The Last Death Worm of the Apocalypse (Kelly Driscoll Book 3)
Page 5
There were only a few other customers: at the other end of the bar, a morose-looking horned lizard that reminded her of Roger; at a small table, a kind of frog/mantis shrimp thing nursing an elaborate drink and filling out a crossword; and at the middle of the bar, someone seemingly human, sipping a tall, orange drink through a straw and watching the movie with blank interest.
Kelly watched twenty minutes more, finished her drink and left right as the characters started their radically incompatible jobs at the reenactment farm. She kind of knew the feeling.
A Haunted Gong That Threatens Your Sanity With Every Demonic Reverberation
s residents filed into the large club room, they each took a board meeting agenda from the table inside the doorway and found seats. Some residents immediately took out their knitting and continued their work on what always looked like a large scarf. Some stared at the agenda, held firmly in both hands (or similar) like it was the smoking gun to breaking open a huge conspiracy. And some shot a stream of acidic mucous at the agenda, burning a widening hole in the center, either accidentally or on purpose.
Homeowner Comments
Call to Order/Establish Quorum/Roll Call
Approval of Minutes
Management Report
a. Flashing Repair Project
b. Operations
Summary of Violations
A warning letter was sent to a tenant for leaving the conference room in disarray
A third violation was sent to an owner due to their trash-dispensing behavior
An educational letter was sent to all units regarding the building ventilation system
A warning letter was sent to an owner for bringing their death worm through the lobby
An educational letter was sent to all residents regarding steps that can be taken to properly dispose of molts
Old Business
a. Death Worm Rules
New Business
a. Lobby tree
b. New committee announcement
c. MoltAway
Committee Reports
Action Items
a. “Be it resolved that the Board approves expenditures totaling $8,000 authorized by the property manager to replace common area flooring damaged by death worm secretions.”
b. “Be it resolved that the Board approves a $50 fine assessed to a unit owner as a result of leaving fluids in the pool area.”
c. “Be it resolved that the Board approves the construction request from Unit 1206 to replace tile flooring with a bed of absorbent clay, on the condition that a half inch or greater cork subfloor is also installed.”
d. “Be it resolved that the Board approves the installation of additional buttons for opening exterior doors, to be placed 18-24 inches above ground level in order to accommodate residents that walk on four or more legs.”
e. “Be it resolved that the Board approves the Building Engineer’s personal use of a storage room on floor 33 and 12 large trash bins at no cost.”
f. “Be it resolved that the Board approves repairs to the exterior facade at a cost not to exceed $155,000. Further, the Board authorizes this expense to be paid from the Replacement Reserve account.”
g. “Be it resolved that the Board engages the Camel Spider and the Remora to execute the exterior facade project at a cost not to exceed $11,000.”
Raum claimed the middle seat and carefully placed a custom-made, engraved, wood desk placard that read Board President on the table. The others had folded paper placards with their names printed on them.
Forcas, board treasurer, sat to his left, and Kelly took the last place on the left. Imamiah, board secretary, took the seat to Raum’s right. Vassago, though he was at the meeting, had recently stepped down as vice-president to devote more time to finding the Kindle he lost. The camel spider, who had taken on the title, wavered, trepidant, at the right end of the table, adjusting his glasses with one arm and holding an enormous takeout coffee in another.
“Sit down, Mr. Solifugid,” Forcas said.
The camel spider started a little, froze, and took his seat.
“Call to order!” Raum called out. “We obviously have a quorum—why prolong it with unnecessary fanfare? Also: is anyone else receiving special messages from Roger Balbi?”
Imamiah leaned over past Forcas and whispered, “Are you kidding me? Can we call this to order, please?”
“Balbi’s not even doing the show anymore,” Forcas whispered.
“Yes, I know!” Raum lobbed back in a fierce whisper. “He’s talking to me through the repeats. Obviously!” He put on a big smile for the residents and in a normal voice, said, “I officially sanction this… uh, quorum. Consider us quorumed!”
The camel spider cleared his throat. “I think we should adhere to Robert’s Rules of Order.”
Imamiah lowered his voice to a barely audible volume to speak to Raum. “Don’t you know the rules of order yet? We’ve been serving on this board for more than a year.”
Raum barely moved his smile while responding to Imamiah. “I don’t give a death worm’s butt about the rules of order, and I don’t know who Robert is, but he can kiss my angel ass, and so can that spider. We are bound here, forced against our will to stay in this building for reasons that will eternally be unknown to us, and we have to spend an obscene amount of time running this otiose spectacle so these other freaks don’t get on the board and make it unbearable to live here. You feel me?”
Smile intact, Raum turned to the murmuring audience of residents and tapped his mallet on the long card table. “The minutes from the previous board meeting are approved. Kelly, may we have the management report?”
Before she said anything, the paper wasp raised his hand and stood up. “What about the homeowner comments? Is this a dictatorship now?”
This comment sparked something in Kelly, but she didn’t know what yet, exactly. Her mind was constantly alert to possible ways that Raum and his circle could try to un-bind themselves from Amenity Tower and wreak a catastrophe ranging anywhere from city-wide to world-wide, so she figured it had something to do with that, but what? As though she were supposed to think clearly after Af left?
Raum sighed and sat back in his chair. “Knock yourself out.”
“I keep hearing this horrible noise.” The paper wasp waved its forelegs in the air.
Raum sat up straight. “Like a haunted gong that threatens your sanity with every demonic reverberation?”
The paper wasp punched a slim leg in the air. “Yeah, exactly like that!”
Raum slowly got to his feet, fingers touching the table. “A sound that permeates your muscles, tissue, and bones? A sound that makes you afraid to scream because you believe the scream would end with your utter dissolution?”
“So you’ve heard it too?”
Raum scoffed and sat back down. “Have I heard it? Have I heard it? It has consumed my life. I am getting nothing done. At night, I exist in a state that could accurately be described as ontological torment, a kind of eldritch horror that stretches time like rubber, and during the day, my every minute is dominated by my obsession with finding the source of this godforsaken noise.”
Raum looked taken aback by what he’d said. Bitter amusement flashed across his face, followed by an ephemeral bleak sadness. Through clenched teeth, he added, “Which I haven’t done.”
Kelly cleared her throat. “Can I go ahead and give the management report now?”
Raum descended into his seat. “The Germans use the word Heimweh to describe a feeling of homesickness, a yearning for the past.”
Imamiah nodded at Kelly. “Please do. Save us all.”
“Sing the manager song!” a resident called out from the lake of chairs.
Kelly shook her head no. “I’d rather not.”
The camel spider squinted at the agenda. “I don’t see anything here about a manager song.”
Raum rolled his eyes.
“Sing it!” another resident yelled, and a few others echoed his demand.
“Claw & Crutty has given me a directive to finish the flashing project earlier and cheaper,” she said, cutting herself off, wondering how she got to this place in her life, but committing to delivering her report. “I’ve asked Mr. Echeneis, the remora, and Mr. Solifugid, the camel spider, to use their natural talents to work on the project instead of the much pricier human crew we would have otherwise used, and I’m pleased to report they said yes. The second item is the matter of the lobby plant. It arrived and has been installed.”
The residents immediately became unsettled, buzzing and gurgling and shrieking. “Settle down!” Imamiah said. “I know this plant is polarizing.”
“We should cover this in New Business,” Kelly said.
“I agree,” Imamiah said and the residents reduced their clamor to a disgruntled murmur.
“Next up on the management report is the summary of violations.” Kelly ran through the list, and a furor rose with her last sentence. “An educational letter was sent to all residents regarding steps that can be taken to properly dispose of molts.”
Parietal eyes rolled. One resident changed color from a placid butter yellow to a bright lime green. One secreted a sugar-bile acid mix that made steam rise from the chair and the carpet where it dripped. More flooring expenditures for the common area carpet and furniture.
“Enough with the chemical communication!” Raum shouted.
“If you recall,” Forcas said, “we a had a similar problem some months ago when some residents were living in the stairwells and their waste products crystallized into this noxious-smelling tree sap-like substance. Took for-ev-er to clean it up. We had crews out here chiseling it off, and that was not budgeted.”
“This is a bigger problem,” Kelly said.
“I have some things to say about this,” the camel spider said.
“Let’s table this topic until we cover New Business,” Forcas said.
“That’s all I have,” she said.
“Thank you, Kelly,” Raum said and referred to the agenda in front of him. “OK, Old Business. There’s only one item here: death worm rules. No, I’m not talking about a band.” He chuckled.
“Wait, is there a new rule?” Forcas said.
“No, but we would like to remind everyone of the rules,” Imamiah said. “Death worms are not permitted in the patio or pool area. They must be transported in and out of the building in carriers, carried, or walked with a short leash. Violators of these rules are subject to fines.”
“I think we should consider rewriting the death worm rules,” the camel spider said. “And we should restrict the allowable size.”
“First of all, we are not changing the death worm rules,” Raum said, his voice tight. “Second, restricting the size makes the noise problem worse, because the smaller breeds tend to have a high-pitched shriek, and can shriek all day, whereas the larger ones are far less annoying. Let’s move on to New Business.” He checked the agenda and groaned softly. “The lobby tree.”
“That plant is a menace!” Forcas said to Raum. “It took a bite out of my butt. Look.” Forcas stood, undid his belt—a few residents tittered and whooped—and yanked down his pants, displaying a large gauze bandage on his right butt cheek.
Imamiah rolled his eyes.
“Oh, that’s not all,” Forcas said. “And thank you. No, there’s something even more disturbing. The plant can get into your mind.”
I Don’t Know How Many of You Have Molting Experience
t gets in your mind like Roger Balbi does,” Raum said under his breath.
Forcas gave him a look. “No, Roger Balbi is our former manager who lives on in recordings of What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi.”
And as a giant, flying lizard-dragon-thing, Kelly thought, but certainly didn’t say.
“Whereas the lobby plant is here in the building, currently active, and wreaking havoc.” Forcas pointed a finger to his temple. “It was in my head. It told me, Forcas, you should exercise more—and saying something about how it will help me think and give me more energy.”
There was silence.
“That’s it?” Imamiah said.
Forcas raised his hands. “Yeah. What?”
Imamiah held up his hands in a shrug. “It seems like, I don’t know, good advice for these forms we’re stuck in. You made it sound like some kind of vast international conspiracy.”
Raum frowned. “How do you know that it wasn’t you telling yourself that as you happened to walk past the lobby plant?”
“It was the plant,” Forcas said. “There is no doubt in my mind.”
The paper wasp stood up again. “It told me that I’m too isolated.”
“The plant did?” Forcas said, brightening.
“Yeah, it said that I watch too much Netflix by myself and that recognizing paper wasps who are character actors—perhaps my greatest skill—is something I should be doing with other residents. It keeps telling me to build relationships with others.”
“I propose that we form a Plant Lease Crisis Committee,” Imamiah said.
“Seconded,” Forcas said.
“Oh, I don’t think we need a committee for this,” the camel spider said.
“I do. Next New Business item,” Raum said, with a murderous look at the camel spider. “Kelly, why don’t you handle this one.”
“We’re forming the Amenity Committee,” Kelly said, “by request of Claw & Crutty, and it will be dedicated mainly to providing new amenities within the Amenity Tower budget.”
“Doesn’t that mean amenities that cost nothing?” Raum said. “How is that supposed to compete with Ultra-Amenity Tower?”
“It’s true that we have a small budget for new amenities,” she said. “That means we have to be creative. I think that we can provide amenities that Ultra-Amenity Tower won’t even think of.”
“Because they have money.”
She bristled. “Maybe if a certain board of directors hadn’t nearly destroyed Amenity Tower and the entire city we wouldn’t have this problem.”
Silence.
The board members, camel spider excepted, shifted in their seats and scratched their necks.
“I hope that many of you will join us for the meeting of the Amenity Committee tomorrow,” she continued to the audience of residents. “You should have received a survey as well as a flyer by your door. All residents are welcome to attend and suggest new amenities.”
“Cheap ones,” Raum grumbled.
“Any amenity you would like,” she corrected, speaking to the residents in a louder voice. “Regardless of cost.”
Raum checked the agenda. “The last item of new business is MoltAway. Kelly, why don’t you take the reins on this.”
“Kelly,” Imamiah said, “can you briefly describe what kind of problem we’re having with MoltAway?”
“Sure. The problem we’re having is that a number of residents are renting out their condos on MoltAway. These guests are generating noise complaints and distracting the front desk staff with requests for more towels. But the more salient problem is that these guests are using residential units for molting purposes.”
Forcas sputtered an incredulous laugh. “Seriously? Why?”
“They need a safe, secure, and comfortable place to molt,” Kelly explained. “And they’re using the hallways and common areas, creating more work for our cleaning crew. They’re even using the fitness center even though half their skin or shell is gone, and dropping parts on the floor.”
“Not to mention bringing down property values!” A puffy, horned resident shouted.
“Aren’t there, I don’t know, laws and stuff for this?” Raum said.
Kelly nodded. “Pothole City req
uires that any homeowners who make their residences available for short-term rentals have a bed-and-breakfast license, which costs two hundred fifty dollars and includes a mandatory inspection, record-keeping rules and other stipulations. Most of the residents of Amenity Tower who are renting their condos through MoltAway aren’t meeting these criteria.”
Forcas rested his elbow on the table and pointed up. “Not to mention, MoltAway diminishes the homelike quality of Amenity Tower.”
“What’s management doing about MoltAway?” Imamiah asked. “I would think that it’s a safety issue. What if a resident or guest trips over one of the molts and sues the Association for injury and loss of income, or for mental anguish or something?”
“The board needs to forbid short-term rentals in the bylaws,” Kelly said, “which would allow you to levy fines. As long as it’s in the bylaws, management can send the resident the bill.”
“Have there been any recent updates about this in the rules and regs?” Forcas asked.
“The rules and regs were recently updated to reflect that residents need to let the management office know that they’re renting their condos as hosts,” Kelly said, “but only twenty percent of residents do this. In addition, Pothole City is now attempting to require MoltAway hosts to register their rentals and pay an additional tax on any rental fees received, and that’s on top of the bed-and-breakfast license. The issue is still in flux.”
“The main issue for me is one of sanitation,” Imamiah said. “I am seeing more and more of these molts lying around—in the fitness center, in the locker room, in the conference room off the library. One time in the elevator! It’s deeply unsettling to see an intact skin on the floor. You think it’s someone you’ve seen before, so you say something to be polite, but when it doesn’t respond and doesn’t move, and doesn’t get off the elevator, you suspect something, and when it occurs to you what it was, it’s… well, it’s gross. I’m relieved that I haven’t had to see the process actually happen, because I don’t think I’d sleep that night, or the next night.”
“I hear you,” Raum muttered.
The camel spider coughed slightly and adjusted his glasses. “If I may.” He took a swig of the coffee. Raum made a face but gestured for him to go ahead. “I don’t know how many of you have molting experience. Only a small fraction in this room, I’d guess. But molting is a long, exhausting, laborious process, and it’s a private matter.”