The Tips Here Really Suck [at] Krizzna™

Posted on August 13, 2011 by

The Tips Here Really Suck

“Homeless scumbags! I don’t care what the Mayor says! If those worthless people need a place to live, let them go find a place like every one else!”

Livid, Harry was screaming into his cell phone to his secretary on the other end, who like most secretaries, put up with way more than she should. Alone, nobody was here to appreciate the unmistakable hue of cherry red Harry’s face had turned. An irregular vein pulsed on his broad forehead. Madder than a slapped hornets nest, his face nearly glowed as the coals of Hell must.

Harry paced the floor barefooted. His jacket lay neatly folded over the chair and his new Italian shoes were tucked beneath the bed with a sock stuffed in each one. Stiff as steel, his new shoes were the first thing to come off yet he still wore his red business tie, starched white shirt and imported wool slacks that matched the neatly folded jacket on the chair.

“What? I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up again.”

Like everything else in this flea-bag hotel, the phone didn’t work so Harry was forced to rely on his cell phone, which in turn relied on the battery. A busy day for everybody, the battery needed a rest too. Harry was pretty good about remembering things like recharging batteries, but in all the excitement he’d gotten sidetracked while packing and forgot to plug the dam thing in.

“Okay listen, I’ll recharge my battery and call you back in an hour or so.”

Harry listened to what Sue was saying and replied “No, this can’t wait Sue, it’s the break we were waiting for.” He was so intent on the conversation he didn’t notice all the lights flicker as he said the words “recharge my battery”. He pressed “END” on the phone and began rummaging through his things for the charger when a good sized cockroach jumped out of his suitcase and onto the bed.

An outdoorsman with a large frame, Harry rarely backed down from anything, but this made him jump back just the same, more surprised then anything as the thing fell on the floor with a small clack and scurried away into the shadows under his bed. Strange.

Harry kept his personal belongings in perfect order and had packed his suitcase himself back in his immaculate apartment. A confirmed bachelor, he enjoyed a neat nest and kept his apartment as clean as the kitchen in the White House.

“Where the heck did that thing come from?” Harry wondered to himself. The suitcase was not clasped shut but it was closed. He hated this place and this didn’t help matters any. If not for the dam convention in town he could’ve stayed at the Sheraton, the Radisson, or something–anything nicer than this dive. Beyond a doubt this was the filthiest little hole-in-wall he ever camped out in and god! how he dreaded roaches. They represented such dire straits, he was certain nobody on the planet loathed roaches more than yours truly.

Ever since his early years, Harry could not tolerate these mindless monsters. Through long experience with camping and hunting in some of the most remote places nature had to offer, Harry had encounters with rats, porcupines, a rabid raccoon, wolf, bull moose, large dogs with attitudes, bear, even poisonous snakes. It seems after watching that movie City Slickers, Harry and three of his buddies thought they’d give it a two week try in the Colorado Rockies. It didn’t take long to learn that reality is not as forgiving as Hollywood. It seems snakes, particularly the Timber Rattler, are attracted to heat, as in body warmth and sleeping bags.

Yep, in fact all forty-seven years of his life, besides venomous snakes, he had faced down two-legged, four-legged, six and eight-legged, and worst of all, the dreaded three-legged animal that was really pissed! Cool as a cucumber, Harry would look problems squarely in the eye, and with a textbook response and no wavering, he’d diffuse the encounter and become the envy of others.

But roaches! They were different somehow. Incapable of fear, these robotic soldiers defied everything man could throw at them and still survive. Survive and thrive in fact. You’d never see these creatures on the endangered species list. Ha! Roaches awoke something in Harry he couldn’t put his finger on, something inherent. Maybe it was how they always advanced–or retreated just long enough to plan a new point of attack. Their opponent’s size meant nothing. The mere fact that anything as small as a roach had no sense of fear was unnerving enough, but the irrational fear it spawned grew accordingly with the size of the roach. The larger the roach, the greater the fear. Period.

Harry nervously rifled through his suitcase, ready to jump back if any more roaches were stowed away in there. Seeing them was one thing, actually coming in contact with them was another story; thin bony claws with barbs, pinchers, the long flowing antennas, each independent of the other.. Put all that in an armored shell and you can’t help but wonder where Noah’s head was when he invited these creatures on board. They could defy gravity and run across the ceiling! They had their own rules and had no respect for anyone else’s. If they were as big as dogs we’d have a big problem on our hands alright!

Harry found the battery charger, then quickly closed and clasped the suitcase shut while the thought of checking into a different place crossed his mind again. He was already resigned to the fact that he’d be up all night. Unfortunately his weak bladder outweighed his brain, and he knew like clockwork he’d have to get up once or twice in the dead of night to relieve himself. At home this had little or no bearing, but here in “Cockroach Hills” it meant turning on a light and and having a battlefield confrontation, followed by a sleepless night. He knew that as light retreats, the roach creeps. Roaches are free to roam the world in the cloak of darkness. And in addition, Harry had a recurring nightmare that was overdue. No, there wouldn’t be much sleep for Harry tonight.

The loud monotonous thumping in the apartment directly above him ceased momentarily as Harry glanced at the red digital numbers on the cheap clock by the bed. As if the clock somehow sensed Harry’s gaze, it read “11:05PM” for just a second, then flickered along with the lights and began that annoying “12:00″ steady blinking that clocks of this quality do after a power interruption. “Great” he cried outloud in a feeble attempt to make light of the situation “I just lost an hour.”

As the words escaped his mouth, Harry knew he wasn’t kidding anybody. This was a feeble attempt to lay claim to his territory, and maybe (hopefully) cause at least a ripple in the local roach community. But noise had little if any affect on them. Vibration and light were the only things cockroaches seemed to sense and this apartment had plenty of both, between the ruckus upstairs and all the lights on down here. Only the bare thirty watt bulb in the bathroom remained off. Thoughts raced through Harry’s mind. Not nice thoughts. Claustrophobic, paralyzing thoughts one might feel in a stifling six-by-ten foot prison cell below the Mason-Dixon Line during an August heat wave.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself back to reality and looked around wearily for an unused power outlet, spotted one by the door to the hallway, and moved to plug in the battery charger. Before the plug was even pushed all the way home, a loud electrical spitting-popping noise invaded the room. Harry’s reflexes took over as he almost flipped backwards and found himself on his ass in the “crab-craw” position watching in stunned silence a small puff of gray smoke coming from the old outlet. Something about the smell wasn’t exactly right either.

What happened next made his skin crawl. He could actually feel each hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he heard that unmistakable sound of hundreds–perhaps thousands–of little legs and bodies scattering in all directions inside the wall away from the smoking outlet. Consumed in fear, a sticky audible “click” escaped his dry mouth as he attempted to gulp. Eager to avoid a repeat performance, he unplugged the old pole lamp by the window sacrificing some light for some power.

As darkness encroached, Harry could feel his heart pounding away. He wasted no time connecting the thin black cable to the cell phone and tried the plug-in sequence again. He was unaware he was actually holding his breath as he waited for that reassuring indication on the cell phone that the battery inside was recharging–until the realization hit and he had to exhale. Nada, dead, no pulse.

A few times before it had let him down and he was almost certain it was a broken wire that connected the phone to the charger. He remembered how once, in a hurry, he had overlooked the cord hanging out of his suitcase while slamming it shut. Amazed that he hadn’t cut the cord in two, he found that if he took the time to unbend the wire wherever it was creased and play with it, he could get it to work. It was one of those things he kept meaning to replace, but just never got to it. This time he knew the power outlet was working, so it looked like those copper thread-like wires inside the insulation had finally called it quits for good. He had to find another phone. And plug the pole lamp back in.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through the sweaty hair on his forehead. He needed a hot shower, but he sat instead, planning his next move. Sue would be waiting for his call and he hated it when things didn’t go according to his schedule. Hands in his lap, head slumped forward, he looked down at the floor with eyes half closed. This place was giving him the willies big time. He drew a deep breath and recounted his nightmare for the one-hundredth time. It wasn’t the dream, but how he woke up from the dream.

Over the years this dream played over and over in his mind never changing in any way like an old broken record with a skip in it. The twisted nightmare arrived the very first night he spent in the eighty-five dollar a month flat in South Philly. He was seventeen. The dream always started out nice enough: he was seven or so, camping out with his older sister, and his mom and dad somewhere in the beautiful New England wilderness. Eyes still closed from a sleep that took him to new worlds, he could feel the warmth of the morning sun upon his face. He lay there motionless, still all comfy-cozy in his flannel sleeping bag with cartoon characters inside.

His mom was ever so gently running her fingers through his thick blonde hair while smiling down at him and humming softly. Not fully awake, his mind drifting, he could hear light conversation and smell strong black campfire coffee and sizzling bacon when the light breeze came his way. The invigorating aroma of late summer woods beckoned. Slowly, small streams of consciousness swelled through his small frame promising a fine day of adventure ahead.

Then, in a blinding white flash, the dream was gone and replaced with acidic reality. Harry woke up on a mattress on a floor with something (a rat! a roach!) climbing through his hair! In one instinctive reflex Harry sat bolt upright while swatting at whatever it was in his hair desperately until a three-inch cockroach was wedged between his fingers and then flung wildly at the wall with an audible “smack” as it hit. It fell clumsily to the floor, struggled on its back for a moment, righted itself, and then quickly vanished into a crack between the baseboard and the wall to do whatever it is roaches do inside walls. He stared at the crack and soon enough he saw the antennae waving proudly from the black crevice.

But that was then and this was now. Harry remained on the edge of the bed and tried to shake off his fear by thinking about business. He patted himself on the back as he reminded himself that he had single-handedly located the ideal site for the Computer Country Corporation whose only concern was location, location, location. Money was not even an issue. With luck he may even close the deal in a week. His commercial real estate business grew slowly at first as predicted, but though painfully slow, it grew consistently and Harry was forced to hire more help over the years. This deal was just the “shot in the arm” his business needed: a “real killing”. Three point five mil–with a nice percentage headed this way.

His fears replaced with excitement, Harry got up and went into the moldy smelling bathroom. He hit the switch with the back of his hand. The bulb was so dim it almost made the room darker when it flickered to its pathetic life. Harry bumped into the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling by nothing more than its power cord. The challenged bulb swung back and forth, creating shadows that danced about the room in eerie silence.

For some reason Harry’s eyes were drawn to the huge ancient bathtub that stood on four clawed feet. The yellowed porcelain had large almond-shaped chips in its surface, eight or nine, that revealed the black iron beneath. But wait! These chips were moving – moving in random directions, and somehow communicating with each other. His fear returned in all its glory as he realized he was far from alone here.

Summoning his strength (after all, he was a full-grown man!), Harry raced back to the bed, sat down, and hastily pulled on his new Florsheims, slamming his feet down inside to drive them on. He tied his new shoes tightly and returned to the bathroom to get this over with. The bulb was still swinging so he steadied it with his hand. But something was different. Were there more roaches in the tub now?

He shook the cheap plastic shower curtain with faded fake flowers and real black mildew on it as three more roaches, bigger than the ones in the tub, fell into the “trap” with the others. They hit hard, but were obviously unhurt, and seemed even more lively after they came down with a “thud”. They seemed angry.

Harry reasoned to himself that they must’ve come up through the drain pipe because they apparently could not scale the steep sides of the tub and climb out. Trapped by their own stupidity. Good.

With the shower curtain pulled to one side, Harry stepped into the tub and found himself dancing “La Cucaracha” on the trapped insects. These were feisty bastards and he could actually hear and feel the “crunches” beneath the thick leather soles of his imported shoes. As the last cockroach crackled underfoot and was transformed into a pile of vile mush, he felt a small “snap” and came to the horrid realization that something was in his shoe! Something alive and angry!

Harry jumped from the tub and almost felt comical as he hopped around on his left foot trying to keep his balance while wrestling the right shoe from his foot. A new shoe, stiff as steel, it would not budge until he untied it. He felt he could have prepared his taxes in the time it took to pry the shoe off. He held the shoe high and dumped yet another roach onto the floor it. “The one from the suitcase”, he surmised.

As it hit the carpet, his relief was instantly replaced with surprise–and fear–as the bug rushed towards him rather then away! Like a mishapen mallet in the hands of a “hangin’ judge”, Harry, shoe in hand, lowered the gavel on the threatening little dinosaur over and over, and felt a brief relief. But then something tickled him right between his shoulder blades. He tore off his shirt and discovered it was just sweat running down his back as his heart raced wildly. Everything seemed to be in sync with that thumping upstairs again. Rather than the sounds of human passion, these thumps sounded more like a square cube being tossed about. Scraping sounds soon followed, and that was followed by doors slamming.

Attempting to get a grip on himself and collect his thoughts, Harry retired from the bathroom and collapsed on the edge of the bed in the same spot as before. One shoe on, one shoe off, he was totally unaware of the cigar shaped lumps under the bedspread directly behind him. But they soon became noticeable when he calmed down.

As before, the lumps seemed uncannily to communicate with one another and their brigade began to advance in unison toward the spot where Harry was planted, then they froze whenever Harry moved. Harry sat there on the bed wrestling with the demons in his head, some imagined, some real.

As if shaken from a trance, he slowly glanced towards the ceiling as the sound of something large and heavy was being dragged or pushed across the floor up there. He could not recall jumping to his feet but found himself at “attention” none the less as whatever the thing was upstairs fell to the floor in a tremendous crash that shook the building. Small pieces of plaster rained down on him. “What the hell is going on up there?!” Harry couldn’t help but wonder, despite his own problems.

Some movement caught his eye. The fulllength curtains on either side of the one window danced slightly. It was impossible to tell if the crash upstairs had set them in motion or if something, like roaches, were nestled within the deep creases of the old maroon velvet curtain that had seen better days. Maybe the earth-shattering crash upstairs had stimulated some reflex response in the roaches, causing them to jump just as Harry did himself.

Then more movement, this one closer. Harry looked straight down in time to see the largest roach ever, a four-incher, about to climb onto his bare right foot! With legs and antenna, this thing had to be a half a foot long! Harry had never seen a roach of this size before, and he was a veteran of the Down-Town Roach War of `74. He had heard about the Palmetto bugs that thrived in the tropics, first cousins to the roach that grew to enormous size and could fly, but this was Philadelphia and these were the good `ole reddish-brown-under-the-sink-behind-the-toilet-cockroaches that sent children screaming and grownups reaching for the can of Raid.

It took Harry several tries to flatten this “Buick” with his heavy shoe while the enraged thing fought back, trying to pinch or bite his other bare foot! (He wasn’t sure what its attack plan included, but had no intentions of finding out!) It took three full “stamps” and took all of his concentration, so he didn’t notice as he stood there that the cigar shaped bumps on the bed had converged on the exact spot he was sitting moments before the crash upstairs that propelled him from the bed. Discovering Harry’s absence from the bed, the lumps retreated about a foot to lie in wait with a smooth military precision that would have impressed a general in any army.

Fully dressed now, top coat and all, mind made up, suitcase in hand, Harry found the door to the hallway locked or jammed shut. The old brass knob, brown with age, seemed to vibrate as he yanked at it. He put down the suitcase and began pounding on the door to his freedom with his left fist as he worked the knob with his right. As he pounded, he heard dull thuds on the floor as clumps of things fell from the other side. Big things. Ugly multi-legged angry things. Things he had no intentions of meeting.

Sure enough, as his head began throbbing, adrenaline racing through his veins, sweat pouring off him, five more “beauties” boldly invaded his inner sanctum from under the door! He released the door knob as if a thousand volts of electricity passed through it and pursued the enemy in more of a mindless survival reflex than anything else. The cockroaches made it to safety under the bed with lightening speed. Harry never saw roaches move this fast before. Did they fly? Everything felt like a nightmare and he wasn’t sure if the roaches were really that fast or if his legs were stuck in molasses.

With panic setting in, Harry was no longer thinking straight. His skin crawled. As his hair rose again on the back of his neck, perhaps his last rational thought came when he realized the hair on his neck was rising like that of a threatened cat who’s life is on the line. It was a ploy to appear larger to the enemy.

His movements were becoming jerky, uncoordinated. His left arm began twitching above his elbow. It was some kind of muscular spasm. He was sweating profusely. He felt dizzy. He heard what sounded like heavy chains being dragged across the floor and looked up at the ceiling in the same manner a cornered animal will engage its captor. Things were not making sense anymore. He couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. Upstairs? Downstairs? The same floor?

Gasping air like a fish pulled from a pond, Harry directed his attention to the one window in the room. He looked through the dirty panes with a longing for the outside, not unlike that of a convicted lifer. He wished he hadn’t asked for a “room with a view” which he’d done more out of habit than desire. There was no view in this part of town. This was the part of town you stayed away from after dark. Even the street people had enough sense to stay away from this neighborhood where unsolved disappearances were frequent.

Then the “grand-daddy” of cockroaches, the body a full foot in length, slowly, arrogantly, moved to the precise spot of window where Harry had focused his attention. It was flaunting him–taunting the way a victorious, viscous gladiator would to antagonize his opponent. The body stopped and stood motionless and it appeared dead except for the three feet of antennae alive with anticipation, sniffing and tasting the stagnant air. Two bull-whips of antenna turned in Harry’s direction.

Snapped back to reality, and he felt what seemed like a pair of vise-grip pliers clamp down on his inner thigh an inch below his scrotum. He never even realized the shrieking noise was his own scream as he pounded at the large shape beneath his pants with his hands.

Moments before the lights flickered one last time and went out for good, he saw a horror he had never even imagined: hundreds, thousands, millions! of red/brown cockroaches clung to the ceiling, floor and walls. All but a few were motionless. But each and every one was facing in Harry’s direction.

Harry’s final thought had something to do with the true meaning of full-blown panic. A mindless chaos followed in the dark as he heard the “popping” as he rolled back and forth on the floor. Agonized, he could only hope it would all end quickly. He felt the “crunching”–and worst of all, the “squishing”, that went on and on beneath his weight as he struggled against them, clawing at his face, tearing away countless antennae, legs, and pinchers that were ripping at his flesh.

At the end, he felt himself losing consciousness, the thousands of antennae now having an almost soothing, calming affect as he was eaten alive. Piranhas have been known to consume an ox down to the bone in a matter of minutes and it was clear what the intentions were here. Not even bones were spared. They were dragged upstairs through the large whole in the ceiling of the closet. It was clear that the cockroaches had found a place to live like every one else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn broke shortly before six a.m. and cast some bright sunlight through the dirty glass window, forming a neat rectangle on the wall about four feet above the same power outlet that had shorted out the night before. By noon the rectangle of light was much larger and had moved to the floor. The chambermaid used her master key to access the old brass lock, brown with age, and entered the room behind a Hoover vacuum cleaner, the cart with all the cleaning equipment not far behind in the hallway.

She looked bored as usual. She gave up wondering what was going on around here a long time ago. The room looked immaculate except the bed, which looked as if someone had laid on the bedspread but never got under the covers. Pretty much everything appeared untouched, She spotted the closed suitcase by the door and the rumpled clothes near the imported shoes on the floor, but the guest mysteriously moved out leaving their things behind for the umpteenth time.

She dusted the small flakes of plaster off the furniture, vacuumed the rug, and slowly moved on, wondering again why she was never left any tips. She headed downstairs. No need to go up to the next floor – it had all been vacant for almost a year now.

The End

Written by HarvardHorror
Author and dog lover, Bill is a freelance web content writer from Framingham, MA. Some of his stories can be found on AssociatedContent.com also.

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