The lights in the laundry matt flickered and went out.
Matt, lost in a fantasy involving a very hot young woman, jerked out of the hard plastic chair in which he’d been half sitting, half lying in and stared wildly around the empty room.
The only light came from streetlights through the plate glass windows that covered the front wall of the laundry matte.
Matt relaxed a bit. It must’ve been a fuse, he thought. The washing machine was still running, so the lights and the machines were probably on separate circuits.
Convincing himself that it was indeed a blown fuse, he sat down, leaned back and closed his eyes.
Sighing, he resumed his fantasy and idly stroked himself over his jeans. His dream was getting hot when the door to the laundry matte slammed open and a brief, but freezing wind gusted through the room.
What the ****!! Matt was on his feet again. A light sweat broke across his brow and his heart, brought to a fast jog when the fuse went, was now running at a full sprint. He ran a couple of steps towards the door and stopped. “Who’s there? He yelled. What do you want?” His eyes darted around the room. He saw the row of washers and dryers along the back wall. Four long folding tables filled the center of the room. There was no one to see, no one to respond to his shouted questions.
Suddenly, all ten of the dryer’s doors slammed shut.
Oh, ****! That’s it. I’m outta here! He grabbed the washer lid and threw it back so hard that it ricocheted back and nearly took off a finger. ****! He pulled it up again and started pulling his wet clothes out by the handful and pushed them into the plastic laundry basket he’d brought with him. He cast quick, nervous glances behind him and all around the room as he worked.
Snatching up the full basket, Matt ran toward the door only to see it slam shut in his face.
He dropped the basket, spilling his clothes and took hold of the door’s handle, jerking it as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t budge.
Frantic, he grabbed a chair, intent on throwing it through a window. He gasped as a muscle pulled in his back. The chairs were bolted to the floor. Bent over in pain he glanced at the tables and saw that they, too, were bolted to the floor.
Hands on knees, back still smarting, he forced himself to calm down and looked around the room. Take it easy, man. This is some strange ****. Scary ****, but there’s no one here. Relax and think of a way out of here.
He looked around, ready to fight or take flight but there was nothing and no one in the room with him. He looked outside but couldn’t see anyone. I bet if I try to open the door again it’ll open. It was all my imagination. He straightened up slowly and the pain in his back receded.
One of the dryers turned itself on.
Startled anew, he looked over his shoulder. Inside the dryer he heard a thumping noise. It sounded like something heavy but soft, was being tossed around inside. Slowly he walked toward the running dryer thinking, curiosity killed the cat, stupid, and then – satisfaction brought him back. He laughed aloud and stopped in front of the dryer.
Aloud, he whispered to himself, “Matt, ol’ boy, let’s just get the **** outta here, okay?”, and answered himself in the same whisper, “Yep, just as soon as I see what’s in here.” He lunged for the dryer door, yanked it open and jumped back.
Nothing flew out of the dryer at him. Steeling himself he slowly leaned forward until he could see the bottom of the dryer drum -- a pair of tennis shoes?
Quickly regaining his composure and sense of confidence, he reached in and pulled out a pair of black, Converse shoes; high tops, the basketball kind.
How the heck did these get in here? He wondered. Shaking his head and laughing lightly to himself, he examined the shoes. There wasn’t much light in the laundry room, but Matt could easily see that the shoes appeared worn. He set them on the folding table and started to walk back to his clothes when something in one of the shoes caught his attention; a small piece of white sticking out the top of the left shoe.
Matt turned back and plucked the paper out of the shoe. He unfolded and held it at an angle to catch what little light was filtering through the windows. He saw that the inside was covered with red kiss marks and there was a type written sentence across the middle. “Put these on, you won’t regret it. Don’t put them on and you will die."
Matt dropped the note like a hot potato and took a couple of steps back. He looked around the laundry. "Anybody here?" he called out. "Come on, this has stopped being anywhere near funny."
There was no answer, no movement and nothing to give resonance to his call. He glanced back at the shoes. This has got be someone's idea of a joke.
Cautiously, he leaned over and picked up the fallen note. He read it again. He stuffed the note in his pants pocket and picked up the shoes. "Don't put these on and you will die, huh?"
He recalled some horror movies where the killer left notes. The killer’s always kept the promises in their notes. Mentally, he shrugged his shoulders and thought, why take a chance?
Less scared now than curious; Matt slipped off his own flip-flops and slid his feet into the Converse. They fit perfectly. They were warm and it seemed to him that this warmth was not only from the dryer. Hell, they haven’t been in there long enough to get warm.
He walked several steps up and down. He looked around. The laundry room remained empty of anyone else. Well, at least some exotic acid hasn't started eating my feet to the bone, he thought and chuckled at his own black humor.
He walked to where his clothes were lying on the floor. He leaned over to scoop them up and nearly fell on his face because his feet kept walking toward the door. Oh, ****, he thought, what now? What the **** is going on, now?
End of part one. I wasn't able to put the entire story (although less than 2000 words) into one SM block. Part two is posted, as well.
