Page 2 of Her Wonderful Wonder Bell
“Yes, Mr. Brigley?” I shout as I drop my mop, jogging toward him. He doesn’t like slow movers.
His massive silhouette darkens the light of the arch at the end of the hallway tunnel. Brigley has to be close to seven feet tall. He’s pure muscle, but not in the bodybuilding way. Those bodybuilders look tough, but it’s mostly for show. They’re just the muscle head version of beauty pageant contestants. Guyslike Brigley—the ones that have massive barrel chests with hair that pokes out of the collars of their shirts, and hands the size of catcher’s mitts—those are the real strong men. You don’t wanna mess with them.
“You got overtime Wednesday,” he barks when I get close enough to make out his features.
Ashes from his cigar drop to the floor. This hall isn’t my area to clean, but it’s still annoying to watch. Janitor solidarity.
“Oh, I took that day off because my—”
“Did I ask you a question, Rogers?”
The shadows in the archway start to close in around me. The edges of them twist in unnatural ways that make my stomach twist just as much. I swallow the last of the saliva I have as I my mouth goes dry.
“No, Sir.”
“I didn’t think so.” His walrus-like mustache twitches as he gives me a long, silent look.
He drops his cigar and stamps it out. I force myself not to look away as he takes a piece of gum from his pocket, opens it, throws the wrapper on the floor, and puts thegum in his mouth.
“Be here at six.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The shadows retreat as he lumbers away to his office—far the fuck away from me, thank goodness. I shiver as the blood returns to my body and my system starts functioning properly again. Most days I don’t have to deal with Brigley, but when I do…ugh.
Anyway, back to work.
They left the locker room surprisingly tidy today. Not even a single jockstrap flung into the sink, and no one shaved their pubes on the floor. What a win.
I make progress fast tonight, shaking my behind while I scrub the showers to my choice of music. I try not to let anyone see me dance. I have limbs like an antelope, the posture of a croissant, and a complete lack of rhythm. My whole dance routine gives “ostrich mating ritual.” Might be another reason I’m single.
When I’m done in the locker room, I take the mop bucket back to the janitor’s area and dump it. That’s it for the night. I wash my hands and grab my backpack from the employee lockers.
Finally, I can go home, eat some food, power up the PC and play Ultra Baseball MVP VII. My bad back might keep me from playing ball (when an accident gave me a spine that looks like a depressed shrimp it put a dent in things), but video games? Hell yeah. Gamers and terrible postures are built for each other.
Hmm.The staying in the house and playing games all the time couldalsobe part of the reason I’m single.
I’m most of the way out of the building, nearly free to hit pixel balls, when I stumble in the hall.
Pain races up my bones as I hit the floor, elbows first.Oof.
Eyes shut tight,I grimace until the initial shock of the fall passes. When I open them, I spot a loose brick under me. Why we still have brick floors in the hallway, no clue, but they’re annoying. Pretty sure it’s just because they’re old like the rest of the building. They’re a bitch to clean, and apparently a tripping hazard too.
I’m about to stand up when I notice something out of place—and shiny—underneath the brick. After moving it aside, Itake my keys out of my bag and use one as a little shovel to dig the metal thing out.
It takes a bit, but soon enough I pull out a small box.
Once it’s free, I fit the brick back into place as best as I can, slip the box into my backpack, and head out the door. I have no clue what this is, but there’s no way I’m turning it in to my boss.
As I’m walking home, I hear fans chant “Balls! Balls! Balls!” from inside Kyle’s pub, and it makes me think of what Brigley might do if he knew I took something from the stadium without permission. I shudder to imagine it. I mean, it’s not like I’ve everseenhim do anything terrible to someone. Outside of his duties as owner and coach of the Wonder Balls, I’ve only everseenhim smoke cigars, chew gum, and lurk ominously. If anyone knew for a fact he did any of the things he’s beenrumoredto have done, then he’d be in jail. It’s just that bad things have a way of mysteriously happening after he gets mad. More than a couple of people who pissed him off up and left Ghostlight Falls in themiddle of the night, without telling anyone, and without ever speaking to anyone ever again.
So, I’mnotgoing to tell anyone where I found this box.
When I get to my place, I lock the door behind me and set my bag on the purple sofa (that I got for free off of the curbside, by the way—I’m still proud of that score.) I kick my chunky, black boots off near the entryway while pulling my work uniform shirt off. Slipping and sliding in my socks on the wood floors, I make my way to my bedroom where I toss the clothes into the hamper. The doom pile of clean, unfolded laundry leers at me from the chair beside my bed. Really need to fold those someday... Not today.
I grab one of my many silly t-shirts and pull it over my head. Today’s tee has a cartoon rat on the front and says “God of Lust” on top and “Be Like Him” on the bottom. Does it make sense? No, but I got it for two dollars at the Ghostlight Falls thrift store, and it makes me smile. After tugging on a pair of baggy gray sweatpants, I head back to the living room to retrieve the briefly forgotten box beforereturning to the bedroom, so I lounge in bed while checking it out.
I wipe the grime off the box using my trusty bedside baby wipes then get to work trying to open it. The top of it is pitted and worn, but it’s not rusted or anything. I can make out faded paint with the logo of Rosa’s Dulcería. It looks way too old to have been owned by the Rosa I know, but the candy store has been around longer with that name than she has. The two halves of the box are jammed together pretty hard. Every way I pull is stuck. I grumble with irritation, about to throw the damn thing.
