Scary Stories - Twist in the Tale Series

Bit of a Mess

"Get out ofit, you little bastard," Bernard cursed as he paced theroom, rolled-up newspaper in hand: a thin, balding Nemesis on aquest for vengeance.
"I'll get you yet, you filthy creature," he hissed, ashis target winged away unconcernedly from his umpteenth attemptto end its odious existence.

It was the biggest fly he had ever seen, with huge multifacetedeyes, glistening wings, and of such an iridescent blue-greencolour it was almost beautiful. However, Bernard was in no moodto appreciate the wonders of nature; he only wanted to flattenthe repulsive insect to pulp.

Precariously balanced on one leg atop the coffee table, he made adesperate lunge for the insect that he had stealthily stalked toits present resting place, a corner of the ceiling, where it wascalmly preening itself. His improvised weapon struck the wallnanoseconds after the object of his attack gracefully exited thescene of intended carnage. The force of his blow was such that itunsteadied Bernard's already tenuous equilibrium. The frail tableteetered momentarily on one strained leg, instilling for a heart-stoppinginstant the vain hope that he would escape the imminent fall toearth that threatened. Alas, with a protesting creak and arelieved crack, the table leg splintered, tumbling itsunaccustomed burden to a sudden, painful landing on the base ofhis spine.

Waves of nausea rolled over Bernard as his vertebra sent messagesof agony to his brain; sweat spouted from his brow as he sat inundignified torment amid the wreckage of a once elegant piece offurniture.

Upon opening his eyes as his suffering eased, the first thing togreet his pained vision was his enemy, perched on the windowsillin front of him rubbing its forelegs together in evidentenjoyment of his predicament. Ignoring the outcry of his bruisedbody, Bernard sprang forward intent on squashing the fly with thepalm of his hand. He lunged, flattened hand outstretched, onlyfor his momentum to send him sliding across the now slopingtabletop. With a dull, tear-jerking thud the bridge of his nosemade sudden and unceremonious contact with the now flylesswindowsill.

Collecting what remained of his senses, he picked himself up andstaggered off in defeat to his armchair to lick his wounds: aswollen, throbbing nose, twisted ankle, grazed forearm and, mostpainful of all, a crushed spirit. Picking a splinter of the tablefrom his hand, he slouched disconsolately in the chair; thedespised insect humming happily as it described circles aroundhim. Although it appeared to him that the hateful insect waseager to continue the entertainment, that it was purposelytormenting him and even inviting further attacks, Bernard had nowill left to mount another assault. He had been hunting thehorrible thing for over an hour now with equally little success.The fly, on the other hand, had become so confident in itsability to evade him, it had taken to making kamikaze-likeflights within Bernard's reach, even on occasion landing onvarious parts of his body. Yet no matter how craftily he hadpursued his quarry, Bernard had yet to make a kill.

As he sat in misery, occasionally swatting half-heartedly at thefly's more outrageous incursions, he morosely pondered his life.There were just three things on this earth that he detested:untidiness, dirt and flies. Until a short time ago he and hissurroundings had been immaculately clean and tidy; the house hadexuded cleanliness. Not a thing had been out of place, and fliesvisited only briefly, soon leaving in disgust upon discoveringthe all-pervading hygiene. Then Mary, his wife, had left him, andall that had changed. Before that traumatic day he had lived in aworld of scrupulously spick-and-span order, the merest speck ofdirt anathema to him.

His father had died soon after he was born, of a protracted caseof malaria, contracted while working on a new railway in India.His mother, associating both the disease and the country withuncleanliness and poverty, always having being a house-proudwoman, became more so. She became so obsessed with protectingBernard, her only child, on whom she doted, from filth and germs,that she spent almost every waking hour cleaning and recleaningher already spotless house and son. The scent of disinfectants,cleaning preparations, soap and polish accompanied him all thetime, so much so that the outside fresh air almost smelledunnatural to him.

It would not be to put too fine a point on it to say thatBernard's mother wrapped him in cotton wool and smothered him inaffection. She would not allow him to leave the house withoutfirst making sure that he was scrubbed clean and dressed infreshly laundered clothes. Upon returning home he would be madeto remove all his clothing, bathe and don a set of newly washedgarments. His food was presented to him on gleaming china, to beeaten with glistening cutlery, the food itself painstakinglyridded of all possible contamination. After meals he wouldimmediately have to scrub his teeth of any remaining morsel, thenrinse his mouth with antiseptic wash. His mother would stand overhim to ensure his ablutions were carried out to her highstandards. Even when he had to use the toilet she would be there,disinfectant in hand, ready to sterilise the bathroom ofinfection. In short, his perhaps over-loving, overprotectivemother went to the greatest lengths to prevent his father's fatefrom befalling Bernard.

Under these circumstances it is surprising Bernard was everallowed to come into contact with anyone outside the home.Somehow though, he met, fell in love with and eventually becameengaged to Mary, a neat, clean-living girl, thoroughly approvedof by his mother. When his mother died of bronchitis, probablyaggravated by the fumes of the various cleansing preparations shebreathed constantly, Bernard and Mary decided to marry and set uphome together in the house he had lived all his life in.

By now himself obsessed with the hatred of dirt and disorder hismother had inculcated in him, he insisted at all times their homebe spotlessly clean. His mother had never allowed her son to soilhis hands; preferring to do all the cleaning herself to furtherprotect her precious boy, so it seemed only natural to Bernardhis new wife should take over his mother's role.

Mary was very meek and servile, not for her the modern trend ofequality between man and woman. She had had an old fashionedupbringing that had instilled a belief that women were inferiorto men; that the female should cater to the needs of the male.Her marriage vow to love, honour and obey was sincerely meant.She saw her wifely duty as one of subservience to her husband. Hewas the breadwinner, the one who braved the world and went out towork each day to earn the means of providing for her. It was herside of the bargain to stay at home to cook and clean for him,and she did this, happy in the knowledge that she was a good,faithful spouse.

It was Mary's hope that one day they would have children tocomplete her picture of the ideal marriage. However, she did notlike to press Bernard on this subject, as he disliked children onthe grounds that they were 'too messy.' Indeed, they rarelyindulged in the act necessary for the production of offspring forthe same reason, the stains on the bed linen being abhorrent toher husband. This to such an extent, that after their infrequentdalliances in such activities Bernard would insist that they getout of bed, no matter the hour, to enable Mary to change thesheets.

Because of Bernard's dominant character and her own mild nature,Mary complied with her husband's desires. She uncomplaininglycleaned and scrubbed until the house sparkled brightly. Sheswept, mopped, washed, polished, disinfected and deodorised fromtop to bottom, then started all over again. Rather like a painterof the Forth Bridge, her work was never ending. She spent all herday, apart from necessary excursions to the shops for food andcleaning materials, in constant war upon dirt. Armed withdusters, brushes and multifarious cleansing agents, she patrolledthe house in search of grime; cleaning and recleaning alreadygleaming surfaces, never allowing dust and dirt the opportunityto settle in any nook or cranny; all in vain attempt to pleasethe husband she dearly loved.

As in the case of Bernard's mother before her, all this sanitaryactivity took its toll on Mary's health and appearance. A pretty,frail little girl when she married Bernard, the constant contactwith bleaches and other powerful preparations had adverse effectson her delicate constitution. Her face and hands became red andblotchy, the flesh dry and cracked. The eternal bending andkneeling induced a stoop to her back. She developed a naggingcough. Her time being filled with care for the house and herhusband; she neglected her own looks. Her prettiness faded away.She bore all this without a murmur: she adored her husband andwould do anything for him. That his respect for her seemed towane as time went by in direct proportion to his increasingobsessive dislike of dirt, she tried to ignore. As far as she wasconcerned, as long as she remained a loyal and dutiful spouse,then all was sure to come out in the wash, so to speak.

Bernard interrupted his musings to throw a framed weddingphotograph that had previously rested on the defunct coffee tablein the general direction of the fly, which had become moreimpertinent in its violation of his territory. The silver andglass cased memory of a happier day crashed against the wall,feet away from its intended objective, which blithely buzzed offto alight on the sideboard, where it sat and stared at him with,to Bernard's mind, an expression of amusement on its vile face.

"Leave me alone, you disgusting beast," he snarled atthe uncaring insect as he rose from the chair and crossed theroom. Picking up the photograph, he separated it from the remainsof its frame. "It's your fault things're like this, youungrateful bitch. If you were still here, I wouldn't be living inthis squalor," he said to the smiling face of his wife inthe picture.

He looked around the room; at the dust on the sideboard; at thefly happily wallowing in it; at the broken table; the upsetornaments; the stains in the carpet; the grimy windows; thefilthy curtains; the long-dead flowers in the vase on the once-shiny-screenedTV. As his eyes absorbed the degeneration of his surroundings, hesobbed while his hands mechanically tore the photograph of happyfaces in wedding dress, the resulting scraps of paper falling tothe floor to join the accumulated jumble there.

He could not recall when things had begun to change. Now heconsidered it, he realised it was true that he had becomeincreasingly demanding in matters of hygiene as his marriage hadprogressed. As his insistence upon spotless conditions had grownmore exaggerated, so it had seemed his wife's attention to hiswants diminished, as if she could no longer cope with her duties.He would arrive home from his work as a manager at White's, ahigh quality tailors, to discover that when he ran his fingersover tops of doors, under the cooker, behind pictures and otherhidden areas, they would come away bearing traces of dirt. Hebecame more and more angry; she had so far always been sodiligent, so unremitting in her efforts to maintain the house ashe decreed. He ranted and raved at her, compelled her to recleanthe offending sites, which she did with tears in her eyes, as hewatched over her, making certain the task was accomplished to hissatisfaction.

As Mary's looks deteriorated he began to treat her with much lessaffection; to even regard with distaste her unkempt appearance;her ragged hair; her spotty skin; her work-worn clothes; thetired, harried look on her face. Their already rare lovemakingbecame non-existent; they ceased to go out together; he seldomspoke to her any more, except to complain about some imaginedstain. Indeed, he treated her more as a housemaid, a mere drudge,than a wife and partner.

As his ardour for his wife decreased, so his passion forcleanliness and order magnified. He would regularly search thehouse for signs of dirt, real or otherwise, which, if found, hewould have Mary dispose of. Every surface had to emit a pristineglow; every object and ornament had to be arranged with militaryprecision, lined up in regimented ranks; the furniture in exactlythe right place; the books in alphabetical sequence on theirshelves; the very cleaning tools and materials properly arrangedin their correct cupboards. He scoured every room for the merestsuspicion of contamination, for any object not in its designatedposition, and woe betide Mary if his search was successful.

Mary bore this progressively more manic behaviour stoically andpatiently. It did not occur to her to defy her husband, thoughoften she privately wept bitterly in sheer frustration at beingunable to please him, no matter how hard she tried. She hadwedded Bernard for better or worse and accepted her lot withresignation, not realising that there should be more to marriedlife, to life itself, than her sheltered upbringing and insularpartnership had so far shown her.

Bernard lashed out at the insistent fly, which had just alightedon his leg, succeeding only in giving himself a resounding slapas it once more evaded his clutches.

He strode to the kitchen, opened the cupboard under the sink."Where's that blasted fly spray?" he muttered to thedepths of the cupboard as he flung bottles and boxes to the floor."I know there was one. I can never find anything in thishouse."

The fly, like a faithful dog, had followed him and was cheerfullydive-bombing him as he sat on the floor amid the litter of hisfruitless search for an effective weapon. He snatched a plasticbottle of window cleaner and hurled it at the source of hisirritation but his aim was way off. The flimsy containersplattered against a corner of the refrigerator; its top flewoff, spraying its contents over a large area of wall and fridgedoor, from where it dribbled slowly like mucus to form a green,scented puddle on the tiled floor. The fly drifted over toinvestigate the mess, but finding nothing of interest, dronedcasually back to the lounge.

Bernard continued to sit on the cold, hard tiles, his head in hishands, his thoughts going back to what he now knew to be theturning point in his relationship with Mary.

He had only been marginally aware of their new neighbours atfirst: he avoided too much contact with the outside world, as itwas not clean enough for his taste. The house next door had beenvacant for a while and had become quite run-down - much to hisdispleasure. When his wife mentioned that someone had moved in,his only interest was that now perhaps the place would get tidiedup. This did not happen, however - if anything, the house becamemore disreputable. Rubbish was thrown into the unkempt garden,dirty curtains were put up at the grimy windows and the peelingpaintwork continued to peel. His hopes of an improvedneighbourhood were dashed.

The occupants themselves, as Bernard discovered when he took tomounting long vigils at the window hidden behind the drapes,concerned that their slumminess might somehow infect his ownproperty, were to his eyes a perfect match for their surroundings.The husband was a rough, unshaven, scruffy young specimen withtattooed arms, while his partner Bernard could only describe as aslut. She had bleached hair, exotic make-up, wore tiny skirts andrevealing tops. She seemed to take a delight in flaunting herself.Indeed, she appeared to sense his constant observation and totake this as lustful interest on his part, for with a brazen,defiant look on her face she would often pointedly stretch orbend in his direction in such a way as to display greaterproportions of her body. This much to Bernard's disgust - as ifhe was the slightest bit interested in spying her admittedlyattractive charms!

He had little to do with the new neighbours, apart from hiscurtain-guarded observance of the worsening condition of theadjacent property and the outrageous exposure of the woman of thehouse. Mary, however, at first unknown to him, became extremelyfriendly with the slatternly wife, to such an extent that whileBernard was at work she spent greater and greater amounts of timein the company of the woman, either in her own home, or moreoften, next door.

Mary became mesmerised by the other woman; their completelyopposite personalities seemed to draw her like a magnet. Whereshe was the loyal, faithful, house-proud wife, a believer in thesanctity of marriage, attentive to the desires of her husband,even fearing of him, Lynn, the neighbour, was totally the reverse.She and her untidy spouse believed in open marriage: extramaritalaffairs were encouraged rather than frowned upon. Lynn was veryhighly sexed: maintaining that her other half could not cater forher manifold needs.

"So what if I have a little nooky on the side?" shewould say, a mischievous gleam in her eye, "It makes lifemore interesting, and it doesn't hurt Georgie. Anyway, he's gotplenty of bits on the side of his own - the randy sod!"

A major part of Lynn's conversation revolved around sex and men:she was fascinated by both topics. Mary's sexuality had rarelybeen given the opportunity of showing itself. What littleexperience she had had in that department - infrequent, rapid,mechanical operations, that she had come to regard as somehowdirty - had rarely satisfied her. Although there had beenoccasions when an unfamiliar spark had been kindled in her:quickly to be doused by her own embarrassment and Bernard'sdisgust before it was allowed to burn into flame. She was notaware until Lynn came along, with her endless talk of her ownexperiences, that there could be more to the sex act than acovert fumbling, an empty feeling, and a visit to the airingcupboard for fresh bedding.

As for household chores: what was a little mess here and there? Aquick flick round with a duster now and then was good enough forLynn. Life was too much fun to waste time cleaning up. Besides,what was the point, anyway? Everything just got mucky again.

Her new friend's attitude to life and marriage came as arevelation to Mary. Her childhood education and her time withBernard had led her to suppose that her sole aim in life wasmerely to be a good and dutiful wife, caring only for her husbandand home. It had never occurred to her that it was possible tohave an existence - a life - of her own, let alone one thatcontained excitement and enjoyment.

Mary was an impressionable woman, quite malleable and gullible,easily led by those stronger than she. Over the years Bernard hadshaped her into his idea of the perfect little wife and mothersubstitute. Perhaps if she had not come into contact with theoutside world in the shape of the new neighbours, she would haveremained so: a diligent, if unsatisfied, doting wife. However,Lynn's bubbly, outgoing character and the delights of which shepersuasively spoke: independence; freedom; excitement, turned herhead. The frequent dwelling on matters carnal, too, awoke urgesin her that may otherwise have remained dormant. Lynn felt sorryfor her dowdy, naive friend and angry with her husband forkeeping her a virtual prisoner in her own home. So much so, thatshe felt it incumbent upon herself to emancipate Mary from herbondage; her perpetual round of cleaning and washing, and teachher the ways of the world.

As the unlikely friendship developed, Mary spent less and lesstime in the pursuance of cleanliness and more in the company ofLynn. Of course, this very soon became apparent to Bernard, whono longer found it necessary to seek out dirt. The increasingnegligence was all too obvious. His once immaculate abode soonbegan to lose its lustre. Waste bins overflowed, dustaccumulated, bottles grew crusts around their necks, things wereleft lying about instead of being put back in their proper place.Bernard's clean orderly little world soon took on a similaruncared-for aspect to the house next door. It was almost as ifhis neighbour's neglect was spreading to his own home like somecontagious disease.

Bernard rose from the floor and slouched back into the lounge,half-heartedly swatting in the general direction of the fly,which swooped over to greet his arrival. Surveying the squalidstate of the room with dispirited eyes he went to the drinkscabinet, where he got himself a bottle of whisky and a largetumbler. Slumping in his chair, he poured a generous measure ofthe spirit, some of it dripping unregarded onto his alreadystained trousers, and mulled over the many rows on the decliningstandard of housekeeping that had ensued as her friend'sinfluence upon Mary manifested itself.

At the start of the decline it had been relatively easy forBernard to reconvert Mary back to the domestic paragon she hadformally been. A few sharp words and she donned her apron andbustled off with her cleaning equipment, regretting her lapse. Astime passed, however, and Lynn's hold on her became morepervasive, it was as if Mary gradually changed into a differentperson. Out went the docile, sweet-tempered little girl he hadwed: in her place appeared a harder, more self-assured woman,almost the model of the woman next door. No longer was he able tocontrol her; dictate to her; tell her how to behave, dress andlook. Instead, now when he criticised her on the condition of thehouse, on her patent disregard of his demands; rather thantimidly accepting his reproach, then doing his bidding, she wasmore likely to throw the cleaning implements at him and tell himto do it himself, then storm off next door.

The house became more rundown and shoddy. Grime accumulatedeverywhere. As his home degenerated, so his wife bloomed, like abutterfly emerging from its chrysalis. No more the dowdy, plaingirl of old. She no longer wore the drab, unflattering clothes hepreferred. She took to wearing more revealing, sexier garments,ones that displayed a lithe, sensuous body until then hidden. Herhair was tinted and styled; she wore artfully applied make up andthe scent of alluring perfume wafted from her instead ofdisinfectant. Bernard did not know her any more; it was as if astranger had come to live with him. In truth, she frightened him.For, as her outward appearance changed, so too did herpersonality. From the shy, stay-at-home, obedient drudge andeasily swayed, meek little housemaid, she became an independent,confident, attractive woman who stood up for herself. He wasincapable of doing anything about it. She was not the girl he hadmarried; he just did not know how to handle a woman like this.

Though he tried uselessly to forbid it, Mary took to going outwith her friend to public houses and nightclubs; arriving backhome at all hours of the night, while he waited, alone andworried, amid the settling dust of his changing life, frustratedand inadequate. On arriving home to find him faithfully waitingfor her as she had once waited his own homecoming, she wouldtaunt him for his fuddy-duddy ways, his obsessions and phobiasand attack his very manliness. He suspected there were other men;indeed she hinted as much, but he dared not broach the subject,lest she confirm his fears and belittle him further. He wasunable to cope with this new Mary; she made him feel small,impotent. His only hope was that the transformation wastemporary; that it was only a passing phase that the old,tractable Mary he used to know would reappear.

Time went by, and Mary became to be more and more the mirrorimage of her friend, Lynn. Dreading losing her altogether,Bernard became the docile one. He fawned upon her, grovelled andsucked up to her, trailed her about the house like a lost dog. Heplundered his savings to pour money on her, which she spent withavidity on new clothes, hairstyles and cosmetics. He did all hecould to regain the woman he had known, but to no avail. It wasas if they had exchanged personalities. Mary was now the dominantpartner, he the submissive.

Bernard's distaste of uncleanliness and disorder still remained.His abhorrence was too inbred, too deep-seated to leave him evennow. However, though it seemed that all the accumulated dirt ofthe years was gradually building up around him, as if it had justbeen waiting until now to descend upon him, he was powerless todo anything about it. The actual physical act of cleaning, themeans by which he could rid himself of the distressingly mountingfilth about him, was beyond him, alien to him. His wife hadalways seen to that kind of thing, and before her, his mother. Hehad never had to lift a finger to maintain the hygienic, sterileenvironment he had grown used to. There had always been a womanto scrub and polish for him. Now Mary had forsaken all interestin such pursuits - indeed, she was rarely in the home any more -he was completely lost, while the house got dirtier and dirtier.He felt as if he were drowning in a cesspool. It did occur to himto attempt the task himself, to do his own cleaning, but hisunenthusiastic, spiritless efforts merely stirred up the dustinstead of removing it, so he abandoned it in despair. He hadbecome so accustomed to being mollycoddled; to assuming thathousework was the sole province of womankind, that he could nomore set to it than fly to the moon.

His grief over the change of his once dependable wife to theliberated woman who was only pleasant to him when she neededmoney and the loss of his spotlessly organised surroundings,affected him deeply. He still loved Mary in his way and could notbear the thought of losing her - or perhaps it was herhousekeeping abilities he mourned the loss of. Whatever, the twosituations combined made him bitter and morose.

His work suffered. Always a good timekeeper in the past, punctualand conscientious to a degree; he took time off, spending most ofhis days in bed, increasingly in the company of a bottle. He hadnot been previously a heavy drinker, rarely imbibing more than aglass on special occasions; now he took to alcohol like adrowning man to a life belt. He discovered that if he got himselfsufficiently intoxicated he no longer noticed as much the stateof his surroundings or dwelled too deeply on Mary'stransformation.

Though drink granted him temporary absolution from his problem,it created more of its own. Under its influence for much of thetime, his own appearance deteriorated along with that of his home.Unshaven and unwashed, no longer provided by Mary with a never-endingsupply of freshly laundered clothing, he soon acquired the aspectof a man who had seen better days. The advancing shoddiness ofhis apparel, his uncared-for looks, the obvious indications ofalcohol abuse, all rapidly became apparent to the other employeesat White's on the rare occasions he deigned to go there. Thejunior staff, ever eager for promotion opportunities, soon madeit known at head office that their manager was no longer settingthe example expected of a man in his position. This, compoundedby a slump in sales as customers drifted away to other shopswhere the staff presented more the kind of image they wereseeking, led higher management to regretfully dispense withBernard's services.

Taking a large gulp of whisky, Bernard sullenly eyed the bottle,the symbol of what had been the last nail in the coffin of hisand Mary's relationship. With his job gone, and no money comingin, what little finances remaining going to fuel his growingdependence on alcohol, there was nothing left to keep Mary in themanner she was becoming accustomed to. It came as no greatsurprise therefore, when, upon stumbling from his bed late onemorning, he discovered a terse note from his wife informing himthat she had found someone else, had gone off with him and wouldnot be coming back.

This event, though not entirely unexpected, completely devastatedBernard. Once (to his mind) a happily married man with afaithful, loving wife and a home that sparkled and gleamed; he,the epitome of a satisfied man, was reduced to living alone inthis shambles; this filthy, neglected, befouled hovel; while hisselfish wife was whoring with her fancy man.

As if conspiring to make his plight worse, the council dustmenwere currently engaged in their annual strike for higher pay.Uncollected rubbish was mouldering in the streets, alleys andgardens of the town, and this in the longest heat wave on record.Ideal conditions to spawn the plague of flies that presentlybesieged the community. Bernard's disgust of flies was prodigious.He loathed the garbage-seeking, ordure-eating creatures with allhis heart. He could not bear them near him. Despite the hightemperature and stifling atmosphere he kept the doors and windowsfirmly closed for fear that the repulsive insects might invadehis home. How the monstrously large specimen that had tormentedhim for much of the day had gained ingress baffled him, it seemedto have appeared from nowhere.

His thoughts back on his adversary, he placed his unfinishedglass on the floor beside the chair, rose and stealthily tiptoedacross the floor to the sideboard. There, on the once highlypolished; now dust layered wood, the fly was sampling one ofseveral rings left by his whisky tumbler in recent days. Hewatched in disgust as it dipped its tubular proboscis in thesticky circle with evident relish. Seeing an opportunity tostrike while the insect's attention was thus diverted, he slowlyraised his hand with palm outspread, and then brought it downwith murderous intent. The flat of his hand struck the wood witha satisfying slap, raising a small cloud of dust. With a surge ofvictory inflating his slight frame he lifted his fingers one byone, fully expecting to find the squashed remains of his foeimbedded in the sideboard. All he found was the imprint of hishand in the dust. He could not have missed it! He had taken suchcareful aim. How could it have evaded him?