The Wash
Created | Updated Aug 30, 2008
Monday night, 10pm. It was raining hard and blowing a gale. Adam was cold, hungry, irritable. He'd missed a dead-line last week and worked all weekend to catch up. The pressure was on to finish the job or lose it. Everything had gone wrong. He'd started early. Got up at 4am. Found he'd run out of clean shirts. Mum was off on holiday for two weeks and he hadn't thought to do the washing. He slammed a pile of everything that would fit into the machine, emptied in half a bottle of washing liquid, switched on and left the house at a run, wearing Friday's grotty shirt. He grabbed a sandwich at the garage on the way. At work, the lights went out mid-afternoon, in the middle of a thunder storm. When they came back on, the computer network had to be restored from last week's backup. All he'd done over the weekend and Monday, was lost. By 9pm he was too tired to think any more. Everyone else had gone home long ago. Feeling dejected and defeated, he backed up, packed up and left. It was hard to see through the shining black torrent, sluicing back and forth in the rapid blur of wipers. The hard, bright glitter of street lights, flashing with each slap and slosh, made his eyes hurt. But at least the roads were almost empty.
Home at last. Pulling his jacket up over his head, he climbed out of the car and made a dash for it, tripped over an uneven paving stone and staggered to the door. He stood in the porch, patting his pockets, then groping in them with a rising sense of panic. No keys. He tried the handle and found the door wasn't locked. In his pre-dawn rush, he'd forgotten. Switching on the hall light he saw his keys on the hall table, where he'd left them. Relief was again followed by panic. His eyes darted about, looking for signs of robbery. He looked into each of the ground-floor rooms, relief washing over him again as he found each room in the state that he'd left it. The kitchen was the last room he poked his head into, as fear of thieves ebbed away. But then, thoughts of filling the kettle and grabbing a pot-noodle from the cupboard also dissolved as soon as he switched on the light.
There was a flood. Water a centimetre deep covered the yellow and blue vinyl, drowning the colours. It looked grey and murky, with a film of soapy scum. The reason was instantly obvious. The washing machine stood opposite the kitchen door, dark wet clothes pressed against the concave circle of glass. Adam groaned. He must have done it wrong. Mum didn't usually trust him to use the thing, but she said any idiot should be able to manage it. He found a mop. It took ages to clear up the mess. Then he got the machine open. The door seemed stuck and he had to force it. There was still a lot of water left inside and it flooded the floor again. Swearing - almost crying - he piled half the sopping clothes into a bowl and carried them upstairs to the bath, then came back for the rest. He couldn't find any more washing liquid.
It was almost midnight by the time he got back from the all-night garage shop with a carrier-bag full of junk-food and an unknown brand of washing liquid. It was all they had so it would have to do. "Dirt Devil - Biological - with powerful hungry enzymes, and something extra!" He half-filled the bath of soggy clothes with warm water and glugged in the smelly, green Dirt Devil liquid. Then he went downstairs to console himself with all the pies, crisps, chocolate and beer that would have given his mother a fit - if she'd known.
He was up before the sun again on Tuesday. It was another long day and he was still tired. The boss made a sarcastic remark about his inappropriate attire (a T-shirt). He explained about the washing machine and said he'd be back in his shirt and tie by Wednesday. Staying focused and working steadily, he made good progress. Nothing went wrong. He took no chances: backing up everything himself, instead of relying on the network engineer's weekend back-up. Home just after 9pm, he remembered to fish a shirt out of the bath, rinse it and put it in the tumble drier before making himself a sandwich.
The rest of the week followed the pattern of Tuesday. The clothes in the bath were beginning to smell bad by Wednesday evening, but he didn't notice until Thursday, when the stink hit him as soon as he stepped into the house. The overdue project was almost completed - only one week past its deadline. Adam was exhausted, but that one bright spark, lent him the energy to haul the wet clothes out of the bath and rinse them all twice in the sink before transferring them, still soaking wet and malodorous to the tumble drier. He didn't remember to empty the bath.
Friday morning he slept through the alarm and didn't wake until 8am. He dressed in a frenzy of panic. The stink from the bath hit him as he opened his bedroom door. No time to waste on slopping it out, he virtually flew out of the house.
Adam presented his completed project to the boss at 4pm. Just one week late. The old man frowned as he took the folder and started leafing through the pages. Adam chewed his lower lip, watching the martinet's expression smooth from frown to neutral, from neutral to smile, from smile to grin. He stopped chewing when the boss nodded and gave him a hearty slap on the back and told him to go home and get some rest.
Getting some rest was his only plan as he drove home. He caught the beginning of the rush hour just as he hit the suburbs but was still home by 5pm. The idea of falling into bed and sleeping for 16 hours - or longer - swept him up the garden path like a breeze from paradise. As he opened the front door, his one hope and ambition was instantly forgotten.
The overpowering, sulphurous stench almost made him swoon. A sound of angry buzzing filled his ears and a mass of big black flies swarmed out as he stepped in. He made a half-strangled squeal, then coughed and choked as one flew into his mouth. It took a few moments to gather his wits. The stuff festering in the bath: he had to get rid of it. But the horrible smell was making him feel light-headed so first, he found a tea-towel in the kitchen and sprayed it with a lemony scented cleaner. Then he flung all the downstairs windows open, tied the tea-towel round his face and braced himself to tackle the icky matter in the bath.
In the bathroom things looked alien. The water in the bath had thickened, like egg albumin - and it seemed to be 'working'. There were long snotty ropes of it hanging and dripping from the ceiling, just above the bath. Adam was horrified but also fascinated. What the hell was in that "Dirt Devil" washing liquid? Something stranger than hungry enzymes, he guessed. And where did all those flies come from? As he stood there, in the doorway, almost gagging on the nauseating sight and smell, a largish, black garden spider scuttled out of the curtains and across the ceiling. He heard a wet, sucking noise and a thick string of the slime shot out of the bath and caught the spider. It was the method used by chameleons. Very effective. The spider disappeared into the goo with a plop. Adam stepped back when he noticed a small dome forming in the middle of glutinous fluid, fearing it might be about to add him to its menu.
Two things happened. First, the small dome began to shrink, thicken and become more opaque. A dark dot appeared in the centre, lightened to corn-flower blue (the colour of Adam's eyes) and blossomed into an iris with a pin-hole sized pupil. It swivelled round and looked at Adam. He almost ran but his legs felt as though they might buckle under him if he tried. Instead he just shrank back, holding the door frame tightly and slowly pulling the door closed. Before it was fully closed he noticed several large, black spiders surface at the edge of the gloopy gunk and start to climb up the sides of the bath. He pulled the door closed, turned, and stumbled down the stairs.
At the bottom he hesitated, looking at the hall telephone and wondering who to call, then looking at the front door and thinking about bolting. He decided to do both: leave the house and telephone the police, or someone, on his mobile. As he reached for the door, there was a soft knock and he opened it to see a man dressed in overalls and carrying spraying equipment.
"Hello sir. I'm from the council pest control depot. Got a call to say you've got an infestation of flies. Just point me in the right direction and we'll have you sorted out in no time."
"But how...? I haven't reported a problem yet."
"One of the neighbours I dare say. They can be funny about things like that. Flies, cockroaches, rats. People don't like 'em."
"This doesn't make sense. How...?"
"Well have you got a problem or haven't you?"
"Yes! Yes. It's upstairs but it's not flies any more. A cloud of flies swarmed out as I opened the front door. I suppose someone must have seen it and called the council to complain. There's something weird going on. The stuff in the bath..."
"Don't worry about it sir. Soon have this cleared up."
The man stepped towards the stairs but Adam caught his arm.
"You don't understand. It might be dangerous. I should tell you what's up there before you go in. It's not flies."
"Go on then sir. Tell me."
"There's stuff in the bath. I put the washing in there when the machine broke. Then I left it a few days. I was too busy. Then I forgot to take the plug out when I took the washing out. Next thing I know, there's this eye-watering stink and when I go in to empty the bath I see that the water's come to life and it's hunting for insects or spiders and there are all these snotites dangling from the ceiling where it's shot out its tongue to grab them."
The man looked at him in silence for a moment, then Adam added:
"There was an eye-ball in it."
His gaze didn't waver. Adam expected him to laugh or make a sarcastic remark. Finally, the man nodded.
"Not to worry sir. I think I know what we're dealing with here. If you would just get the washing liquid you used, I'll go up there and remove the offending matter from your bathroom."
"The washing liquid?"
"Yes. I'll take that away if you don't mind."
"But I used it all up and threw the bottle away."
"You used it for more than one wash?"
"No. I used it all in one go."
"You didn't read the instructions on the bottle then?"
Adam looked embarrassed.
"I was tired. It was the end of a hard day. The washing machine flooded the kitchen. There was none of the usual stuff left. I had to go out in the middle of the night to buy more. No I didn't read the instructions."
"Hmm. Never mind. Can you remember the name of the detergent?"
"Something 'Devil' I think. Stain Devil? Dirt Devil? Yes, that's it. Dirt Devil."
"I know the brand. Good stuff - if you use it as instructed. This won't take long sir. If you'll just wait here."
And the man climbed the stairs, taking his spraying equipment with him.
Adam followed him to the bottom step and went no further. He craned his neck but couldn't see what was happening so held his breath and listened. The bathroom door opened and closed. A herd of spiders stampeded silently down the stairs. Adam dived for the front door and threw it open. There was something unspider-like about the way this large black garden variety moved at high speed in formation, over the banister, down the stairs, across the hall and out of the door.
Although he had nothing against spiders, the sight of such a purposeful looking swarm, gave him the heebie-jeebies. It was unnatural. He looked around for stragglers but there were none. They'd all vacated the premises en-masse, like a swarm of rats enchanted by a pied piper.
Listening once more, at the bottom of the stairs, he was puzzled to hear the sound of voices from the bathroom. He couldn't make out what they were saying but it sounded like three people talking in low, guttural tones, and maybe half a dozen high-pitched voices. Then there was a sound like an industrial vacuum cleaner, followed by splashing and scrubbing.
It could only have taken about a quarter of an hour and then the man from the council came down the stairs. His overalls were still clean and dry.
"All done sir. I suggest you read the instructions next time you try a new brand of washing liquid."
Adam's sense of relief was overridden by puzzlement. A queue of questions were jostling for position so that he didn't know where to start and the man looked eager to leave without further ado.
"Thank you very much. Can you tell me what it was? There was an eye-ball in it. Where did all those spiders and flies come from? Will you be sending us a bill?"
The man laughed.
"No bill. The biological washing liquid had something extra in it, as you would have learned, if you're read the label properly. Most of the biologicals use enzymes. This one used a sort of GM DNA. If you leave it to stand for a while, it becomes the proverbial 'warm little pond' and life starts to erupt from it. Well, I must be going now."
"Wait. Please. Just a minute. How could that possibly be true? Fully formed flies and spiders - and an eye-ball? It's impossible!"
"If you say so sir. I'm just a pest control operative. What do I know? You saw it for yourself. You'll have to decide what explanation makes sense to you, if my explanation doesn't."
And without another word, he left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back at Demon HQ there was much hilarity when Demon Randal submitted his 'Pest Control' Report. Demon DNA makes a remarkable cleaning fluid. It picks up and mingles with human DNA from clothes in washing machines. Then it drains into the sewers, where it collects rat and cockroach DNA, DNA from bacteria and viruses and many other sources. As it thickens and polymerises, it eddies in pools, settles and grows, develops into things that look familiar, but are, in fact, strange. Appearances can be deceptive. Germination is 100%. As the spawn of hell matures, insect-like, rat-like and human-like demons set out for Demon HQ where the secret invasion is co-ordinated.
"It was the eye-ball that upset him most. He didn't say so, but I'm sure he recognised it as one of his own."
They all howled with laughter. Human beings really are the best entertainment.
Home at last. Pulling his jacket up over his head, he climbed out of the car and made a dash for it, tripped over an uneven paving stone and staggered to the door. He stood in the porch, patting his pockets, then groping in them with a rising sense of panic. No keys. He tried the handle and found the door wasn't locked. In his pre-dawn rush, he'd forgotten. Switching on the hall light he saw his keys on the hall table, where he'd left them. Relief was again followed by panic. His eyes darted about, looking for signs of robbery. He looked into each of the ground-floor rooms, relief washing over him again as he found each room in the state that he'd left it. The kitchen was the last room he poked his head into, as fear of thieves ebbed away. But then, thoughts of filling the kettle and grabbing a pot-noodle from the cupboard also dissolved as soon as he switched on the light.
There was a flood. Water a centimetre deep covered the yellow and blue vinyl, drowning the colours. It looked grey and murky, with a film of soapy scum. The reason was instantly obvious. The washing machine stood opposite the kitchen door, dark wet clothes pressed against the concave circle of glass. Adam groaned. He must have done it wrong. Mum didn't usually trust him to use the thing, but she said any idiot should be able to manage it. He found a mop. It took ages to clear up the mess. Then he got the machine open. The door seemed stuck and he had to force it. There was still a lot of water left inside and it flooded the floor again. Swearing - almost crying - he piled half the sopping clothes into a bowl and carried them upstairs to the bath, then came back for the rest. He couldn't find any more washing liquid.
It was almost midnight by the time he got back from the all-night garage shop with a carrier-bag full of junk-food and an unknown brand of washing liquid. It was all they had so it would have to do. "Dirt Devil - Biological - with powerful hungry enzymes, and something extra!" He half-filled the bath of soggy clothes with warm water and glugged in the smelly, green Dirt Devil liquid. Then he went downstairs to console himself with all the pies, crisps, chocolate and beer that would have given his mother a fit - if she'd known.
He was up before the sun again on Tuesday. It was another long day and he was still tired. The boss made a sarcastic remark about his inappropriate attire (a T-shirt). He explained about the washing machine and said he'd be back in his shirt and tie by Wednesday. Staying focused and working steadily, he made good progress. Nothing went wrong. He took no chances: backing up everything himself, instead of relying on the network engineer's weekend back-up. Home just after 9pm, he remembered to fish a shirt out of the bath, rinse it and put it in the tumble drier before making himself a sandwich.
The rest of the week followed the pattern of Tuesday. The clothes in the bath were beginning to smell bad by Wednesday evening, but he didn't notice until Thursday, when the stink hit him as soon as he stepped into the house. The overdue project was almost completed - only one week past its deadline. Adam was exhausted, but that one bright spark, lent him the energy to haul the wet clothes out of the bath and rinse them all twice in the sink before transferring them, still soaking wet and malodorous to the tumble drier. He didn't remember to empty the bath.
Friday morning he slept through the alarm and didn't wake until 8am. He dressed in a frenzy of panic. The stink from the bath hit him as he opened his bedroom door. No time to waste on slopping it out, he virtually flew out of the house.
Adam presented his completed project to the boss at 4pm. Just one week late. The old man frowned as he took the folder and started leafing through the pages. Adam chewed his lower lip, watching the martinet's expression smooth from frown to neutral, from neutral to smile, from smile to grin. He stopped chewing when the boss nodded and gave him a hearty slap on the back and told him to go home and get some rest.
Getting some rest was his only plan as he drove home. He caught the beginning of the rush hour just as he hit the suburbs but was still home by 5pm. The idea of falling into bed and sleeping for 16 hours - or longer - swept him up the garden path like a breeze from paradise. As he opened the front door, his one hope and ambition was instantly forgotten.
The overpowering, sulphurous stench almost made him swoon. A sound of angry buzzing filled his ears and a mass of big black flies swarmed out as he stepped in. He made a half-strangled squeal, then coughed and choked as one flew into his mouth. It took a few moments to gather his wits. The stuff festering in the bath: he had to get rid of it. But the horrible smell was making him feel light-headed so first, he found a tea-towel in the kitchen and sprayed it with a lemony scented cleaner. Then he flung all the downstairs windows open, tied the tea-towel round his face and braced himself to tackle the icky matter in the bath.
In the bathroom things looked alien. The water in the bath had thickened, like egg albumin - and it seemed to be 'working'. There were long snotty ropes of it hanging and dripping from the ceiling, just above the bath. Adam was horrified but also fascinated. What the hell was in that "Dirt Devil" washing liquid? Something stranger than hungry enzymes, he guessed. And where did all those flies come from? As he stood there, in the doorway, almost gagging on the nauseating sight and smell, a largish, black garden spider scuttled out of the curtains and across the ceiling. He heard a wet, sucking noise and a thick string of the slime shot out of the bath and caught the spider. It was the method used by chameleons. Very effective. The spider disappeared into the goo with a plop. Adam stepped back when he noticed a small dome forming in the middle of glutinous fluid, fearing it might be about to add him to its menu.
Two things happened. First, the small dome began to shrink, thicken and become more opaque. A dark dot appeared in the centre, lightened to corn-flower blue (the colour of Adam's eyes) and blossomed into an iris with a pin-hole sized pupil. It swivelled round and looked at Adam. He almost ran but his legs felt as though they might buckle under him if he tried. Instead he just shrank back, holding the door frame tightly and slowly pulling the door closed. Before it was fully closed he noticed several large, black spiders surface at the edge of the gloopy gunk and start to climb up the sides of the bath. He pulled the door closed, turned, and stumbled down the stairs.
At the bottom he hesitated, looking at the hall telephone and wondering who to call, then looking at the front door and thinking about bolting. He decided to do both: leave the house and telephone the police, or someone, on his mobile. As he reached for the door, there was a soft knock and he opened it to see a man dressed in overalls and carrying spraying equipment.
"Hello sir. I'm from the council pest control depot. Got a call to say you've got an infestation of flies. Just point me in the right direction and we'll have you sorted out in no time."
"But how...? I haven't reported a problem yet."
"One of the neighbours I dare say. They can be funny about things like that. Flies, cockroaches, rats. People don't like 'em."
"This doesn't make sense. How...?"
"Well have you got a problem or haven't you?"
"Yes! Yes. It's upstairs but it's not flies any more. A cloud of flies swarmed out as I opened the front door. I suppose someone must have seen it and called the council to complain. There's something weird going on. The stuff in the bath..."
"Don't worry about it sir. Soon have this cleared up."
The man stepped towards the stairs but Adam caught his arm.
"You don't understand. It might be dangerous. I should tell you what's up there before you go in. It's not flies."
"Go on then sir. Tell me."
"There's stuff in the bath. I put the washing in there when the machine broke. Then I left it a few days. I was too busy. Then I forgot to take the plug out when I took the washing out. Next thing I know, there's this eye-watering stink and when I go in to empty the bath I see that the water's come to life and it's hunting for insects or spiders and there are all these snotites dangling from the ceiling where it's shot out its tongue to grab them."
The man looked at him in silence for a moment, then Adam added:
"There was an eye-ball in it."
His gaze didn't waver. Adam expected him to laugh or make a sarcastic remark. Finally, the man nodded.
"Not to worry sir. I think I know what we're dealing with here. If you would just get the washing liquid you used, I'll go up there and remove the offending matter from your bathroom."
"The washing liquid?"
"Yes. I'll take that away if you don't mind."
"But I used it all up and threw the bottle away."
"You used it for more than one wash?"
"No. I used it all in one go."
"You didn't read the instructions on the bottle then?"
Adam looked embarrassed.
"I was tired. It was the end of a hard day. The washing machine flooded the kitchen. There was none of the usual stuff left. I had to go out in the middle of the night to buy more. No I didn't read the instructions."
"Hmm. Never mind. Can you remember the name of the detergent?"
"Something 'Devil' I think. Stain Devil? Dirt Devil? Yes, that's it. Dirt Devil."
"I know the brand. Good stuff - if you use it as instructed. This won't take long sir. If you'll just wait here."
And the man climbed the stairs, taking his spraying equipment with him.
Adam followed him to the bottom step and went no further. He craned his neck but couldn't see what was happening so held his breath and listened. The bathroom door opened and closed. A herd of spiders stampeded silently down the stairs. Adam dived for the front door and threw it open. There was something unspider-like about the way this large black garden variety moved at high speed in formation, over the banister, down the stairs, across the hall and out of the door.
Although he had nothing against spiders, the sight of such a purposeful looking swarm, gave him the heebie-jeebies. It was unnatural. He looked around for stragglers but there were none. They'd all vacated the premises en-masse, like a swarm of rats enchanted by a pied piper.
Listening once more, at the bottom of the stairs, he was puzzled to hear the sound of voices from the bathroom. He couldn't make out what they were saying but it sounded like three people talking in low, guttural tones, and maybe half a dozen high-pitched voices. Then there was a sound like an industrial vacuum cleaner, followed by splashing and scrubbing.
It could only have taken about a quarter of an hour and then the man from the council came down the stairs. His overalls were still clean and dry.
"All done sir. I suggest you read the instructions next time you try a new brand of washing liquid."
Adam's sense of relief was overridden by puzzlement. A queue of questions were jostling for position so that he didn't know where to start and the man looked eager to leave without further ado.
"Thank you very much. Can you tell me what it was? There was an eye-ball in it. Where did all those spiders and flies come from? Will you be sending us a bill?"
The man laughed.
"No bill. The biological washing liquid had something extra in it, as you would have learned, if you're read the label properly. Most of the biologicals use enzymes. This one used a sort of GM DNA. If you leave it to stand for a while, it becomes the proverbial 'warm little pond' and life starts to erupt from it. Well, I must be going now."
"Wait. Please. Just a minute. How could that possibly be true? Fully formed flies and spiders - and an eye-ball? It's impossible!"
"If you say so sir. I'm just a pest control operative. What do I know? You saw it for yourself. You'll have to decide what explanation makes sense to you, if my explanation doesn't."
And without another word, he left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back at Demon HQ there was much hilarity when Demon Randal submitted his 'Pest Control' Report. Demon DNA makes a remarkable cleaning fluid. It picks up and mingles with human DNA from clothes in washing machines. Then it drains into the sewers, where it collects rat and cockroach DNA, DNA from bacteria and viruses and many other sources. As it thickens and polymerises, it eddies in pools, settles and grows, develops into things that look familiar, but are, in fact, strange. Appearances can be deceptive. Germination is 100%. As the spawn of hell matures, insect-like, rat-like and human-like demons set out for Demon HQ where the secret invasion is co-ordinated.
"It was the eye-ball that upset him most. He didn't say so, but I'm sure he recognised it as one of his own."
They all howled with laughter. Human beings really are the best entertainment.
