Nick and Travis stand up against the windows in the Living Room as if avoiding a sniper’s line of fire. The blinds are drawn, and they peer out between the plastic slats, watching the parking lot intensely.

“Oh my God,” Nick says. “She’s gonna’ get him.”

“Shit. Poor Ian.”

“I told you we should have warned him.”

“I hadn’t seen’er in a while,” Travis says innocently. “You’d don’t think I’d intentionally do this, do you?”

Nick just shakes his head. “You’d be damn cruel if you did.”

Outside, Ian has parked his car and is walking up to the apartment where a very ungainly obese woman with knotted, oily, permed blonde hair stands hovering by their apartment door. Moments ago, she had knocked and stood around aimlessly while Travis and Nick turned off the television and hid in the confines of the apartment. As Ian reaches the stoop of the apartment, they can hear her greet him. It sounds more like she’s shouting at him to get his attention though.

“No,” Travis whispers, focusing on sending Ian a telepathic warning. “Don’t talk to her, man—just keep going. Run.”

“Nope,” Nick replies. “She’s got him now.”

The woman stands talking to Ian, who is immediately and visibly uncomfortable. She is between him and the door to 3D. As Ian tries to subtly position himself to slide past, she shifts in response, stomping to face him, continually babbling about something, strategically holding him prisoner to her senseless speech.

“I work at St. Mary’s,” Nick imitates from behind the window shade, letting his tongue dance a crusty southern accent. “I take care’a the ol’ people theya,” he says, his eyes widening threateningly.

“I bet she does,” Travis replies.

Nick shudders and continues watching as Ian just stands helplessly and nods, feigning interest in whatever it is the woman is saying. As she speaks, she leans in toward him, and Ian takes little steps back every time she does. His attention is held by some quality of her face that cannot be seen from the window. Nick and Travis can’t help but be a little amused as the woman assaults Ian with non sequitur after non sequitur, interrupted only by nonsensical tokens of semi-anecdotes from her life.

“Oh man. She’s got him,” Nick says as though watching a deer in the sight of a hunter’s rifle.

“It’s that hypnotic missing tooth,” Travis laments.

After a minute or more, Ian makes a gesture toward the door and states something, probably about needing to get inside. The woman seems oblivious to the gesture and continues babbling. Ian leans on his back foot and then glances over to the the window where Travis and Nick are peeking. He smiles lightly when he observes that he is being watched. He’d heard the stories about the Flod, but this is his first encounter. Travis and Nick let the gaps in the blinds snap shut and lean closer to listen. They can just barely hear what the woman is saying.

“I turn ‘em over and stuff,” she says in a monotone southern accent. “It’s a hard job.”

There is no response. Travis can visualize Ian nodding politely though, still kindly feigning interest.

“I hafta’ work mostly at night though.” For some inane reason, this is funny, and the large woman cackles terribly like a cat in a paper bag being banged against a wall repeatedly. It is a high-pitched laugh trapped in her throat—a part of her anatomy that is not visible from the outside.

Travis shakes his head. “She’s gonna’ eat him.”

“Do you think we should help him?” Nick offers.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Lean out and tell him he’s got a phone call.”

“No way, man. She keeps asking me if I can drive her places.”

“I guess I’ll have to do it, then,” Travis replies. He moves over to the door and prepares himself like a SWAT member. Nick moves back into the corner of the room where he can’t be seen from the stoop. Taking a breath, Travis opens the door a little and leans out. He comes face to face with the Flod’s back, and can just see over her shoulder Ian’s wild relief. “Hey man, somebody from the House is on the phone—wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay,” Ian says.

The Flod turns slightly, not enough for Ian to get by, and looks at Travis smiling. A large hole glares from the middle of her top row of teeth. “Heeey!” she says.

Ian quickly slips past her other side as she turns and Travis opens the door wide enough to let Ian rush in.

“Where’s your tall friend?” the Flod asks stepping toward the door.

“Hewenthometovisithisparentsandstuff,” Travis lies. In the corner of the Living room, Nick rolls his eyes in relief.

Ian moves over to where Nick is and whispers, “Where’s the phone?”

Nick shakes his head and holds his index finger to his lips.

“Well,” Travis says, “Igotta’go — got somethin’ … to do—on the stove. Food.”

“Okay,” comes the scratchy voice from outside. “I gotta’ work tonight.”

Desperately trying to understand the relevance of the statement, Travis only replies, “Oh. That’s too bad.”

“I got three weeks vacation time now I done built up.”

“You should take a day off then.”

The comment doesn’t seem to register with the woman. She stands at the door, scratching her elbow, staring at Travis with a glazed look in her eyes.

“Yep. I gotta’ go,” Travis repeats.

“If I called in sick, what would they do w’them ol’ people!?” The woman asks. She cackles again at this, and Travis tries to laugh along with her. What would they do indeed? “They’d all shit themselves, that’s what!” the woman continues. This is really funny. Scratching her elbow, the Flod releases a loud laugh and reveals the entirety of her mouth to Travis, a slimy mess of black and yellow.

“Yeah,” Travis says, “I guess they would.”

The woman nods vehemently.

“Well, we’ll see ya’ later,” Travis offers.

“Prolly not! I’ll be workin’.”

“Okay.” Slowly, Travis shuts the door. Once the door is shut, he moves to look out the peephole. The Flod is still standing directly in front of the closed door larger and wider than life. After several long seconds of thought(?) she turns and walks away towards her apartment next door. Looking to Nick and Ian, the three boys all laugh nervously in relief.

“What the fuck?” Ian asks.

“That’s the Flod, man,” Nick says incredulously—as if to say, we told you but you didn’t believe us. And seriously, Ian had never totally believed the stories.

“Oh my God, dude,” Ian replies.

“Told ya’,” Travis says, sitting down next to Absinthe on the couch. Nick plunges into the love seat.

“So you were just saying there was a phone call to get me out of there?” Ian asks.

“Oh, well, if I thought you wanted to stay and hang out with the Flod, I guess I would’ve let you.”

Ian holds up his hands. “No that’s fine.”

“Look at him,” Nick says to Travis, “he can’t get her out of his mind. He’s in love.”

Ian just shakes his head as he sits down in the armchair.

“It’s that hole,” Travis offers as explanation, nodding.

Nick makes a hypnotic spiraling motion with his hand coming from out of his teeth, “I work at St. Mary’s,’ he imitates.

Ian laughs nervously. “Seriously, I thought you guys were just bein’ silly, but that is scary.”

“Just be glad you’re not John,” Travis offers.

“Why?”

“We’re pretty sure ol’ Flod there has a crush on him.”

“It’s weird,” Nick adds. “Like every time John leaves or is out on the stoop, she comes out to talk to him.”

“A couple of weeks ago, she was yelling across the parking lot to him as he was going to the car.”

“For real?” Ian asks.

“Something about the grocery store not having grapefruits,” Travis says, petting the kitten and shaking his head.

“When did she move in?” Ian asks.

“Just at the beginning of July,” Nick says. “I was stupid and offered to give her a ride to pick up some stuff from her old apartment.”

Ian shrugs.

“Fuck the good Samaritan,” Nick continues.

“Yeah well they didn’t have half-ton, weird-ass neighbors with hypnotic missing teeth in those days,” Travis agrees.

“Dude,” Ian says, “thanks for getting me out of there. She wasn’t gonna’ move.”

“Was she telling you about her job?” Nick asks.

Ian shivers. “We need to go break those old people outta’ there.”

“I don’t even want to know what she does to them,” Travis agrees.

“Man, I’ve heard her make subtle allusions to her care techniques.”

“I don’t wanna’ know,” Travis says. He picks Absinthe up and places the kitten in his lap.

“Probably treats them about like we treat the cat.”

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