Page 4 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“I fucking knew it!”
Narrator: Now, please, on with the story.
I rub my eye as the sun nearly blinds me through the porthole window as I slowly sit up in bed.
“Motherfucker,” I say as I grip my lower back. “Jesus. Why did I sleep like that?”
I lower my feet to the ground, realizing I wore my boots and coat to bed. Did my family somehow shoot me with a tranquilizer, and I didn’t notice?
I shed my coat and boots, and head to the makeshift bathroom my dad and I built when I moved back into my childhood home.
At the age of thirty, the last thing you want to do is start a new chapter by shacking up with your parents again, but when my dad presented me with the idea of taking over the farm at somepoint and building my own home on the property, I knew I had one option: move back in so I could save the money to build my own place.
So here I am.
Living in my parents’ attic because my childhood room is now my mom’s craft room, and I prefer the privacy of the third-floor attic with low ceilings, even if I’m a six-four man and fear there’s a spider in my bed every night. Not to mention the makeshift shower that consists of just a tub with a showerhead and a curtain circling around it. It all screamsI’m moving up in life—definitely not nearing rock bottom in the slightest.
Also, fun fact: I use the shower as a sink and a place to bathe. Really high-end over here.
Don’t worry, there’s a toilet too. I refused to use the bucket Ansel jokingly gave me when he heard I was moving into the attic.
I turn on the shower and start taking care of business, making sure to do an extra special clean of the teeth, flossing and using two rounds of mouthwash. Once dried off, I slip on a pair of boxer briefs and a green robe. My morning routine usually consists of sitting at the kitchen island in my robe with a protein drink while watching what Grandpa M refers to as rubbish on my phone.
I stick my feet into my slippers and then head down the creaky wood stairs to the second floor where I catch my parents’ bedroom door wide open. Odd. Mom is usually getting ready at this time.
Maybe she had an early start.
Heading back down the stairs to the main level, I pause at the entryway where the newspaper has been sent through the mail slot in the door but not picked up by my father.
That’s strange.
I pick up the paper, tuck it under my arm, and head to the kitchen, where not a single soul is present. Not a dish out of place, not a warmed toaster in sight.
I scratch the side of my head and do a tight 360, taking in the entire kitchen.
“Uh, Dad?” I call out as I set the paper on the counter. I peek around the corner to the den, looking for any signs of him at his desk, possibly looking through the books for the farm. But nothing.
Straightening up, I move toward the dining room table, calling out, “Mom?”
Nothing but the hum of the furnace fills the house.
Scratching my cheek, I cinch my robe tighter and walk out to the back porch, where my parents sometimes drink their coffee in the morning, taking in the expanse of our tree lot.
When I open the door, the cold mountain air makes my entire body break out into goose bumps, causing everything to... shrink.
Yeah, shrink. Okay, I’m not scared to say it. I’m living in a town that’s over ten thousand feet in elevation in the middle of the Colorado Rockies, and the only thing protecting my nether regions from windburn is a pair of cotton boxer briefs and a ten-year-old bathrobe.
I peek around the corner and call out, “Mom? Dad? You out here?”
When I’m only met with the sound of the wind blowing through the tall spruce trees, I quickly check the garage, where both cars are parked, and then tiptoe back into the house as the cold continues to seep into my body.
“Well, fuck. Where the hell are they?”
Needing my phone, I walk back up to my room and sit on the bed, where I shoot them a text.
Max:Hey, where are you guys?
I watch the text go through, waiting for the receipt that saysdelivered, but after a couple of seconds of it not appearing, the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand.
