The Landlady

The Landlady
Short story by Christine Lines, © 2011

Based on a nightmare
and written in two hours
just for a little writing practice…
now I’m going to bed.

It was something they had planned for years.

Four college friends through four years of repetitive classes, late-night cramming, and booze-induced high-jinks, culminating in a mediocre graduation but a much-anticipated vacation. A month-long reward for all their efforts and hardships through college (or lack-thereof), and a brief escape before having to repay sky-high college loans.

They pooled their cash and got tickets to Germany, the hip hub of Europe. They had planned to roam the country relying on only what their backpacks could hold and their German classes had taught them, but vacations eventually induce laziness so when they found a place to crash after the absurdly long flight, they inevitably decided to make it their temporary home.

“Fuck hostels, look at this place!” Jerry said. He whipped his head back to get his messy brown hair out of his eyes.

It was a cottage just outside of Berlin. Close enough to ransack the city of its beer but far away enough to get some r-and-r when they needed it, which was usually just the mornings after an intensely insane night of drinking games.

“Hey, hey, do you think Germans know what ‘fuck’ means?” he snickered with his signature grin.

This triggered a face-palm from Clara. “Ugh, yes, they probably do.”

“You think that’ll make it easier for me to pick up chicks in a foreign country? I don’t remember how to say ‘Wanna go out’ in German, especially after some drinking, but I do know how to say fuck. I know how to say it all the time.” He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and threw back his head in a hearty laugh.

Clara didn’t dignify him with a response, instead taking her bag into the cottage.

She was followed by Tom, who merely shook his head, and Annette, who was quiet but always smiled pleasantly.

Clara clambered up the stairs to the second floor with her over-packed backpack, attempting to keep her short black hair tucked behind her ears and out of her eyes with her pinky fingers while she carried bags of bottled water for the group. The cottage’s five second-floor rooms accommodated travelers and overlooked the first floor from a balcony. The kitchen, common area, dining area, and shared wash-closet were on the first floor. Past those was the master bedroom. The front and back door could be seen from the balcony on the left and right respectively.

Tom climbed the stairs next, the tallest of the group, with blonde hair and glasses, which also made him the smartest-looking of the group. This designated him as the one the group turned to when they needed to ask for directions because they thought he looked least likely to make a bad impression on the natives. “This place looks very old. Everything’s made of wood.”

“That’s okay, right? This place is supposed to be a good price.” Annette followed close behind, her long auburn hair waving behind her. She was as soft and girly as Clara was prickly and tomboyish. Clara envisioned having to fight her for bathroom time with all the preparation Annette’s hair and make-up probably took, but no vacation would be complete without her best friend. “It was nice of the convenience store owner to tell us about this place.”

“Hell yeah, hotels are too expensive.” Jerry casually strutted up the stairs with barely anything in his backpack. “Leaves more money for drinking,” he chuckled.

Clara rolled her eyes and set down the bags having reached the second floor. “Cmon, that’s all we did in college. We’re in another country now. We need a change of pace. Let’s do different things for a change.”

“I agree,” Tom input. “But tell the termites to eat Jerry first. I think I see little holes in the wood.”

“Ah… you have come.”

Long dark dress, waist-length black hair, deeply-set eyes. Her long, elegant fingers coiled open in greeting.

“He told me you would be here soon. Called to tell me. Wunderbar. Wonderful of you to come.”

Annette smiled. “Thank you for having us.”

“Which rooms should we take?” Clara asked.

“Oh yes, take any of them, they are all free.”

“Free, for real?” asked an astonished Jerry.

The landlady paused.

“Vacant.”

Jerry scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “That store guy told us you charge less than the other places around here.”

“Yes, less. We will talk about price later. It is dinner time. Please put your things away and come to the dining area.”

It was a sweet deal. Just a small deviation from the plan.

☠☠☠

“Seriously, bro, I’ve had enough of this bitch!”

“Keep your voice down, Jerry, you stupid ass,” Clara hissed.

“L-let’s think about this, guys,” Annette murmured, unheard.

“Why, Jerry? What’s your reason for wanting to do this?” Tom asked calmly.

“We came here for a vacation, man, and we got suckered into this deal. Sure, yeah, this place is cheap, but I didn’t come here to be bullshitted by some landlady into cleaning her house for her.”

“She’s a widow,” Annette protested. “She makes her living by opening her home to outsiders, giving them a place to stay and cooking meals for them, and in return she just wants a little compensation and for us to keep things neat and tidy.”

“I cleaned her fucking clogged toilet! In her bedroom! It’s not even the shared bathroom, dude, it’s her own personal space. She forbids us from even going to her side of the house but when she’s got shit spilling all over the place, she calls me down there?”

Clara sighed heavily. “Look, I didn’t exactly think I’d be helping her sweep and mop the whole place every day, but pulling a prank isn’t the best image to make in another country. What if she kicks us out?”

“So fucking what? I’d rather empty my pockets staying in the city and getting trashed there than go out, get trashed, and get woken up to Morticia Addams down there telling me to do things I don’t wanna do on my vacation!”

They were quiet for a moment, letting their frustration subside.

“Okay,” Clara muttered, rubbing her eyes, “I’ll entertain your dumbass idea for a minute. What exactly are you planning to do?”

☠☠☠

Clara, Tom, and Annette hunched in the shadows of the second-floor balcony in the middle of the night, chuckling into each others ears with beer breath.

“N-n… ninja,” Clara blurted between snickers, blown away she didn’t think of the plan before stupid-ass Jerry.

“Shh-pfffft-hehe-huh-shh, here he comes,” Annette observed, and the three hushed their fits of giggling.

The back door inched open. A black-socked foot slid into view. Black pants, black jacket. Then an absurdly masked head.

Jerry had wrapped a black T-shirt over his head with his eyes peeking out of the neckhole, imitating a ninja hood.

“Scare her to death,” cheered Tom quietly.

Jerry ducked down and half-rolled, half-fell onto his back in the common area.

The trio tried desperately to contain bursts of laughter. “Kaaah-hah, ninja roll,” Clara whispered, her cheeks in pain from smiling so hard.

Jerry got up and casually stuck his hands into his pockets as a swaying figure suddenly appeared from the back of the common area.

The landlady shrieked and her plate of apple slices clattered to the floor.

Jerry, too drunk to realize what was happening, simply cried “Woah!” and looked around, trying to locate the source of the scream.

The landlady’s dark eyes bulged with shock as she tightly gripped her nightgown and fruit knife in fear.

And then her eyes changed entirely, as if an eclipse suddenly crossed her face.

As Jerry finally turned in her direction, she stabbed his neck.

His friends’ mouths fell open. They watched as blood quickly seeped through his clothes and pooled onto the floor.

Somehow, Jerry wasn’t crying for help. The only sounds he made were shallow, rasping breaths, as if he could not speak.

The landlady’s face contorted into a wild, crazed expression, her eyebrows arched high and her teeth bared. She clawed off his mask, grabbed his unkempt hair to hold his head still, and swept the knife across his cheek. The soft flesh landed on the floor with a distinct splat.

She smirked and kept slicing into his face, diced skin and facial muscle and gelatinous eye matter falling away in globs. She saved the nose for last, flicking the knife against the cartilage again and again until it tumbled off his face in a bloody mound.

The landlady’s restructure of Jerry’s face complete, she uncurled her bony fingers and let his body clump onto the cold floor.

The heat and intensity gradually disappeared from her porcelain face until only an unnerving ease graced her blood-dappled visage. She slowly lifted her dark gaze to the second floor.

The friends tensed with clenched fists and racing hearts, unsure if they were visible within the shadows. But the landlady slowly turned around and went back towards her room, as if no mutilated corpse was lying in the middle of her home.

They didn’t wait for her to return to her kill. They crawled back into their rooms as quietly as they could, locking the doors and cowering under the covers like frightened children until the fog of drunkenness blacked them out.

☠☠☠

A loud clank came from downstairs.

Clara woke up in a puddle of vomit. Tom shot up in bed as if coming out of a nightmare. Annette awoke with blurry, red eyes and salt trails running down her cheeks.

They quietly got dressed, not sure what had happened in the night, unsure if they had followed through with their plan after going out for drinks, if the disturbing images clawing in their minds were just clips from a movie they had watched or a bad dream. But the alarming sense of dread they felt clawing up their spines couldn’t be shaken off.

Clara slowly, quietly unlocked her door and cracked it open, chancing a peak outside. She didn’t see or hear anything else. She cautiously side-stepped to Tom’s room, trying not to be visible to anyone who may be downstairs. She lightly tapped on the door and whispered, “It’s me.”

Tom cracked open his door and eyed her, then quickly pulled her in. They looked at each other a moment, filled with questions but not daring to ask. Then they realized they didn’t need to. The look on their faces said it all, confirmed their worst nightmare.

“We have to leave,” Tom whispered.

“Now,” Clara agreed. “Get Annette.”

Clara quickly grabbed her things as quietly as she could while Tom checked on Annette. They met outside their rooms on the second floor. Then they gently lowered her gaze past the balcony down towards the common room.

Nothing. No blood, no body, no landlady.

Confused and deeply rattled, they rapidly descended the stairs, not caring who heard them now, desperate to get out. Clara reached the door first.

“You are leaving already?” came a voice behind them.

They stopped short, eyes wide, breaths caught in their throats. They slowly turned in unison.

“But I am making breakfast. You stay.”

She held a plate of cut red apples and a rope of fresh sausage links.

☠ Gally

Short Story © Christine Lines 2011
Blog post © Christine Lines 11.09.11

http://lestismitethee.wordpress.com/2011/11/09/the-landlady/