Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 205 (2 page)

“Mari, honey, I can’t understand you,” Grimly
whispered to his wife.

“Charlie, stop treating me like I’m sun kind
of whore, I go to my work and I make money.” His wife shouted in
his face.

“I know, Mari, but I just want to take care
of you, why won’t you just stay home and let me take care of
you?”

“I take care of me jes’ fine,” Mrs. Grimly
lowered he decibel level slightly, “Damn, I lef’ my keys
u’stairs.”

I stepped back into the shadows as both
started heading back to the front of the building. Mrs. Grimly
moved with purpose on her ridiculous platform shoes and her husband
followed behind like an obedient dog. His head was down and his
shoulders slumped, an obedient dog on the way to the vet.

I didn’t bother with the peephole. Instead, I
moved to the recliner near the front window in my living room and
listened to their loud footsteps as they moved from the ground
floor up to their third floor apartment. I noted a few more heated
exchanges between them, but the dispute resonated through my
ceiling as garbled voices, sounding much like the teacher on the
old Charlie Brown cartoons. The sound of breaking glass was clear,
and the thump of something hitting the floor. Then there was only
silence. Apparently, the damage was enough to stop the quarrel
altogether. Good, maybe they’ll begin to act like civilized adults
again and give me the peace I need to return to work. I changed my
gloves and went back to the computer.

Mom and I moved to Oklahoma next. Dad’s life
insurance had been barely enough to cover the funeral expenses, but
with the sale of the house mom was able to get us into a nice
double wide in the Happy Valley Trailer Park located just outside
of Anadarko.

Most of that name was a fallacy, no one there
was happy and there was no valley, but I guess naming it – Trailer
Park – just wouldn’t have had the same ring to it. It didn’t matter
anyway, the local kids referred to it as the Crappy Smelly Trailer
Park and if you had the misfortune of residing there, you were
ostracized by everyone under the age of eighteen. It didn’t matter
much to me in the long run, I had already become a bit of an
introvert.

On the 22
^nd
of May my freshman
year of high school, my mother presented me with fourteen dollars
of her tip money from her waitress job so I could go to the county
fair. It wasn’t much, but it would offer a break from my humdrum
life.

There was a roller coaster that year, the
first time ever in Caddo County. I stood in line for what seemed
like an hour. Just before my turn came, Chad Foster, the varsity
quarterback and all around asshole, cut in front of me.

“No crappy smelly trailer dorks allow,” he
told me with a shove.

As you have probably guessed by now the
coaster jumped the tracks and four people died. Chad and one of my
other school mates were among them. The high school closed its
doors for the rest of that week, but I wouldn’t have been able to
go anyhow, I contracted mononucleosis and was out until October of
the following school year.

My screen saver kicked on again, so I decided
just to call it quits. I was anxious about my meeting with the
doctor and found myself staring at the clock, watching the numbers
change. My hands were sweating in the latex so I took a moment to
wash them thoroughly and get a new set. The sound of Mr. Grimly
moving across the floor of his apartment and out onto the landing
was intriguing to me. I hadn’t heard Mrs. Grimly leave and I’m sure
if she was still in the apartment I would know. Those ridiculous
shoes of hers were like a slow jackhammer across my ceiling. Maybe
she had decided to stay home after all. She had probably gone back
to bed. That was the only time it was every truly quiet up there,
when she was sleeping or gone.

I decided the best thing for my nerves would
be to put on a pot of tea and work on my puzzle. I shouldn’t have
to tell you that agoraphobics lead very isolated lives. Many have
strange hobbies and crafts that they use to fill their time.

For me it was puzzles. Every month I receive
a different one-thousand-piece puzzle in the mail. Every day I put
thirty-three pieces into place. Thirty three may not sound like
much, but when you’re working with a puzzle placed face down, it
can take hours. I find the repetition of trying one puzzle piece
after another and the grey-brown, cardboard backing to be soothing
in its simplicity.

My tea kettle began to whistle, I removed the
pot from the stovetop, and pulled one of my mother’s flower
patterned, antique cups from its Zip-Loc wrapping. I take my tea
much as they do in England; two sugar packets and a splash of
milk.

Settling in at the dining table, I began to
work on this month’s puzzle. The picture on the box depicted two
very adorable kittens in an overturned basket displayed on a hand
woven quilt. When you do your puzzles face down, the picture
doesn’t matter. I go online and order any one-thousand-piece puzzle
that is on sale.

My mind began to wander and my hands went to
work. For me this was similar to meditation, without any of the
chanting or candles or uncomfortable poses.

The summer after high school, I was excited
to get out of Oklahoma for good. I had applied to, and been
accepted at, Centenary College in New Jersey. Mom cried when she
heard the news just after graduation, but by the end of summer, she
had come to terms with the idea. She offered to buy me a plane
ticket, but I flatly refused. With my luck there was no way I was
going to board an airplane.

Mom vetoed the Grey Hound bus because of the
tragic accident that had left me an only child. We compromised and
bought a train ticket. It would mean leaving four days early, but I
didn’t mind at all. Four fewer days as a crappy smelly trailer dork
was alright with me.

The first day of traveling, I felt queasy and
attribute it to the slow rocking motion of the train as it ambled
east. By the third day, I was spending more time in the lavatory
than in my seat.

After arriving in Hackettstown I began to
worry, not for me of course, I just had a bad case of the flu. The
first thing I did was research all the flights that had left
Oklahoma City bound for New Jersey. All had arrived safely at their
destinations; in fact, I couldn’t find a single recent plane crash.
I moved on to the Grey Hounds. There had been a fender bender in
Missouri involving a Grey Hound bus, but the incident was minor and
there weren’t any injuries.

It wasn’t until three days later that Pastor
Landis was finally able to get in touch with me.

“Theodore,” he said, his deep voice sounding
tinny on the phone, “I think you should sit down. There has been an
accident.”

I knew right away that my mother was dead.
Pastor Landis said there had been an electrical fire the night I
left. The coroner listed the cause of death as smoke inhalation,
but there had been very little remains left to be positive.

I didn’t bother to return for the funeral
services. Pastor Landis and the church paid for a cheap coffin and
she was buried in the little cemetery next to the old church. The
only thing that had survived the fire was my mother’s little
Toyota. I donated that to the church, hoping Pastor Landis could
get at least a few hundred out of it.

He told me if I ever made it back that way my
mother was buried in lot nine row eighteen, if I had any trouble
finding it, just inquire at the church. I never did go back; I
didn’t see the point. I had dead family in three different
states.

I was making good time with my puzzle,
twenty-seven pieces in less than two hours. I heard the front
entrance door slam hard enough to rattle my windows and decided to
investigate. I needn’t have hurried; I was at the peephole for a
full two minutes before Mr. Grimly came trudging into view. In one
hand, he carried a few grocery bags and in the other was a large,
black case. I wondered at that, to me it looked like the kind of
case that an instrument would be carried in; too small to be a tuba
or sax, maybe a clarinet would fit, a flute was possible too.

I went to my journal and jotted down a note.
There was no way I would put up with an instrument being played
right over my head, not at any time of the day. I was already
dealing with arguments from above me. Plus old Mrs. Farrow next
door was half deaf and kept her television loud enough to shake the
wall between us. Then there was the lady in apartment 105, just
beneath me. I think she had four kids, but it might as well be
forty judging by the amount of noise. If I didn’t need the passive
income, I’d kick every single one of them out of my building.

The mystery of the black case wasn’t a
mystery for long. It turned out not to be a musical instrument
after all, it was much worse. To me it sounded like some kind of
grinder or sander; whatever it was it was loud. It seemed to be
vibrating the entire building. Mother’s fine china was rattling in
the hutch and I had to pull the display pieces down before they
rattled right out of the cupboard.

I went to the broom closet and snatched up my
swifter. Using the handle, I pounded on the ceiling in the dining
room where the noise was the loudest. I pounded again and finally
the teeth rattling noise ceased. Mr. Grimly would have a lot of
explaining to do.

I went to my phone and dialed Gus’s number,
Gus is the onsite building manager.

“Yeah,” Gus sounded as if he had a mouthful
of something.

“Gus? This is Mr. Granger; do you have any
idea what Mr. Grimly is doing?”

“Ah… not at the moment…no.”

“Well, I don’t know either, but he’s making a
terrible racket and I’m concerned that he is damaging my
property.”

“Umm… I could ask him to keep it down…”

“Keep it down?” I asked, “How about you go up
there and see what the hell he is grinding on in my building?”

“Well, Mr. Granger, I would but… ah… there’s
a law that says we got to give twenty-four hours notice before
entering someone’s residence. If he doesn’t want me to come in, I
can’t force him. You might try property management or the police.
Is he still grinding? I don’t hear anything.”

“No he quite a few minutes ago,” I
confessed.

“Maybe he’s done.”

“That’s hardly the point, Gus.”

“Well, like I said. I could go up and ask him
to keep it down if you like, but if he’s done…” he let his words
trail off, I think he went back to eating his lunch.

“Forget it, if he starts in again I’m just
going to call the police, see how he likes that.”

“You do that, Mr. Granger, sorry I couldn’t
be more help.”

He definitely had a mouthful of food that
time; I could barely understand a word he said.

I hung up the phone and listened intently for
any sign that Mr. Grimly was still intent on destroying the
upstairs apartment. I didn’t have to wait long. The thick hum and
vibration started again. I moved through my apartment trying to
determine exactly where the fat man had moved. The grinding was
loudest in the bathroom this time. It sounded as if he were
drilling holes in the tub.

I thumped on the ceiling again, but with the
machine going I doubted he could hear me. I thumped again and
again, and then finally I gave up. Time for drastic measures I
thought and dialed 911.

“911, what is the nature of your
emergency?”

“There’s a man upstairs who may be destroying
my property,” I told the woman.

“Is he an intruder, sir?”

“No, he’s a tenant. He’s not in my apartment,
he’s upstairs in his apartment.”

“…and you say he’s destroying your
property?”

“I said he may be destroying my property, I
own the building.”

“Sir, this doesn’t sound like an emergency to
me…”

“It’s not an emergency.”

“The 911 service is for emergency calls only,
in the future if you would like to lodge a complaint you’ll have to
call on a direct line.”

“So… what, you can’t help me?”

“I’ll send a patrol car around to
investigate; do you have an apartment number?”

“Yes, I’m in apartment 205 and that bastard
Mr. Grimly is right above me in 305. There… There… do you hear
that? It sounds like he’s using a jackhammer on the floor.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t hear anything. The
police are rather busy today, but they’ll be by to investigate your
noise complaint shortly.”

That, apparently, was the end of our
conversation, because the rude woman with the monotone voice hung
up.

I went back to my notebook and input the new
information, including both my call to Gus and to the police. With
any luck, there would be grounds to evict that fat bastard and his
slutty wife.

By the time I finished my notations the
grinding had stopped and the shower in the grimly apartment came
on. I listened to the water run from my bathroom doorway and
inspected the ceiling. For some reason I was expecting water
damage, with all the noise from up there, I was concerned that he
had grinded right through the tub and water would leak down into my
apartment.

While I was getting better with my
agoraphobia, even to the point of planning my first trip out, I
didn’t think I could handle having a work crew in my place to do
repairs.

College was a very rough time in my life. I
attended classes during the day and work at a local corner store at
night. The few hours I did spend in the apartment I shared with
three other students, was divided between homework and sleep.

The little gas station where I worked was in
a seedier part of town. The neighborhood was bad enough that the
shop owner wouldn’t let any of the girls work the night shift, who
says chivalry is dead?

As you might expect there was an incident.
Three men in ski masks with guns came calling. I cleaned out the
register for the tall one with no qualms; $5.25 an hour wasn’t
enough to risk my life. The other two were busy filling pillow
cases with cigarettes and liquor, so busy in fact, that no one
noticed the patrol car roll up.