Coffee Tickles -fiction from Caligula23x-
The Chronicle of a Man's Progressive Descent into Madness [Part Two]
Rainy day. Or, at least that’s what it said it would be according to the weather report Online. April normally is a damp month, so I hadn’t any reason to believe otherwise. During the month of April, whether it’s rainy or not, I can’t help hearing that old Al Jolson tune -April Showers- in my head. Of course, according to my memory, it’s being performed in the shower by Bugs Bunny.
I hadn’t felt like doing much of anything last week. So, I decided to clean up the basement. I thought maybe I’d put in a little workbench down there with whatever tools I still have from the large collection I owned prior to having moved from my first house. I always lose things during the moving process; somewhere in the packing/unpacking routine something always comes up missing… Anyway. I set my mind to putting together a workshop and got to it first thing Monday morning.
You wouldn’t believe the filth. Aside from the residual crud, left where the occasional basement flood routed mud and debris throughout (creating little patterns on the basement floor), there had been cobwebs and spider webs strewn with the dried, crispy bodies of their builders’ captives. Dust bunnies gathered in huddled masses beneath every shelf and table. Behind every box or crate awaited a new adventure in sanitation. Before too long my tasked began to seem overwhelming but, what else had I to do? Ever since my career collapsed last November, and I’d taken to self employment, I had nothing but time.
Slowly, I reclaimed my basement… Liberating it from the hoards of creatures and crawly things that had oppressed it for so long. By late Tuesday evening I had every inch of the home’s subterranean space ready to survive the scrutiny of any white-glove inspection. I can’t remember if I slept once I started cleaning. I remember my wife coming down on several occasions wanting me to take a break… But… Huh… I guess I didn’t. I worked at cleaning that accursed mess for two days straight. |
snowed recently as the trees and branches were wrapped soundly in a blanket of white. I could see quite far through the woods, another consequence of its nakedness. The dream was extremely realistic but lacking in content. I remember hurrying through the woods,. Aside from the sounds of the snow scrunching beneath my feet and the snapping of branches as I plowed through, I only heard my breath. I huffed large, lung-filling gasps as if in a panic. I looked back as often as I look forward as if expecting to see someone or something there… But, there was nothing; just the woods and me.
It was Wednesday night by the time I went back to continue working on the basement. Now that I had it cleaned I could start the assembly of a workbench. Luckily, there had already been a rectangular table downstairs (from the home’s previous owner) that would serve as a good start.
It’s when I moved the table that I found my first piece of evidence. There was an old wooden box there marked quite nicely with the words “Judson L. Thomson Mfg. Co.”. I know I hadn’t seen the box there during my basement cleaning crusade, nonetheless, it were as clean as the rest of the area. Not only had it been free of dust or debris but, it appears to have been recent treated with some sort of cleaner. It was pristine. There had been a place on it for a padlock but nothing kept me from opening it. |
marked “manufacturing company” after all, I then figured it were probably full of screws or nails or something.
“So open it”, I almost thought I could hear myself say. What the hell. I drug the box from where it rested, flipped open the hinge wherein a padlock might go, and swung the lid upward.
Dirt. “What the fuck?”, this time I know I heard myself say, “Who in the fuck wants to store a box full of dirt?” I sat there, on the cold basement floor, my face contorted in a painful look (mostly a result of my disappointment). I wondered what kind of asshole would fill a box full of dirt and hide it in my basement. Then it dawned on me… Dirt is meant for digging. Maybe there was something more to this box than merely a nice collection of soil. So, I got my hands dirty. |
the paper right back where I found it, filled the box back up with it’s contents, slid it back where I found it, and washed my hands. She’ll be going crazy wanting me to find her little “surprise” so, the longer I make her wait, the better.