The lights in the laundry room 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 now came from streetlights outside through the plate glass 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.  Probably the lights and the machines were on separate circuits. 

He sat back and convinced himself that it was a fuse, after all.  He leaned back, closed his eyes and went back to his fantasy.

Sighing to himself, he resumed his fantasy and idly stroked himself over his jeans.  His dream was getting really hot when the door to the laundry matte slammed open and a freezing wind blew through the room.  

What the ****!!  Matt was on his feet again.  A light sweat broke across his brow; and his heart, earlier brought to a fast jog was now running a full tilt sprint.      

He ran a couple of steps in one direction and then, back again.  “Who’s here?  What do you want?” He yelled.  His eyes darted across every inch of the room.  He saw the row of washers along one wall, a row of dryers on the other.  Four long folding tables filled the center of the room.  There was no one to see, no one to answer his frantic calls. 

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 reached inside, pulling his wet clothes out by the handful and pushing them into the plastic laundry basket he’d brought with him.  He cast quick glances behind him and all around the room as he worked.

Grabbing the basket, now full with wet clothes, Matt practically ran toward the door.  The door slammed shut in his face.

He dropped the basket, spilling his clothes and took hold of the door’s handle, jerking it as hard as it could.  It wouldn’t move. 

Frantic, now, he decided to throw a chair through the plate glass window, but he discovered that the chairs and the tables were bolted to the floor.                                                            

He stopped and forced himself to calm down.  Ok, okay, just think, damn it.  Something here is **** up, but it’s okay, now.  It’s okay, just think.  He looked around, tense, ready to fight or take flight but there was nothing and no one in the room with him.  He looked outside.  No one there.  Relaxing a little bit he thought about his options.  He didn’t seem to be in danger.  Yeah, some very strange **** happened but he was still alone.  I bet if I try to open the door it’ll come along as easy as you please.  It was all my imagination.  He took two steps toward the door and one of the dryers turned on.

He looked over his shoulder.  Inside the dryer he heard ‘thump, thump, thump’ like something heavy but soft was being tossed around inside.  He was still calm though, and walking toward the dryer he thought, curiosity killed the cat, stupid and then, yeah, but satisfaction brought him back.  He laughed out loud and within seconds was standing in front of the running dryer.                                   

He whispered to himself, “Matt, ol’ boy, let’s just get the **** outta here, okay?” He 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 jumped out of the dryer.   Steeling himself for any eventuality he slowly leaned forward until he could see the inside the dryer drum.  He saw something black and white and probably harmless.

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.  He was almost disappointed. Shaking his head and laughing lightly to himself, he examined the shoes.

It was still fairly dark 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 squinted at the writing on the paper and held it an angle to catch what little light was filtering through the windows.  The sheet of regular sized typing paper.  It had been folded and when he unfolded it he saw that the inside was covered with red kiss marks and --.  He looked closer to see the small black print, typed across the middle of the page, “Put these on.  You won’t regret it.  Don’t put them on and you will die."

Matt dropped the note like it was hot potato and took a couple steps back from the shoes.  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, nothing to give resonance to his call.  He glanced back at the shoes.  This has got be someone's idea of a very sick 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," the note had read. 

This was a scary situation and he was plenty scared.  A little pissed off; a little curious.  But, mostly, he was scared.  He recalled some horror movies where the killer left notes.           

The killer always kept the promises in his notes.  **** it!    

Matt slipped off his own flip-flops and slid his feet into the Converse.  They fit perfectly.  They were warm, too, and not just from the dryer.  Matt could feel soft warmth surrounding his feet. 

He turned from the folding table and walked several steps up and several steps back down.  He looked around.  The laundry room remained void of anyone else.  Well, at least some exotic acid hasn't started eating my feet alive, he thought and chuckled at his own black humor.             

He walked to where his clothes were lying on the floor and leaned over to scoop them up and into the laundry basket and nearly fell because his feet kept walking toward the door.  Oh, ****, he thought, what now?  What the **** is going on!

He couldn’t control his feet.  He couldn’t stop. He walked to the door, pulled it open as easy you please, and continued walking out into the night.         

He saw a couple about twenty yards away and called to them, “Hey, excuse me.  I need some help.  I…”  He couldn’t finish.  What the **** were you going to say?  Hey, I can’t stop walking, please help?  He’d have laughed if he hadn’t been so scared.  The couple ignored him anyway.  

His feet took him four blocks down Smithson Avenue and then turned right on Lindsey Street.  He was walking faster, almost running.  He thought that might be because he’d basically given up trying to stop.  It was useless.  A curiosity had taken over.  He wondered where the hell these shoes were taking him.               

He saw the house half a block away.  He knew that was his destination.  No reason, but he knew.  The house was old and looked like it hadn’t been attended to in many years.  The other houses on the street were equally old but at least they looked lived in.  This one scared him, but he couldn’t stop walking. He turned up the sidewalk and strolled up the front porch steps.  He stopped in front of a solid wood door.

Matt stared at the door.  Now, what?  Ring the bell?  Knock? He thought.  

Before he could answer his own questions or decide on a course of action, the door opened and Matt was looking at a very beautiful woman. 

She was thirty, maybe thirty-five.  Long red hair cascaded across her shoulders and over breasts that, under other circumstances, Matt thought he could die for.  She was dressed in a white negligee, a see-through negligee and  despite his situation, despite his fear, Matt felt himself becoming aroused.

She smiled a lovely, inviting smile and somehow it instantly relieved Matt of all fear.  Her smile drew him to her like the proverbial moth to a flame and he felt himself answering her with a smile of his own. 

“Oh, I see you found the shoes.  And they brought you here.  How lovely.  Please, come in.”  Her voice was sultry.  Her voice was irresistible.                          

She led Matt into her living room.  As they went deeper into the house, he failed to notice the cobwebs.  He didn’t notice the dust or the musky, old smell that permeated throughout the place.  The furniture was moth eaten, the drapes full of holes, but he noticed none of these things.  His eyes and his thoughts were centered completely on her.  He was not going to cut and run.  She knew it and so did Matt.                                                                                                           

She sat next to Matt on the rotten sofa.  She kissed his ear and whispered, “I am Naamah and I am in need of.... love."

Matt lay back against the sofa and Naamah straddled his lap.  She kissed him on the lips and warmth spread through him unlike any he’d experienced before.  Her tongue, soft, wet and forceful slid between his teeth and caressed his. 

He found himself responding to her kiss and his passion grew the longer they kissed.  She ground herself into his lap and smiled when she felt his hardness pressing against her.

“Oh, yes, my lover, I need you so badly.  I can feel your need, too.”                    

Matt could only groan a reply as she began to strip his clothes off.  Within seconds she had him stripped and Matt opened his eyes to see her kneeling between his legs.  An erotic sight as this, he had never seen.  His penis rose straight and proud and beyond, the lovely visage of Naamah.

She leaned forward and Matt reached for her head.  Together they brought her lips to his manhood, together they sighed as she slid her mouth over and down, swallowing the entire length of him.                                                                      

Naamah began to bob and suck.  Matt fleetingly thought that he had never had a blow job like this.  He thought that this could be a blow job to die for.  He relaxed and let the feelings flood his entire being.

Naamah worked fast and within minutes Matt knew he could no longer withhold his orgasm.

“Yes, my love, give it to me.  Give it all to me.”              

Just before his orgasm began Matt opened his eyes and looked down.  He saw an ugly, old hag of a woman bobbing on his penis. 

 Her head was bald in places and straggly hair grew in others.  He saw her scabbed and puss oozing hands gripping the base of his manhood.  He jerked back.  He tried to push her away but, it was too late.  He was too far gone and his orgasm hit him like a freight train.                                                                                                     

Matt’s eyes began to dim.  Naamah still sucking as hard as she could, looked up and smiled around his penis.  Already she was transforming from the ugly old hag he’d glimpsed a second before into the beautiful Naamah as his life force flooded across her tongue.                                                                                         

But the note said…., was Matt’s last thought before darkness engulfed him.