The Janitor by Melanie Jackson

Melanie Jackson is an author of paranormal romanace novels. The following short story is actually the epilogue to her book, Divine Fire. Although it appears at the end of the book, it works quite well as a standalone short story.

If it wasn't one damned thing, it was another! Karl complained to himself as he rode downward in the service elevator. First, there those damned cops all over the place. And where there weren't cops there were friggin' second string reporters who were in a feeding frenzy, looking for a story that would make them big-time piranhas. And worse still, there were everyday gawkers. Hell! A man couldn't hardly find a quite place to spark up. He'd finally had to pretend to Mr. Ruthven's secretary that there was something wrong with the drainpipes and go up on the roof. It was barely worth it. He got his smoke but he'd damned near frozen his ass off in the snow.

And then, when he finally got around to hitting the lockers, he found out someone had been messing with his tools- even the paintbrushes. Hell, it was that damned Rodney. He'd been liberating supplies again too. That was the only way to explain why all the floor cleaner was gone. It'd serve the bastard right if he went right out to the cops and told them he'd been robbed, too, and Rodney was the one who did it. A little stay downtown would teach that lazy ass thief.

"Shit." Karl thought about spitting but didn't. Not many people rode the elevator, but sure as he hawked one out there, someone would notice. Security was actually watching their cameras now.

And it wasn't like Rodney would be along to clean it up. That sucker was on some hour long coffee-break down at the Memuria cafeteria. There was some hottie down there-April, her name was- and Rodney was trying to make time with her. Which was fine for Rodney, but that left Karl doin' all the work.

And now he was supposed to get up to the sixth floor and catch some rat a lady had seen behind the radiator in the women's bathroom. That wasn't in his job description- what the hell did they he think was? Animal-fuckin'-control?

Karl stopped outside the woman's restroom and knocked loudly. He'd learned to do that- and keep knocking for a good long while. Ladies acted like he was some kinds pervert just 'cause he went in and saw there feet under the door. What? Like they didn't pee like everyone else?

After a good long pound, Karl decided it was safe to go in. He put out the wet-floor sign and then wheeled his cart inside. He shut the door behind him. It might be funny to chase the rat out into the offices- maybe it would run up some stuck-up woman's dress. But there would probably be hell to pay if that happened, and hell always stopped at Karl's door. He didn't want to lose another job.

Karl heard a soft scrabbling and shivered. A rat, sure enough. And he hated the friggin' things. Didn't like to admit it, but he was scared of 'em. They were nasty-ass animals, always tryin' to get in the lockers and eat his lunch.

Karl knelt reluctantly and peered under the radiator. Something was there, sure enough. He couldn't exactly tell what he was looking at- but something was definitely there, way in the back where the light didn't reach. It was pale and kind of fleshy looking. Maybe all the rat's hair had fallen out. Wouldn't that suck-especially in winter? Being a rat and being bald?

The smell hit him then.

"Oh shit!" Karl reeled backward. The damned thing smelled bad enough to knock a starvin' buzzard off a garbage truck.

Karl's fished out a broom. He'd try chasing the thing out and catching it with a bucket. Less messy than beatin' it to death- and he'd probably get in trouble for killin' the thing. Somebody'd claim it was a rare kinda smelly bathroom rat and that he'd been killin' some endangered species.

"Come on out, you smelly bald sonuvbitch," Karl coaxed in what he imagined to be a gentle voice. He stuffed the broom handle at the creature a couple of times. On the third poke, it stopped abruptly and then jerked hard enough to tear the thing from his hand. "What the hell?"

The damn thing had grabbed the handle!

Shocked and a bit frightened, though he couldn't say exactly why, Karl snatched at his broom with both hands. He jerked the stick out, dragging the creature with it.

"Oh shit!" Karl flung the thing against the window where it landed with a rubbery splat. He only caught a glimpse of it before it scuttled for a hole in the wall under the sink but what he saw…. For sure his eyesight was going and he'd smoked a little too much weed- but that rat had looked just like a hand. One torn off just above the wrist.

Karl stood there for a moment, trembling and trying to convince himself of what he had seen.

It had looked like a hand- a damned ugly one with long fingernails and a ragged stump that ended about a third of the way up the arm. But that couldn't be. It just couldn't. The lady had seen a rat, hadn't she? It must have just been a bald rat who'd gotten his tail cut off. Maybe he lost it in a trap.

Do you care? If it's rat, it's a friggin' mutant. You don't want to be touchin' it. What if your hair falls out too? Or something more important?

Karl wanted to run. He wanted to take off like every friggin' bull in Pamplona was after his ass. Hell, he wanted to run faster than that- rats scared him more. And this thing?

"Shit." Karl finally pulled out his radio. He didn't like lookin' like a pussy but he wasn't dealin' with this shit alone.

"Rodney- you there? Rodney? Answer me, damn it!" Karl didn't like the way his voice sounded, all squeaky and afraid, not his usual voice at all.

Apparently Rodney thought the same thing because he actually answered the call.

"What's up, Karl?" He voice was thick, like he was chewing on something.

"I think we got us a rat problem here on six. You better call someone and then come on up."

There was a pause.

"Call someone? " The gears did another slow turn. "Like an exterminator?"

"No, I mean call the fuck-" Karl recalled that others might be listening in and changed his mind about using his favorite profanity. "The flippin' Pied Piper."

"Who?" Rodney sounded puzzled.

Karl took a deep breath and prayed for patience. He thumbed his button again.

"Yes, call the exterminator. Right now. And then get up here. I need some help."

"Okay, unbunch your panties, man."

Karl, wiped his face dry and then clipped the radio back on his belt. "They ain't payin' me enough to deal with this shit."

He went over to the cart and got out his largest mop and jammed it against the hole in the wall and then drove the handle into the opposite barrier, hard enough to dent the plaster near the electric dryer. It was an imperfect fit, but it would have to do.

Karl shuddered and wiped his face again. It was a weird looking hole. Rats must have chewed through it, though it looked a lot the digging had been done on his side of the room instead of on the other. That's where all the shredded sheetrock and lathe had landed.

It wasn't in his job description, but Karl decided he wouldn't mind going down to the basement and getting a board and some nails to shut up the hole. Whatever the hell it was on the other side of the wall, he'd just as soon it stayed there until the exterminator arrived.