Laundromat 1 “Thump”

“There is a laundromat near my house. Sometimes I sit there...a bit longer than I should. The owner doesn't bother me. No one is really using the machines when I am around, but I linger longer than I should, and I think on what I saw all the time ago.

The thump of something in the washing machine. The red tinge of the water. The silence that followed when it stopped and no one in the room knew to whom the load belonged. The screams that followed upon opening.

It is strange how a single event can mark you. One that can leave you pondering for longer than you could ever imagine you could. And even despite the fact what you saw was terrible, awful even, you are surprised when you realize of just how much of what you have been feeling almost feels closer to an understanding, and less like something out of a horror film. And it is at that point that you begin to wonder whether you are mad.

So, you find a quiet time of night, return to the scene of the happening. You act at first as if it was just curiosity, but you soon find yourself being drawn back to it. It’s as if you’re al-most following a type of nostalgia. And even though at first you are disgusted with yourself, instead of leaving and never coming back, it begins to become habit. You begin to remember things you didn't think you would remember. Some details expand, and some diminish, as you desperately try to sort out what, if anything, that you remember is real, and what has be-come manufactured.

The news never specified where the discovery happened. I imagine it is the only reason it has stayed in business. That, and people really don't seem to want to talk about it. I have tried to talk to some of the people who were there, visit them at their houses. But they always give me a look, as if I had somehow committed the act itself, as if all of their fear was because of something I had done.

They close their door quickly, and after a moment, I must walk away.

I am the only one to react this way. The only one who seems to return. I reflect on it now, and though none of the machines are running now, I can still hear something. That thump, as something heavy is flung against the side of the machine. As if though there is nothing there, I will still end up jumping in reaction to it, only to be overwhelmed by the silence that follows afterward. I have wanted to express all of these feelings to someone, but I don't think anyone, but you, could understand. It is simply too strange of a reaction. Too odd to relate to.

Don't get me wrong. I don't look forward to it, but I am drawn here all the same. And though the washing machine involved was replaced, I can't help but linger.

I think back on it now, and I suppose that those details are easier to recall than I thought. The murmur of the people, and the scent of detergent. The steady hum of water sloshing about; the steady hum of the driers. It was so...normal that day. Everyone was so normal that day. And yet, looking back on it, I can't remember it that way. The people look wrong. Their faces are wrong. Even if I know all the true details by heart, I know that there is something wrong, because what I imagine, what I see when I think of it, is something truly awful.

Everyone just refused to move. It took several moments, but as the sound became more repetitive, I simply couldn't just sit by and let it continue. I approached the washer, the smell of the cleaner on the floor suddenly becoming noticeable. The water, red in hue, acted as it should, shifting back and forth, back and forth. The machine shook a little, as there was another heavy thump. The blare of the sound that noted the end of the cycle. I jumped, as I jump now simply remembering it. Despite my fear I opened the door.

Inside, sitting in that pool of water and blood, was the head of something that I couldn't imagine had once been a human being.

I have tried to forget. Obviously, the rest of the people who were there have tried to as well, but the event remains stuck in my mind, even after all this time. I think of little else, and I feel ashamed when I have discovered that my life has begun to revolve around these visits.

I sit still, the contents of the washer sloshing around in front of me. The water is soapy, but otherwise without hue. I try to forget as others have. I then look back over to the man behind the counter, and try to remember that he looks like a man. However, when I look at him, I couldn't imagine some-thing that looks like that having ever been a human being.”

I received this in a letter. I think it was for the previous resident. It has to be. Because I am not like that person. I am different

It is already getting dark outside. It makes me sad.