OK! Go John! I’m going to try to type through the month again with all the other wrimos. Here an excerpt from tonight’s work:
Stefan decided to make some dinner while he waited for the washing machine to do its duty. His apartment wasn’t much more than a large closet, only 295 square feet of luxurious subterranean living in the heart of the University District in Seattle, but it was cheap. His galley kitchen was along the wall where the door of the apartment let out into the hallway and he heard someone tap on the door while he was cleaning up his dinner plate. He looked out of the peephole to see Mr. Christofferson standing in the hallway.
“Hey, hi”, said Stefan after he opened the door.
“Mr. Munchausen, your washing machine has completed its cycle.”
“Oh, thanks, I’ll go get them in the dryer.”
“Your prompt attention to your laundry will be appreciated by your neighbors”, Mr. Christofferson said as he turned and walked down the hallway to the stairwell.
“Thank you, I’ll remember that”, Stefan said as he closed the door.
Stefan had to scrounge around for two more quarters to put in the dryer, then he put his shoes back on and trotted back to the laundry room. As he pushed the door open, the automatic lights turned on and he was startled when he saw that Mr. Christofferson had returned to his seat on the counter and was apparently meditating in the dark of the laundry room. The older man was still observing the wall but his finger was pointed up at a sign above his shoulder which read, “Your prompt attention to your laundry will be appreciated by your neighbors.”
“Got it”, said Stefan as he opened one of the dryers to make sure it was empty before he grabbed his wet clothes from the washer. “I appreciate you telling me that my clothes were ready for the dryer, Mr. Christofferson.”
“No problem. Are you familiar with the author, Ann Rule?”
“She’s a true crime writer, right?”
“Yes, that is correct. She interviewed me once. She interviewed me a long time ago.”
“Oh, I heard something from the apartment manager about that”, Stefan said as he transferred his clothes into the dryer.
“He lies. He is a liar. You should not trust John the manager”, Mr. Christofferson said with a glare.
“OK. He just said that you lived here when Ted Bundy lived next door.”
“I did.”
“That’s all I heard. Nothing else”, Stefan said as he turned around, trying not to chuckle.
“Someone died in the building.”
“When? Did Ted Bundy kill someone here?”, Stefan asked, getting a little creeped out.
“Mr. Franklin died in the building, on the first day that John the manager was here.”
“So, you think the manager had something to do with it?”
“John became the manager after the previous manager left in disgrace.”, Mr. Christofferson said with his eyes closed, shaking his head.
“So, John killed Mr. Franklin?”
“Mr. Franklin drowned himself in his bathtub. John denies the facts of his death to anyone who wants to rent unit 206. He is a liar.”, Mr. Christofferson said, with his fists tightened, and his head still shaking.
“Oh, OK, you were getting me a little worried there Mr. Christofferson. You know, I live in the apartment next to John the manager and I didn’t want to get tangled up in any crazy stuff.”
“Mr. Franklin was the only other person besides myself that had lived here since the building opened. We both knew things. Things that will be lost when I am gone.”
“Like the trick with the washing machine?”
“Exactly”, said Mr. Christofferson, opening his eyes and relaxing his hands.
“It’s a good thing that you’re still here then. You already saved me a dollar!”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Munchausen.”
Stefan put six quarters in the dryer and started the machine. He looked up at the clock to make sure he was back here to get his clothes out when they were finished so Mr Christofferson wouldn’t have to remind him.
“Have you read the book that Ann Rule wrote about Ted Bundy?”, Mr. Christofferson asked Stefan as he was turning to leave.
“No I haven’t. I’ll have to see if it’s at the library and check it out. See you later Mr. Christofferson”, Stefan said, leaving the laundry room.
As Stefan walked down the hallway, he just wanted to forget the whole evening. He had figured that anyone that lived in a tiny apartment in the U-District for almost forty years would have to be a little whacked, but this guy was getting pretty high on the creepy scale.
