|Note: This is part of an experimental creative writing exercise. If you want to read more or start from beginning. You go to the Oubliette page. Please note the earlier stories are crude. 🙂
Warning: This story has an elevated level of profanity.
Owen walked up the sidewalk to the midcentury two-story bungalow. It was clear from the brickwork of the front of the house that at one time it had a front porch. Mara was just starting to climb out of the SUV parked on the icy road in front of the house. He spied a small sign on the old aluminum door directing anyone visiting “Grease” or Griswold to go around back. He turned around and followed the part of the sidewalk not covered with snow to the driveway where Mara joined him. They walked to the back of the house and Owen climbed the concrete patio. The door made a metallic rattle as Owen knocked.
Both agents heard someone moving inside the apartment until finally a face could be seen in the window of the white wood interior door peeking behind a blind. The man had greasy black hair and blood shot eyes and he stared at them. Suddenly, his eyes got wide as he excused himself and disappeared behind the blind.
Owen and Mara silently looked at each other in confusion.
Eventually, the door opened and the guy came out wearing an old faded coat. The agents could smell the scent of apples delivered from an aerosol can. The man closed the door behind him and crossed his arms as if to try to keep warm. “How my I help you dude… officer?”
Owen looked at the man and subtly tried to catch the scent coming from him and said, “Are you Griswold Wilson?”
“Would you be Grease then?”
“What is your real name?”
“It’s Patrick Greaves, sir.”
“Do you know where we could find Mr. Wilson or when he will be back?”
“I don’t know. He’s been gone since… uh… several days, I think.”
Owen nods. “Can you think of anywhere he could have possibly have gone? Does he normally disappear like he did?”
“Dude…” Grease grimaced, “Officer, he doesn’t tell me what he does or where he goes. I’m his roommate, not his mom but no, this is not normal. He’s like the cycle of the seasons or something… sir.”
Owen looked at Mara and back to Grease. “One last question, have you noticed anything unusual about Mr. Wilson when you last saw him.”
Grease smirked as he tried to hold in a laugh. “Unusual? Hell, yeah…”
Grease was sitting on a couch in a small room in his shared apartment that served as a combination living room, dining room, and kitchen. There was a pile of dirty dishes sitting in the sink. Previous meals on them have created a crust that would require a chisel to remove. On the counters, there were about a half dozen opened potato and corn chip bags all of which were mostly empty but now held stale crumbs.
Grease had his feet propped up on a discolored coffee table on which six dark brown corked bottles stood. One of the bottles was missing its cork and Grease took the occasional sip from it. Next to the bottles, there was a plate of dark brown brownies with chocolate icing. Greased pulled a stogie and a lighter from his shirt pocket. Using the blue torch flame from the lighter, he lit the stogie and put it between his lips. After taking a draw from it, he took it out of his mouth and held it in his fingers.
The wooden entry door opened allowing cold air to blow through the room. Grease turned his head to look as Griswold walked in carrying an open case of beer. He sat it down hard on the table and it made a loud metallic thump. Grease looked at Griswold, he noticed that something was not quite right with him. “Rough night dude?”
“You can say that.”
Griswold looked at Grease and anger wrinkled on his forehead. “I thought we agreed that you would stop smoking fucking stogies in the apartment after Ms. Adams bitched at us. Now, it smells like a skunk shit itself in here.”
Grease was taken aback with Griswold’s choice of words. While Griswold was not a perfect angel, he rarely used such language. At most, he would throw in a curse word but never more than that. He sat there wide eyed in silence watching Griswold. Griswold looked down at the coffee table and pointed to f the bottles.
“Is that Stewart’s latest batch?”
Before Grease could respond, Griswold took one of his bottles of beer, popped it open, and took a long drink. As he stood there contemplating the flavors that danced on his tongue, he looked at the bottle. “It has a bit of a citrus flavor.”
“Yeah, Stewart calls it ‘blood of the innocent.’ It uses blood oranges.”
Griswold hesitated just before he took his second drink. He stood there with the bottle at his lips motionless as if time had stopped. He looked at the bottle and slowly sat it on the coffee table.
Grease shrugged, “I like it and the name is catchy.”
Griswold pulled a couple cans of beers from the cardboard box. After securing them in one hand, he grabbed one of the brownies from the plate. In surprise, Grease warned him, “Umm… those are some of my grandma’s special recipe brownies, dude.”
“I don’t give a shit. Good night.”
Griswold walked out of the room and into his bedroom closing the door behind him. At this point, Grease was completely confused. He started replaying the recent events in the back of his mind. He wondered if he did something to offend Griswold. He could not see any reason for Griswold being mad at him except for the stogie. He examined the lit stogie in his hand and decided to finish it. He slipped into sleep shortly after…
Yelling and shouting startled Grease as his body jerked awake. Thinking that he might have accidently turned the TV on, he started running his hand in the crevices of the couch in search of the remote. However, he came to the realization that the TV was not on. It stood in dark silence on the entertainment stand across the dark room.
As the cobwebs cleared from his head, he concluded that the yelling was coming from Griswold’s room. He tried to listen but the sound was muffled by the closed door. He swore Griswold was telling someone or something to leave, to leave him alone, and to get out of his head. At one point, he could have sworn that he heard Griswold repeating, “In the name of Jesus Christ, I rebuke thee” and some prayer to Saint Michael.
Normally, Grease would have checked on him but with the way Griswold acted earlier, he opted for a brownie. He reached over to the coffee table and took one from the stack and consumed it. Sleep soon followed…
A familiar voice woke Grease from his slumber. The world was blurry as he opened his eyes. Once his eyes started focusing, he noticed standing before him was a white horse glowing with a white light looking at him. It had a single sparkling horn in the middle of its forehead. From under its tail, a rainbow emanated and started creating a multicolored pile on the floor. Grease leaned over to make sure he saw what he thought he saw.
Grease met the eyes of the horse again, “Hello, Mr. Unicorn.”
The unicorn grabbed the plate of brownies. As he pondered how that was possible, the unicorn told him that he’s taking the rest of brownies. Grease just sat there dumbfounded and passively waved as the unicorn went into Griswold’s room closing the door behind him. Grease watched the floor as the blobs of rainbow that the unicorn left slowly faded away…
Grease cursed loudly as there was a loud rattling on the screen door. He sat on the couch for a few moments as he calmed his nerves. He stood up, tried to keep his balance, and failed. As he struggled to stand again, he bumped into the coffee table, knocking over the bottles on it. He nearly fell over trying to pick up the bottle that Griswold left open and cursed as the dark brown liquid spilled and soaked into the carpet. He looked down towards the table and noticed that the plate of brownies was missing.
He walked across the room and opened the door. Outside standing in the cold was some guy that he did not know. The only thing interesting about this guy was the plugs in his ears where gauges were supposed to be. As he started to speak, a frog decided to take residence in his throat.
“Yeah, what you want dude?”
“Is Griz here?” Grease thought to himself that maybe this guy knew Griswold.
At this point, Grease wondered if knew this guy; he did look familiar. He tried to study him and attempted to place where he might have seen him before. His mind started wandering to the case of the missing brownies and he ended up just staring.
“Is he awake?”
“Is who wake?” Grease wondered what these questions had to do with brownies.
“No, he’s sleeping” Grease looked at the guy wearily thinking maybe he took the brownies.
“Did he seem okay to you?”
At that moment, the case of the missing brownies solved itself; Sherlock Holmes would be high fiving him about now. With the number of brownies that were left, Griswold should be mellow about now. “No… He’s pissed but… he should be sailing smooth about now.”
“Umm… Okay. Can you tell him to call Pete in the morning?”
Elementary, my dear Watson, Grease had another moment of realization, this was one of the guys in the Griswold’s group with whom he hangs out in some spooky house drinking beer. “Sure, hey, can you do me a favor and run down the road and get some snacks?”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“They’re 24-hour dude.” Grease rolled his eyes and concluded this guy is not too bright.
“It’s late and I need to get going.”
That was when Grease realized that he did not know the time. He looked at the clock just inside the apartment. It said a little after three o’clock. This confused him as nobody in their right mind knocks on a door at three o’clock in the morning. “Dude, it’s three o’clock what the hell you want?”
“Uh… Nothing, I’ll be going.”
As Grease closed the door, he muttered “asshole” under his breath. He flopped down on the couch and heard what might have been a spring popping. His concern shifted from the possibility of a broken couch to random strangers visiting in the early hours of the morning. He decided that he will talk to Griswold about that in the morning. He reached over to the lamp next to the couch and turned it off. He settled down on the couch and as he was trying to decide if he should get up and go to his bed, his eyes felt heavy and he closed them…
Grease woke yet again and this time the first thing he noticed was the smell of garbage in the room. Grease tried to sit up but something was holding him down. He felt the sensation of something invisible trying to climb on him. As he searched for what it was, he noticed to a pair eyes looking at him. They were glowing red like the burning ends of a pair of stogies.
He thought the eyes were odd as they were further apart they were supposed to be. He pondered if it was because this person had a big head or if it was squashed. However, the increasing pressure on his body took his attention from this philosophical topic. He turned to the eyes and said, “Dude, I don’t swing that way… and damn it man, get a breath mint.”
The eyes faded with a growling noise and the pressure on his body went away leaving on the smell behind. Grease sat up and reached into the crevices of the couch. He pulled out a cylindrical metal canister and it made a hissing sound as he made an arc in the air with it.
Grease scowled. Instead of the fresh smell of apples that he was expecting, he got the smell of an orchard of rotten eggs. He stood up and walked into his room as he decided that there was too much freaky stuff going on to get any rest in the living room…
Finally, morning came or rather, the afternoon. As Grease entered the living room, Griswold was already sitting on the couch with his laptop. Empty beer cans littered the coffee table. Griswold did not seem to notice him as he sat down on the couch. Grease knew there was something he was supposed to tell Griswold but he could not remember.
He looked at the laptop screen. Griswold was talking with some people in some forum. Music started playing from Griswold’s phone. Griswold seemingly ignored it. “Are you going to answer that?”
“Nope. Don’t want to talk to them.”
It then dawned on Grease what he was supposed to tell Griswold. “Some dude with lobe plugs came here last night. He said he wants you to call…”
Griswold snapped his laptop shut and grabbed his head. He stood up and paced in the room a couple times. “Can you just fucking shut up and mind you own god damned business?”
Grease just sat there in stunned disbelief.
“Why can’t people just leave me alone? My life is shitty enough as it is. I am some loser lard ass and nobody wants to be my friend. The shitty ass friends that I thought that I had just left me to be torn apart by God knows what the fuck that thing was. I have a roommate that does nothing but smokes stogies and cooks his slutty ass grandma’s brownies…”
Grease listened as Griswold carried on for another five to ten minutes. During this whole episode, Grease started feeling smaller and smaller eventually, he wondered if he was going to have dinner with the dust mites in the couch. From the new spot on the couch, it appeared that they already had some of his grandma’s brownies.
When Griswold finished, he just stood there red faced, covered in sweat. Froth ran down the corner of his lips as struggled to catch his breath. Grease just looked at him and did the only thing he could think to do.
“Dude, you need a hug?”
Griswold screamed “Oh, my fucking God!” and stormed into his room with his laptop, slamming the door behind him. Grease reached for one of his beers and noticed that all of them had been drank as well.
The rest of the day was peaceful with brief interruptions of what Grease thought was yelling, cursing, and chanting. He could also hear the music from Griswold’s phone as someone was desperately trying to get hold of him. At one point, Grease got a brief glimpse of Griswold’s laptop and it was on some page of freaky looking images.
By evening, Grease realized that he was losing his mellow but he decided that he had to do something. When Griswold came out of his room again, he took the opportunity.
“Dude, what is going on?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“Hell yeah dude, it is my ‘fucking’ business. You came home last night all pissed off or something, you ate most of my brownies and drank my beer. I like Brain Damage as much as anybody but can you just answer your phone? You’ve done nothing except for cussing and acting like a general douchebag. What the hell is going on?”
Griswold looked at Grease red faced with a stone-like scowl. He stormed into his room and Grease heard the jingling of keys as he came back in the room. He stomped across the room and to the door and opened it. As he went outside in the cold, he shouted, “Fuck you! Fuck you all!”
Owen and Mara stared Grease with blank looks as if they were having a hard time processing everything they heard.
“After he left, I haven’t seen him again.”
Mara inquired, “When you said ‘freaky looking images’ what did you see?”
“It was stuff like demons and pentagrams, you know, devil worshipping.”
“I see. Thank you for your time Mr. Greaves. We’ll be in contact if we have any more questions.”
“Later dudes… officers. Peace out.”
The agents started to walk away as Grease opened the door and entered the apartment. While walking back to the SUV, Owen noticed an elderly woman with a cross look on her face looking out at them. He nodded to her and she disappeared behind the curtain. After climbing into the vehicle, they just sat there for a moment.
“Stogies? Grandma’s special recipe brownies? Who does he think he’s kidding?”
Mara laughed. “I would have loved to meet his grandmother.”
Her facial expression changed to be more serious. “I don’t need your opinions on this one.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Well okay, can I ask if there was anything of use there?”
“I can’t tell. He did confirm what his employer told us; he’s missing.”
Mara grabbed her phone from her hip and a small white card from her shirt pocket. She dialed the number on the card and waited for a moment. “Hello Sheriff Mason… Yes, I am doing well… Can I ask you a favor…? Can you file a missing person report for Griswold Wilson…? Yes, it is the same guy you told us about this morning…Great, can you all put out an APB… No, I think his life might be in danger… I think he might harm himself… Yes, let me know. Thank you.”
“You didn’t mention anything about how he might look like a unicorn.”
Mara glanced at Owen out of the corner of her eye. His face was as serious as it has been during the three days that she’s work with him.
“Agent Holt, you do have a sense of humor.”
“That’s a lie. What about ‘Grease?’” Owen stated as he looked towards the back of the house.
“What about him?”
“I’m sure there’s drugs in there. If we got a warrant…”
“That’s not our jurisdiction. While it is not policy, we’re encouraged to let small crimes like that go. It complicates matters too much. It’s like working undercover, sometimes you have to let things go to or even participate…” she trailed off and did not finish.
“I’ll take your word for it.” acknowledged Owen.
“I think we need to check on the other members of the Spooksters to make sure they are okay.”
“Do we know where they went?”
“Linda is at West Virginia University and Grace and Chris are at a private school not too far from there. If we leave now, we can get to all of them before evening.”