story cramp

“Neanderthal. I mean really, how are you so well preserved? Fine, I’m gone. Happy?” Katie asked Charles who had been bugging her to take the rest of her vacation days.



This time last holiday season, all of Charles’s belongings were cluttered in her one bedroom apartment. She had invited him in naked and had asked him to stay forever. But not two months later, Katie had ended the relationship on account of not being ready to settle down. Charles hardly ate for a month after the breakup, and Katie, unwilling to become entangled in any lengthy discussions, never pursued getting her keys back.



“I hate taking days off. This time is especially busy.” Katie spoke loudly for the benefit of any supervisor that might be on the floor. Still, Katie directed an email to her secretary saying she would be taking off until after New Years, stuffed her bag with some papers to review on the bus, and headed out forgetting to wish her colleagues well.



Two weeks. Forced vacation. She would walk around the city, see people she had promised to become reacquainted with, maybe go ice-skating with a handsome phone number. And what did Charles care if she stayed or took off from work? She walked through the entrance of her high rise and waived at the 5 tin soldiers who were always manning the elite fort.



“We got a package for you. 26F? Yes, yes 26F.” She signed, and one of the tin men handed over a brown package with a red bow. She unwrapped the gift in the elevator, dropping the content immediately upon its revelation. It was a dirty pair of underwear. There was nothing else in the bag, and nothing on the underwear to signify its place of origin.  The elevator opened. She stared at the floor, at the underwear. She kicked and jammed the panty wad through the crack between the floor and the elevator until it disappeared. She walked to her apartment, dazed, but ready to drink. Stranger things had happened to her in New York City.



The next day, she woke up to a loud buzzing.



“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She rolled off the couch, her feet skimming the top of several empty beer bottles. Eggs. “One second, getting ready, who is it?” She looked through the peephole and saw a tin soldier delivering another package.



“You sign?” He tattered.



“Um, yes, I guess, I mean, OK, yes.” She registered that the brown packaging with the red festive bow was the same as yesterday’s delight. Dragging it in by the skin of her index finger and thumb, she threw it on the couch. After looking at it for a moment, she opened the package this time revealing a steak knife. She tasted last night’s whiskey, and lost sensation in her fingers. Her eyes darted across her living room. She became very quiet. She heard nothing. She inspected the knife further and saw brown crusting in the ridges. I am not going to the police. That’s steak on there. This is a joke. The effort I’d have to put out to go to the police. But what if this isn’t a joke? I have to go to the police. I would be stupid not to go.



She had herself an omelet, but only after the police tied up her all day with paperwork and nonsense. “Go home, and let us know if anything else unusual happens.”



Several days went by, and now it was New Years Eve. She hadn’t done much in those days except to recount the story to all of her friends, acquaintances and relatives.



“Was that you Isaac?” He was infamous for his pranks in college. “I’m married now, Katie, give me a break.”

“Hey Grandma, the strangest thing happened.” The story did not translate well into Russian, and she ended up consoling her grandmother. A welcome distraction, but she didn’t tell the other one.



She was preoccupied with the packages. She stayed in on New Years afraid that someone might have the opportunity to sneak into her house. She did not remember which episode of Planet Earth reruns she fell asleep to, but when she awoke there was a package nestled right below her on the vibrant Asian rug. 



How is this happening? I’m so screwed. Someone was here. Is here? Her brain was mushrooming inside her head. She felt as though there was a shadow on her back, an imprint from a gun pointed at her, a knife about to serrate her in half. She grabbed a pair of scissors and raced around her apartment.



“Hello…Hello.” She yelled sliding into the kitchen, bathroom, then bedroom, checking all of the closets. “Hello, anyone here?” Nothing. She returned to the living room, and kicked the present. It did not feel hard. It’s not a bomb. She stabbed at the gift. It revealed a hard-boiled egg. She stabbed further. The yoke was yellow, fresh. A joke.



She called a meeting of the tin soldiers and had them change the lock and stand vigilantly outside her door for the rest of the week. No other packages arrived, but she had waited in the way that a girlfriend awaits the ringing of her cell phone when her boyfriend is in Vegas. Katie did not leave the apartment until it was time for her to go back to work.



When she finally did, she felt momentary relief. Charles watched her sit down at her desk and check her emails. “Enjoy your vacation?” He threw Katie’s spare keys on the table.



She grabbed the keys, and stared at them blankly. Her eyes beaded and then exploded. “It was you!” The mixture of her sweat with the brass in her palm evoked nausea.



“The egg was for never making breakfast, the underwear, that was for never thanking me for doing your laundry, and the knife, well that’s obvious. That was for stabbing me in the back!”  Charles finally smiled.



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