The Ben Harper Stories, Part One by RC Monson

Author:RC Monson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: comedy, dark comedy, dark humor, humorous stories, humorous, comedy adult, comedy stories
Publisher: RC Monson

iii

Ben was on-site to open the cottage for Rex the next day. Together, they interrupted a cockroach feeding frenzy in progress. Everywhere the bait had been set, a multitude of roaches had come out of the woodwork to find it. Scores of tiny black ones, bigger honey-colored ones, and great big brown ones scurried away as the door opened.

“I told you that bait would bring out a whole slew of them,” the bug man remarked.

“And you weren’t exaggerating a bit,” Ben replied with a cringe, scanning the living room room in utter disbelief as swarms of roaches fled before their footsteps. “It’s like the whole floor is moving.”

“Looks like you’re the one the little varmints have spooked today. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be all right, I suppose.”

“How about that pretty little friend of yours? Did she survive her little ordeal yesterday?”

“As a matter of fact, she had nightmares that kept her up half the night. She was like a zombie this morning.”

“Funny thing how that happens,” said Rex, “Fucking roaches can skinny themselves up and flatten themselves out enough to squeeze in practically anywhere, even into your dreams.”

That night Ben awakened from a dream in which a plague of tiny black roaches came pouring out of the walls, and thousands of fast-moving honey-colored ones emerged from beneath the sinks in both kitchen and bath, and a multitude of big beetle-brown ones streamed down from the attic, walking aimless circles as they entered their final death throes.

Amber was already awake, lying beside him in the dark. “Cockroach nightmare?” she asked as he was beginning to gather his wits about him.

“You got that right,” said Ben, shuddering at the thought. “You too?”

“Uh huh,” grumbled Amber.

“Sounds like I’m the one in deep shit this time.”

“Oh yeah! And the longer these nightmares go on, the deeper it gets.”

“But the damage is already done. I can’t take it back now. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Amber didn’t respond right away. They both lay there in the darkness for a moment while Ben wondered what she was going to say.

“Any psychoanalyst worth her salt would have a field day with this,” Amber quipped, because she was the sort of person who looked for the humor in even the worst situations.

“It would have Franz Kafka snickering in his grave.”

“Maybe so, but let’s not talk about roaches anymore, okay?” suggested Amber as she rolled over with her back to Ben. “I need to get up and go to work in a couple of hours.”

The following Saturday morning, Ben and Jack donned facemasks and entered the cottage for the first time since the exterminator had set off the bug bombs. Inside, they found evidence that the events of the genocide had unfolded pretty much as the bug man had predicted. Most of the roaches were already dead, but many still lay on their backs with tiny legs kicking erratically. As Ben and Jack moved from room to room, they encountered piles of fragmented exoskeletons in every cabinet, every closet, every nook and cranny.

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