in the corner there was a chair holding a huge pile of clothes--a far cry from the rest of the house.
A large queen sized bed took up the middle of the room and on it lay two large lumps covered in blankets. At this point I was so nauseated by the smell I was sure there was no possible way anyone could be sleeping on that bed without being disturbed by the stench or the lights coming on. With trepidation I crept forward to inspect. I ended up having to pinch my nose to block the smell--which didn't do much--as I stepped around a stray bag on the floor. When I approached the bedside, I slowly reached out to grab the edge of the covers, afraid the lumps would jump out at me or Alice would walk in and break the spell surrounding this puzzle piece of the room that just didn’t fit in.
With a jerk, as I almost lost my footing at the hands of a disarray of dusty books on the floor, I yanked the blankets down to reveal the bloated bodies of a man and woman with startling resemblance to Alice. The man was dressed in a light blue button up, and the woman was wearing a silk blouse. Their clothing was in exquisite condition, as if both outfits had just been picked up from dry cleaning, as if the outfits were--fresh. The two sets of glazed eyes were directed at the ceiling. I froze, my body trying to decide between fight or flight. Fight? Flight? Flight. Definitely without a doubt get the hell out of there.
Hastily, I pulled the blankets back up, stumbled back to the bathroom, turned off the lights, and tugged the door shut. Back in the perfection of the bathroom, I began to doubt what I’d seen. I would’ve called it a feverish hallucination, composed myself, and carried on with the project while sipping tea, if the horrid smell hadn’t still hung in the air. It was real. Crap. How was this real?
I flicked off the bathroom lights and hustled back toward Alice’s bedroom, wanting to grab my stuff and book it. As I had a foot through her doorway, Alice called out from the very end of the hallway, returning from the kitchen. I felt my knees begin to buckle in that very moment and it took every ounce of willpower to maintain my composure. How long had she been standing there, watching me?
I slowly looked over my shoulder with the most neutral expression I could muster. “Yeah?”
She wasn’t even looking in my direction, completely distracted by two very full mugs of tea.
“Could you come get your tea to carry into the room? I over-poured and I’m afraid I’m going to spill on my own.”
My brain was running at a million miles a minute and yet simultaneously, I felt like I no longer possessed the ability to formulate complete thoughts. I took a breath. How does one act natural in a situation like this?
“Oh yeah, of course,” I said, a bit shakily. I tried to play it off as if I was overeager to help her.
I met her at the end of the hallway and took a cup from her hands.
“Thank you,” she said evenly.
My throat caught and I held my breath for a moment before I spoke. “Uh, I hate to do this,” I started. Never in my twenty-two years of existence have I ever been so conscious of my voice. “But I, uh, I know we’ve barely done anything, but I just got a phone call from my roommate and he locked himself out.”
Our eyes met. I instinctively looked away and took a long, scorching sip of earl grey. “Oh, that sucks,” she responded.
“Yeah, I have to go let him in. I’ll text you later?”
“Um sure. Could you come back after you like let him in or do you want to try again tomorrow or?”
“Um I mean, this isn’t due until next week. We can figure it out later?” I wasn’t sure how natural I was acting, but at this point I couldn’t care less as long as she’d let me walk out the door.
She walked me back to her bedroom, still completely concentrated on not spilling her tea. I shoved my laptop into my bag and tried my best to avoid any further eye contact. When I was ready to go, I assured her she didn’t have to walk me to the door and I apologized again for leaving her so soon, I’d make it up to her by making a killer powerpoint for this project.
At the front door, as I moved to put back on my shoes, I realized I was only wearing one of the weird white slippers. I hesitated for a split second but then moved faster than I ever thought possible to slip on my shoes and dart out the door. I made a speedy getaway once I was a block away from view. Must have driven at least 20 miles over the speed limit, terrified that she would come chase me down.
I sat up all night long facing my door and writing this long post, trying to remember every detail. I haven’t slept a wink, consumed by the thought of where I may have left the slipper. The possibility that she might come across it in her parents’ bedroom is nauseating.
My ethics class starts in an hour. Everything in me is telling me not to go, but I also haven’t missed a single class and I don’t want to make it seem like anything’s wrong, especially if she doesn’t have a clue about what I know.
I don’t know who to turn to or what to do… Not saying anyone on here has had any experience like this, but does anyone have any ideas of what I can do, aside from changing my name and fleeing the country?
I think I would be okay with pretending this never happened. I just can’t fathom the thought that she finds out I was in that bedroom, or the thought that she’s the one responsible for her parents’ deaths and she’ll seek me out.
I’ve been going back and forth about it for awhile now, but I think I’m going to go to ethics. Being in public, surrounded by other people is a safe move, right?
My phone just starting ringing. Oh my God, it’s her. No way in hell I’m going to answer.
She just left a voicemail. I don’t know if I can bring myself to listen to it.
Submitted March 29, 2017 at 05:43PM by neonwhaaales http://ift.tt/2nzOxu9 nosleep
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