Roommates
Short light horror fiction
Dearest Penguin People,
A good roommate is hard to find…
As always, a quick thank you to P.Q. Rubin for the tipsy penguin up top…
Paul was late. Strauss wondered if he should worry, but then footsteps echoed in the hall, followed by the soft jiggle of keys and a muffled obscenity. Years of humidity had warped the apartment door, causing it to stick. One swift kick, and the door flew open.
Strauss barely evaded the business end of an army surplus boot. Undeterred, he stood to the side and waited. His roommate was always grumpy when he came home. He just needed a minute.
Paul flicked on the kitchen light. It did little to improve his appearance. Toothpick limbs and ashen skin covered in spider tattoos lent a deathly visage more suited to funerals. A fact of which he was quite proud. He opened the refrigerator. A dim bulb glinted briefly off an eyebrow piercing as he looked inside. Yogurt cups lined alphabetically, from banana to vanilla, filled the top shelf. Mineral waters, apple to raspberry, lined the second. And to Strauss’s delight, cheeses hailing from Denmark to Switzerland filled the bottom. The vegetable crisper always contained the same thing: one eggplant. Every Tuesday he tossed it and replaced it with a new one.
Strauss’s eyes misted up. He loved this guy.
Paul took a yogurt and carefully peeled the foil label from the top. He rolled it into a thin cigar, placed it into a plastic sandwich bag, sealed it, then dropped it in the trash. As he did so, a fleck of yogurt fell on his pants. He grimaced and used a moist paper towel to dab it clean.
Then he sank into a leather recliner, unbuttoning the collar of his convenience store uniform with his free hand. Other than a large plasma TV, the recliner was the only furniture in the small living space. Paul flipped through the stations and finally noticed Strauss waiting patiently beside him. He pulled off a boot, his aim swinging wide. Strauss scampered away, out of sight. Paul sighed and put the boot back on.
Strauss peeked around the recliner to watch the news with his roomie.
A Barbie blond reporter with a mole on her chin stood in an Insta-Mart parking lot. She pointed at a lone red tennis shoe on the asphalt. “No one witnessed the kidnapping of store manager Dewey Smith. If anyone has any information regarding his whereabouts, viewers are encouraged to call the 24-hour crime line.”
The screen flashed back to a news anchor behind a desk, scratching his nose. He jumped when he saw the camera focused on him. He sorted through his notes, clearing his throat. “Did the police reveal any motive for his disappearance?”
The reporter flashed a plastic look of concern. “Investigators have ruled out robbery as nothing appears stolen or out of place. In fact, one commented that this is the most organized store he had ever seen.”
Paul smiled.
Interesting. Paul’s boss had gone missing. How sad for him. Strauss glanced up at his roomie, impressed at how well he was taking this.
Then a whiff of something rank, yet very familiar, curdled Strauss’s nostrils. It grew stronger near the air vent. He approached Paul with his toes clamped over his nose and pointed at the vent. “Can’t you smell that?” he asked.
The look Paul gave him was disappointing, as if he — Paul’s bestie in the whole world — was the problem, and not the steadily rising putrescence that if left unchecked would surely make his eyes bleed. Paul reached for his boot again. Strauss took the hint. If his roomie wouldn’t help, then he’d just have to investigate on his own.
Strauss headed for the laundry room in the basement. His friend Stu was on the stairwell. He was gnawing on a chicken wing and scratching his butt. Not the classiest guy, but a decent sort.
Stu smiled, wiping grease from his chin. “What’s up?”
“I smelled something foul coming from the basement.”
Stu’s ears perked up. “You mean, other than the usual?”
“Something foul, but freshly foul.”
“Oooooohhhhh, the best kind! Lead the way.”
Strauss and Stu crept into the laundry room. Heat bounced off the walls as a fetid odor ripe with melting flesh rushed into the stairwell to greet them. A quick look showed the thermostat stuck on ninety. Not for the first time Strauss realized that their Super really sucked.
But then, they counted on that.
“Whoa.” Stu buried his face in his armpit, notable since Stu was known to bathe in compost heaps. Steeling himself, he headed for the utility closet, his toenails clicking on the cement floor.
“Dude, you really need a pedi,” Strauss said.
Stu stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. “And you need to spend less time with your weirdos. My toes are fine.”
Strauss shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“Whatever.” Stu peered inside the utility closet, his tail curled at the tip. “Well, here it is.”
Strauss looked over his shoulder. A dead body plugged the main air duct that led from the central air. Feet dangled from the opening, one covered in a dingy white sock and the other in a red tennis shoe, laces flapping under a blast of hot air.
Stu’s whiskers splayed out like an anemone across his snout. “What kind of moron would stash a body here?”
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell behind them. Paul walked in, carrying a black tennis shoe. His eyes grew dark when he saw Strauss and Stu next to the body. He lunged forward; the shoe raised above his head. They scattered and watched from the relative safety of the exit. Still scowling, Paul reached for the offending foot dangling from the vent.
Ah. Silly him. The symmetry was off, an unbearable flaw in the scheme of things.
Strauss stood on his hind feet, watching, whiskers twitching. The black shoe was a little small, but Paul managed to squeeze it onto Dewey’s foot. He left the laundry room, giving Strauss and Stu the finger as he passed them.
“Someone’s going to notice the smell,” Stu said.
Strauss sat back on his haunches. “They won’t if they can’t find the body.”
“Spider Boy tried to flatten us and you want to bail him out?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?” Stu said. “You like this creep?”
“I do.” Strauss headed for the door. “Get the others to move the body.”
Stu screamed at his back, “The HOA won’t like this!”
“Meh,” and Strauss was gone.
Stu cursed under his breath. It would be a long morning.
Strauss scampered up the stairs. He wanted this relationship to work out. His last roommate had been a chain-smoking slob who subsisted on instant ramen and cheap beer. The horror of it all.
He entered through the kitchen window, his nose immediately aquiver. Neat little stacks of Swiss and Gouda lined the cutting board. Strauss watched Paul take a piece of Gouda and place it carefully in a rat trap. He set it in front of the cubbyhole in the living room wall that Strauss called home.
His whiskers trembled. The bastard. He watched Paul set the remaining traps. When he was done, he went back to the cutting board and saw Strauss perched on the window ledge. Their eyes met, one soulless and the other profoundly disappointed. Paul grabbed the knife. Unflinching, Strauss remained in place and let out a piercing screech. The air shook under a wave of fur, tiny claws, and pointy teeth, erupting from every nook and shadow. They carried Paul to the basement, to the secret concealed behind the walls, a dark place for those who hate rats.
Strauss hopped onto Paul’s chair and made a mental note to bring it up at the next HOA meeting. They were running out of space and needed to expand their tunnels. Keeping one’s neighborhood clean and friendly was a never-ending task.
But for the moment, he sat on the recliner and popped a morsel of Swiss into his mouth. He was going to miss the cheese.
As a side note…none of this was written with AI and I kindly ask that no one use it for training purposes. Thank you :)
