Quaran-tainment, Episode 2 - "The Thing Under the Fridge”
by Bethany the Martian
“The Thing Under the Fridge” is copyright ©2019 by Bethany the Martian. Used with Permission.
View, like, and reblog the original work on Tumblr. Buy the author a coffee on Ko-fi.
The voice of the Narrator was provided by Oktober Crow.
The voice of the Thing was provided by Lee Daniel.
Introduced by Joshua Alan Lindsay.
(intro/lead-in by writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com)
You drop a small piece of food on the floor, and decide to kick it under the refrigerator because you can’t be bothered to pick it up. As you’re walking away, you hear a very quiet “Thank you!” from under it.
“No problem,” I say, the words passing out of my mouth on autopilot, before my brain engages and I freeze.
I turn, and look at the fridge. It seems to be the same fridge that was here when I moved in.
I mean, I’m also kind of embarrassed. I never do that, I know that’s how you get roaches, but my back hurts so bad that getting up and down is next to impossible, much less bending over. “Um, you holding up okay down there?” I ask.
There was silence.
“I know that we’re probably the only apartment in the building that doesn’t have a bug problem. That’s, well, that’s you, right?”
Again, silence. But I know I heard it.
“Listen, I can’t really bend over right now, but if you’re down there and hungry, like, there’s half a rotisserie chicken in there that’s about to go bad. I was going to throw it away, but if you could use it-”
“Yesssss. Please.”
Well. Whatever it is, it’s well-mannered, anyway.
I set my sandwich down and go back and open the package to the questionable chicken. “Honestly, it might be a little off. Can you still eat it? I’ve got…”
“I eat.”
“Okay. Bones too?”
“Yes.”
I break the bird into pieces and drop it, kicking each piece under the fridge. The compressor kicked on, so I only had hints of whatever noises might be coming up from there.
“You good? Thirsty?”
“Iccccce? Please?”
“Oh, sure, no problem.” I just hit the ice maker button until there’s a handful of cubes on the floor, and use the broom to knock them under.
“Better?”
“Yesss. Thank you.”
“Sure. Listen I need to eat and take a nap. You’re- you’re just stuck under there, I guess, or you’d have gone through the garbage, right?”
“Ssstuck, yes.”
“Okay. Just under the fridge or can you move under other things.”
“Sometimes move. In same place.”
“In the same apartment, or you gotta move to other fridges.”
“Same… home.”
“Ah. Okay. Um, well, I’ll try to remember to kick stuff under the fridge for you.”
“Hurt?”
“Um, my back. I just need to sleep, I’ll be okay.”
“Make better.”
“That’s the plan, friend.” I sure hope that, when I go to sleep and wake back up, there won’t be a weird pile of chicken smooshed under the fridge. Or maybe I hope that there is?
When I wake up, it’s like my back had never hurt at all. And when I kick an ice cube under the fridge, I hear a soft noise and sigh and ‘thank you’, so. Not just some weird pain induced hallucination.
It goes on like that for weeks. The Thing Under the Fridge especially likes moldy cheese and stale tortillas, but they’ll eat just about anything. Their English gets better the more I talk to them, though they still struggle with sibilants. I assume because of the way the mouth is formed.
They’re friendly and polite and haven’t been menacing at all, and the one time I ducked down with a flashlight and looked under the fridge I heard chuckling from under the couch. “Cannot see, always move,” they said.
“Fair enough, but I had to try.”
“Understand.” They sounded very amused.
Sometimes they hang with me in the living room, under the couch, and watch tv with me. They really like Umbrella Academy, as it turns out.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Where?”
“This… this place. You came with the apartment, right?”
“No.”
“No? The fridge?”
“I came with you. Always you.”
It took me a moment.
A long moment.
“You’re the monster who lives under my bed.”
“Yessss. Always with you, where you live, I live.” They sounded pleased.
“Huh. Cool. You need anything?”
“Ice?”
“You got it, pal.”
It’s kind of nice. I always have company, but I have privacy if I ask for it.
They like to hear about the world, and sometimes we listen to audiobooks or I read out loud. I made sure every room has some place for them so they can follow me, or not, as they like.
And, well, there was this… I don’t like talking about it.
But I was half asleep, and someone came in through my bedroom window.
Honestly, I don’t think he thought anyone would be home. I’d gotten in from out of town very late, and had been dropped off, too tired to drive, so my car wasn’t out front.
But he advanced on my bed, lifting his fist, and by the time I was working myself up into panic, well, I suppose the front of his foot must have gone under the bed.
Like I said, they’ll eat just about anything.
