Tacky Goblin

by T. Sean Steele

  She scowled and gathered the dog onto her lap. “I think that’s enough. I only wanted to talk to someone about my problems.”

  “Lady, you’re complaining your dead twin isn’t dead enough. Meanwhile, my bowels are counting down and we’re stuck on a cylinder thirty thousand feet in the air. Problems are relative.”

  QU’EST-CE QUE C’EST?

  December 10, 2013

  “I broke the garbage disposal,” my sister said. She turned it on to demonstrate. It sounded like a wailing child.

  “How?”

  “I was collecting Barb’s baby teeth in a jar, but there were so many I ran out of jars.” She still hadn’t turned off the disposal. She looked down the drain. “Apparently, you’re not supposed to put things like teeth or bones down a garbage disposal. I looked it up. Semi-solids only. Anything that’s about seventy percent water or more. Like humans.” She turned it off.

  “So call the landlord.”

  “Heck no. Every time he comes over, he leaves me a new French movie to watch. They never end. I spend all day in front of my laptop but they go on and on. I don’t have the time.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “This is your responsibility for the day. Unclog the disposal. Pretend it’s the bathroom drain. I know how you like cleaning that.”

  I admit, I got a little excited.

  Kim frowned and put a finger on my nose. “When is your face going to heal?”

  “It is healed.”

  “But your nose is kind of sideways.”

  “I look tough.”

  “You’re tough to look at.”

  *

  Laurie came by in the afternoon. I was under the sink. So far, I’d collected thirty-seven teeth from the drain.

  “Where have you been?” I said. “I haven’t seen you in days.”

  She tossed a DVD on the kitchen table. “Your sister loaned me some French movie. I think it might actually have been some kind of CCTV footage of an alley. It never ended. I got way too invested so I shut it off.”

  Using my pliers I wrenched another tooth out of the drain. I held it up, smiling. It looked like it was made of silver. “There are hundreds of these things in here. We’re infested.”

  She tapped the DVD. “Listen, on second thought, I’ll hold onto this until your sister gets back. I’m going to try and finish it. I must have been deep into the third act. I think I’m getting pretty good at French, too.”

  I got out from under the sink to say goodbye. She bit my nose. “I like the new look. You look tough.”

  “I know.”

  *

  By the end of the afternoon the entire surface of the kitchen table was covered in silver teeth. The sun cut through the window and the teeth glinted. It seemed to me the solution wasn’t to get rid of the teeth, but to buy more jars.

  Barb came in from the other room and crawled up my leg. I picked her up and showed her the table. “Good girl,” I said.

  IT’S MY DIET

  December 12, 2013

  Garth had trouble sleeping on account of his injuries, so sometimes I sat with him at night. We were, in spite of everything, companions. I don’t think he knew Kim was responsible for his belly, and the guilt made me more accommodating than usual.

  “I’ve been having nightmares about Rhoda,” he said. His apartment was hot, but for my sake he kept his blanket above his wound. “In the nightmare, I wake up and she’s cooking me scrambled eggs for breakfast. I can smell them. Scrambled eggs are one of the few things I can eat now. I hate them but I don’t have a choice. But then Rhoda comes into my room carrying a plate of my missing insides. She says she’s holding onto them for safekeeping because I can’t be trusted with them. Meanwhile the whole room smells like eggs.” He sobbed. “I’m looking at her holding my insides and I’ve never been more in love with her. I realize it now, but it’s too late: I love a dead woman.”

  “Or you just miss your insides a lot.”

  “I thought you’d understand, being with an older woman yourself.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going out with Laurie.”

  “Laurie’s our age,” I said, completely unsure. It had never come up. I thought hard. She looked our age. Although sometimes she wore a blazer.

  *

  I entered Laurie’s apartment to find her talking with the landlord.

  She held up a handful of DVDs. “Why did you give us these movies to watch? I don’t think they’re movies at all. They’re surveillance footage of an apartment building in France.”

  “I own many buildings all over the world,” he said. “I hand-pick my tenants to create perfect counterparts of the same building in each country. I bet you found the footage mesmerizing, no? Did it seem familiar?”

  “…Maybe. But why?”

  He tugged at his suspenders. “Social experiments. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, or what I’ll do with my findings. Sometimes you have to let science flow over you, results be damned.”

  Laurie turned to me. “What are you smiling about, weirdo?”

  “How old are you?”

  She gave me the finger. “Thirty-two. You knew this.”

  I moaned.

  “Oh, Christ,” Laurie said. “Which French guy is his counterpart?” she asked the landlord.

  “The schoolboy. The one with IBS.”

  HO HO HO

  December 17, 2013

  “We’re going to a Christmas party,” my sister said. “Garth invited us. I tried to sneak out of the building without him noticing but he was waiting by the door again. Apparently he can’t fly home because he doesn’t have an abdomen, so his parents are coming here.”

  “Can I bring Laurie?” I said from the futon. I was examining my legs. They had begun to mildew and stink. They were decaying, like the transplanted legs of a dead man they were.

  “No,” Kim said. “He explicitly said no one could come but us. Siblings and parents. That’s what he said.” She poked my calf with a finger. It left a depression. “What’s wrong with your legs? They’re all mildewy. Maybe you got an old person STD from Laurie. One they’ve been keeping a secret from us youths. Although, her legs are fine.” She nodded, thinking. “Laurie has good legs.”

  *

  Out of respect for Garth’s lack of a digestive tract, his parents didn’t make a Christmas dinner. We sat around and drank Capri Suns instead.

  “The weather out here is very nice,” his mom said.

  “It is,” his dad said. “Although my sinuses are having trouble adjusting. Nosebleeds everywhere.”

  I absently scratched my knee, even though I couldn’t feel an itch. I was wearing gym shorts, the only things that fit. My legs were beginning to bloat.

  “We should put on Christmas music,” Kim said, but his mom smiled and politely gestured for her to be quiet.

  “Garth tells us you all spend a lot of time together,” his dad said. “That you’re great friends.”

  “Not really,” Kim said, opening another Capri Sun.

  Garth shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but then, he did that all the time.

  “All the siblings in one room,” his dad said.

  “It’s just that he talks about you so much,” his mom said carefully. “It’s like we know you. Like you’re our own kids.”

  “Yikes,” Kim said.

  His parents looked at each other. “We want you to know that we think of you as our own, that’s all,” his dad said. “We’d like you to think the same of us.”

  “What the hell, Garth,” I said.

  “You two helped me through a rough time,” Garth said. “I only wanted to repay the favor. My parents are the best parents in the world.” He smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

  His dad leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. “Obviously it gets a bit dicey with you still having birth parents. You’d have to do some renunciations.”

  “You people are all mixed-up,” Kim said, standing. “Our parents could kick your asses. I’m about to kick your asses.” Sh
e pointed at Garth’s dad. “Seriously, nosebleeds? Who wants a dad that gets nosebleeds?”

  He lifted his hand away from my knee and with it came a large swatch of dead skin. He gagged.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Kim said, heading for the door. “I’ve got some figurines to mutilate.”

  “Right on. But you need to carry me,” I whispered. “I can’t feel my legs.”

  CHICAGO

  December 30, 2013

  We were at a bar in our hometown of La Grange. It was the night before New Year’s Eve, and everyone we knew from high school was crammed inside. Somehow it was still freezing. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what time we’d arrived, or why we’d come, but now that we were here it seemed like a good idea to keep drinking.

  “How are your legs?” Kim asked.

  “I showed them to Mom and she said the problem is psychosomatic.”

  “But they’re visibly rotting.”

  “That’s what I said, but she thought I was joking. To her they look like normal legs. She made me think I was delusional.”

  “You’re not. I can see them. But they really feel better? You can walk normally again?”

  I shrugged. This was boring. I didn’t like explaining my problems. My legs worked or they didn’t. Who cared? The facts existed, or they didn’t, whether or not I paid attention to them.

  My sister sighed. We were sitting at a corner table, surveying the room. “I’m going to either mingle or rumble,” she said. “But I won’t know which until I talk to someone.”

  “I’d bet on the latter,” I said.

  “You should consider optimism in the new year.”

  “That was optimism.”

  She pretended to wave to someone and walked into the crowd.

  BACK IN LA

  January 7, 2014

  “Happy fucking New Year,” I said. “Laurie dumped me.”

  Kim barely looked up. “What happened?”

  “The landlord offered to let her swap apartments with her counterpart in his building in France. She took him up on it because the days were going by faster and faster but she wasn’t getting any closer to the future she imagined for herself. Or something. I don’t know. I didn’t factor into any of it.”

  Kim shrugged. “Don’t obsess. She was a grown woman, and you’re a child. This was inevitable.”

  “I’m fine. I just need a big meal. A big steak with a lot of salt. And a bottle of whiskey. Also, I’d like to take a bath.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve read that’s the proper response to heartbreak.”

  “You’re not heartbroken, you’re stunned. There’s a difference. You don’t have enough feelings to be heartbroken. Anyway, the steak-whiskey-bath thing sounds like some he-man bullshit. I started re-reading Catcher in the Rye the other day but had to stop because Holden reminded me too much of you.”

  “But he’s a teenager.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  I flopped down on my futon. “I hope my next girlfriend lives in the same apartment building as us again. That was super convenient.”

  PITY PARTY

  January 16, 2014

  It was the middle of the night and upstairs Garth was having loud, raucous sex. They’d crossed the half-hour mark.

  “Do you hear that?” Kim called from her bedroom. “Listen to that. What is this, the theatre?”

  “This is awful,” I said.

  “If my figurines had genitalia I would deal with this,” she said. “As it is, I might have to chop him off below the waist.”

  I didn’t think that would accomplish much. We’d deal with one thing, and something else would sprout up to take its place. Maybe we could change people, but we couldn’t change our situation. Annoying things were always happening to us. I said as much to Kim.

  “That was the most pathetic speech I’ve ever heard,” she said. “You’ve really got to get over the Laurie thing. This is your last night to be sad about it. Then it’s over, never to be spoken of again. Got it?”

  We were silent for a minute. Garth didn’t seem to be in any hurry to wrap things up.

  “Don’t think of it as annoying,” Kim said. “Think of it as stimulation. Getting your ire up to face another day. That’s what I do.”

  IF IT’S YELLOW

  January 24, 2014

  I’d taken a certain complaint out of rotation months ago because it was always met with an eye roll or an unconvincing assurance that things would change, that she’d really remember next time. But today I opened the bathroom window and got a whiff of fresh air and realized I didn’t have to accept things for the way they were. I didn’t have to live like this.

  “You’ve really, really got to start flushing the toilet,” I told Kim.

  “Don’t you know there’s a drought?”

  “No.”

  “I sent you an email about it,” she said.

  “I haven’t been online in a while. Like a week.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know. Everyone is always trying to contact me. It makes me nervous.”

  “Jesus Christ,” she said. “I try so hard to keep you on an even keel, but it can’t all be on me. You have to help me out a little.”

  “Don’t try to trick me,” I said. “We were talking about how you don’t flush the toilet.”

  “I mean, of course there’s a drought. People still have automatic sprinklers going. In January! Humans are disgusting.”

  “The toilet is disgusting. What if I told everyone you don’t flush?”

  “Trust me, this is only interesting to you.”

  “Oh, we’ll see about that,” I said. “We will see about that.”

  CHEWY SPREES, ALSO GOOD

  February 5, 2014

  Kim didn’t like when I called her at work, but this time I had to. I tried to start the conversation off on a good note.

  “You have one of those nice telephone voices,” I said. “It’s a shame about text messaging. You were born in the wrong era.”

  “Look, I’m busy trying to keep a two-year-old from accidentally committing suicide,” she said. “What do you want?”

  “I locked myself out of the apartment.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure. I went to the laundry room and then I came back and the door was locked.”

  “This is why you need a day job, so we don’t have incidents like this.”

  “Let’s focus on the task at—” I stopped. There was a sound coming from inside the apartment.

  “What?” Kim said.

  “There are people inside,” I said. “A man and a woman. I think they’re bickering. What should I do?”

  “Try knocking,” she said.

  *

  A man sat at our kitchen table glowering at his plate and complaining about the food. His hair was slicked back with Brylcreem. He tugged at his grease-stained wife beater. “This steak is moldy,” he said. “Don’t be melodramatic,” said his wife, who had introduced herself at the door as Susan.

  “There’s a worm in it.” He jabbed at the steak with his fork. “It’s like this food has been sitting out for decades. Learn to cook.” He choked down a piece anyway.

  Susan rolled her eyes and tied her apron. “We’re not usually so out of sorts,” she told me. “Normally I’d say we’ll get it together, but I’m having a premonition that today ends in pieces.” The tendons in her neck kept twitching. She picked up a knife.

  “I think there’s been some confusion,” I said.

  “Goddamn right, confusion!” said the husband, dropping his fork in disgust. “The food tastes awful, my clothes are moth-eaten, and I have a horrible ache in my chest. We don’t have time for visitors.”

  “You’re the visitors,” I said. “I live here.”

  He pounded his fist on the table. “Don’t give me that! We’ve lived here for nearly ten years. I remember, it was the day FDR died. What, are you the landlord’s son? Is this some kind of scheme? Do you want to get thro
ttled?” Before I could answer, he got distracted scratching his chest. He started to pull off his shirt. It practically crumbled away. He examined his chest, but there was nothing there. “I thought I felt something,” he mumbled. Susan looked back and forth between her knife and his chest.

  I knew what was happening. “I get it,” I said. “You’re haunting me. A horrible thing happened here, and you’re operating on repeat.”

  “Horrible?” Susan said. “Try wonderful. I couldn’t stand this man. Every day I dreamt about plunging this knife into his chest. And now every day I get to. This might be heaven.” She laughed too hard.

  “Hasn’t this gone on long enough?” her husband asked. “You’ve been killing me every day for decades, way longer than we were ever together alive. It isn’t fair.”

  “Oh, quit whining,” she said. “You get your licks in, too.” She turned to the side, and I saw she had a fork sticking out the back of her head. “I’m sorry,” she told me. “I’m being a terrible host, but you’re the first guest we’ve ever had.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here, anyway.”

  “Could you lock the door on your way out?”

  As I left I saw her advancing on her husband, who’d become preoccupied with his steak again.

  I sat on the steps and waited for my sister to get home.

  *

  “I hate this place,” I told Kim. “I hate the landlord. First he ships my girlfriend off to France, then it turns out he’s renting us a haunted apartment. I sleep in the same room where two people got killed. No wonder I’m losing it.”

  “You’re losing it because of your diet. You have to eat better. You’re eating a box of Mike and Ikes a day. It’s like you’re building a cardboard nest under your futon.”

  “No, I think I’m losing it because of the ghosts killing each other in perpetuity.”

  In the kitchen we heard silverware clatter to the floor, but when we checked, nothing was out of place.

  “Maybe we can get the rent lowered,” Kim said.