Next To Godliness

Amelia could not remember when she had first begun to fear her bedroom floor. But now the feeling was so familiar she might have missed it had it been absent. She woke up in the morning, as she always did, with the impression that somebody had been whispering to her in her sleep.

She brushed the thought away and got out of bed, walking over the clothes, books, and even garbage scattered over the floor. There was not a single point in her room where the carpet was visible. Having finally moved out of her parents’ home, the apartment was passable if not ornate – which was probably why the landlady hadn’t been by to check the condition of the floors. How could she explain to anyone that she was afraid to let the carpet see her?

The flooring of the bathroom, the tiles of the shower; these were innocent, incapable of harm. But something malicious lurked between the mess she had created and the foundations of the apartment, and she was determined to hide it. She pulled on makeup as though her face were just another floor to be hidden and left her apartment.

Outside, waiting at the bus stop, she felt better. The air was less stuffy; there was nothing waiting for her in the open air, even air that had been soiled by the exhaust of countless vehicles. She did not smile, but she refrained from frowning. For an instant, she thought it might have been better to remain at home, but memories flashed back at her, and she crushed the thought. Better a hidden threat than a real one.

Her job was not anything her parents would have smiled on, and those who rode the bus with her were in a similar state. But she knew them, and if they were not the best humanity had to offer, at least their offers were unconditional. One or two waved familiarly to her with smiles, and she waved back. But she did not smile. It always took her a while to smile after being in her apartment, in her bedroom, with nothing but dirty clothes and scattered hobbies between her and the peril of her carpet.

Stop thinking about it.

She looked out the window at the overcast sky as the bus started forwards with the kind of squeals that made it sound as though it were in need of an honorable grave. She would have desperately loved to see rain or snow in the bleak December, but the skies remained covered and withheld their gift.

It had not been that bad, actually, when she had first moved in, when her meager furniture, battered books, worn computer, and single bed had been enough so long as they were hers. A job to pay the rent, to pay for food, to pay for utilities. What more was needed?

And she had received the first taste of the freedom she had craved since she was old enough to understand what her parents meant by no. Surely that was enough for happiness? She had invited friends over or gone to them without hesitation. A party anywhere was fine. She had even had a party in her small apartment, and the next morning, she was just too tired to clean up. And the weekend had been so busy. And there wasn’t time the following week. And then she had begun to fear her bedroom floor, desperate to hide the rest.

Stop thinking about it.

She didn’t smile any more, and she didn’t let her friends come over, though she eagerly went with them anywhere, did anything to stay away from her room. She thought of moving, but that would have required her to uncover her bedroom floor, let whatever lived beneath the mess draw energy from the air and the light.

Better that it sleep.

Stop thinking about it!

She turned back to the bus and forced herself to count the flaws and cracks on the floor. She was so absorbed in so doing that she almost missed her stop, and had to fling herself at the door, forcing the driver to brake violently just as he had begun to accelerate. She stepped on the sidewalk and began walking. The cracks seemed to have been filled with frost ever since the winter started. She opened the door with her badge and walked over to her desk, took off her coat, clocked in, and began to type in the endless stream of business contracts that made up the bulk of her day.

The carpet was worn in their room; it was easy to tell where protectors had not been sufficiently placed to ward off the erosion created by the wheeled chairs. But the custodians cleaned this carpet every night. It had no personality; it just looked old and beaten, as though all the workers walking across it had finally broken its resistance and even sentience.

“Hot chocolate?”

She looked around to find Jerry smiling at her. He was a nice boy with light brown hair and joyful eyes. In fact, he was too nice. She couldn’t stand him.

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “No thanks.”

“Okay. Just thought I’d offer.” He walked off, and for a moment her eyes followed him. The smell of hot chocolate made her mouth water. It reminded her of things she didn’t know how to name and wouldn’t have recognized if she saw them. Maybe she would make some for her carpet. Maybe that would make it stop hating her.

Stop thinking about it.

She typed until it was time for her break and turned her mind off, blankly letting the letters on the paper communicate with her fingers, attempting as much as possible to make her will functionless. It was the only way to really stop thinking.

When her break came, she stood up from her desk and went to the break room. The floor was clean. The custodians swept and probably mopped it every night. The light shone off of some of the patches that hadn’t been too worn away by countless feet. Whenever she saw the reflections, she wanted to walk everywhere until the clarity had been dimmed. But she sat down instead and ate the lunch she had prepared for herself, reminding herself for what felt like the hundredth time that she really needed to do the dishes when she got home.

“Why don’t you just tell him no?” someone asked her.

She turned and saw Aaron.

“What do you mean?”

“Jerry. If he wanted you any more badly, they’d have to arrest him.” He shrugged. “Get it over with. Go out with him, or tell him no.”

“He hasn’t asked me yet,” she replied.

Aaron rolled his eyes. “And people say guys never pick up on hints. He’s too shy. Why don’t you just get on with it?”

“What business is it of yours, anyway?” she asked a bit angrily.

“None of my business at all. But I’m a jerk. I’m always poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.” He shrugged and moved away to eat with his friends.

For a moment, she struggled to contain a desperate urge to call him back and ask him to kill her bedroom carpet. Finally she returned to her lunch, and wished that the food satisfied her. But nothing ever seemed to taste as good as it used to, and so she left half of it uneaten, as she always did. I really need to do the dishes when I get home.

She went back to work and typed mechanically. She saw Jerry and tried to smile at him, but the muscles in her face didn’t seem to remember how. Jerry didn’t look like he’d ever had reason to be afraid of his bedroom carpet. He was too happy and he worked too hard.

She began typing more feverishly as the clock wound its relentless way to quitting time. Once she quit, she would have to go home. I really ought to do the dishes. And face her carpet. But she couldn’t face it; that was what the dirty clothes and trash were for. So when quitting time came, she clocked out, pulled on her coat, and left work to trudge back to the bus stop as though it could take her to any place she needed to go.

The normal crowd of people stood silently as though speech were a sacrilege, and when the bus finally came, six minutes late as usual, they filed in as though condemned to their fate. She sat in the back and bothered nobody, merely looked up at the sky and tried to find a break in the clouds or a sign of weather. There was no way she could miss the stop on her way home; her carpet filled her thoughts until she couldn’t think of anything except making sure that it was still covered. She opened her apartment and rushed into her room to find everything exactly as she had left it that morning. No fragment of her carpet showed, no hint of air could find its way down past the mess. She went to the kitchen to start washing the dishes, many of them still filled with half-eaten food.

She couldn’t start. Instead, she took one of the plates more liberally filled with the remnants of things that had become tasteless, and took it to her bedroom. Trembling, she looked around for an ideal spot, and finally decided on a small lump of clothes at the foot of her bed. She walked forward, terrified of what she was doing. She knelt before the lump as though doing it homage. Then she lifted up the clothes and swiftly shoved the plate underneath. She let it drop and ran out of the room as though something were attempting to capture her. She faced her bedroom, panting, shivering, and sweating, feeling desperately in need of another shower but afraid to take off her clothes.

There, she thought, I’ve fed you. Is that what you want?

She went to her small kitchen where she had another book and did her best to forget herself in other people’s lives until she was so tired she had to go to bed. It seemed like the night made everything worse; she tripped repeatedly because she didn’t want to turn on the light and see what her carpet had become. She flung herself into bed and would have buried herself under the covers except she hadn’t made her bed in months and it was too hot anyway, why was she sweating . . .

She woke up to the sound of her alarm playing music that would have given her mother fits. She was lying across her bed as though she had been thrown there. A moment passed before she remembered she had done it to herself. She needed to do laundry, soon. Or buy new clothes. That was probably the better option. If she did laundry, she ran the risk of uncovering her carpet. She would go shopping after work. She looked around for the spot where she had fed her carpet, and deliberately undressed and left her clothing there so that the area wouldn’t be as shallow.

Then she went to the bathroom and took a shower as though soap and shampoo could make her clean, could ward away all the dangers of her carpet. It was only as she was rinsing out her hair that she heard the whisper.

Too faint to be certain, someone from her bedroom hissed, “Amelia.”

She jumped and slipped, catching herself just before being bruised by her fall. Water sprayed awkwardly as she looked at the bathroom door, which was closed.

Her carpet couldn’t be outside the bathroom. It was stuck in her bedroom underneath her clothes and scraps of paper. And she had fed it yesterday; surely it wouldn’t need more than that? Her hands were trembling as she reached for her towel to dry herself off. I really ought to do laundry. Or buy some new towels when I buy new clothes.

She got dressed and took the towel with her; still damp from drying her off. She went back into her bedroom and wedged it along the side of the box springs for her mattress so that the carpet wouldn’t be able to whisper so loudly. Then she left the apartment, locked the door, and did her best not to run to the bus stop.

Don’t think about it.

She went through work even more mechanically than the previous day, since Jerry didn’t offer her any hot chocolate. The carpets at work were as unresponsive as ever, so she didn’t have to think. When work let out, she began walking to the nearest cheap clothing store. She did have a budget to think of.

She was only halfway there when Jerry drove past. He didn’t seem to see her, but then the car stopped, pulled over. He got out to approach her, looking like he enjoyed going home but would gladly stop to help anyone.

She really couldn’t stand him.

“Are you sure you’re okay walking alone?” he asked by way of greeting. “I’m not sure how safe the streets are, and it gets dark early.”

“I don’t know which bus to take to get to thirteenth,” she said, then winced inwardly. Oh, no; he’s going to offer me a ride. I hate guys like him.

“Would you like a ride?” he asked. “It’s not too far out of my way.”

She didn’t want to get a ride from him; she didn’t even like him. And she therefore had absolutely no clue why she agreed. “Thanks. That’ll help a lot.”

He even held open the door for her.

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the car from the moment he started it until the moment he parked by the Wal-Mart. “Christmas shopping?” he asked.

“Something like that,” she said. “Thanks for the ride.” She opened the door and got out, but before she could close the door, he said, “Will you need a ride back to your apartment?”

“No, thank you,” she said because she could not figure out how to beg him to save her from her carpet.

“All right. See you at work Monday.”

“Yeah.” She would have smiled but couldn’t remember how anymore. She walked toward the store and waited until he drove off before entering. She grabbed a cart, bought some cheap pants, underclothing, shirts, and towels, winced at the total, and thought that she might cut back a little on her groceries.

She took the last bus home and made her way to her apartment with her sacks, then unlocked the door and walked in, turning on the light with her shoulder.

“Amelia,” her carpet whispered, and she dropped her bags. Instead of being frightened, she let her mind go as numb as it did when typing, and went to the kitchen, grabbed another plate of half-eaten food, went to her bedroom, and slid the plate under the pile of clothing at the foot of her bed. In the same numb state, she retreated to her kitchen. Then she let her thoughts return and found she wasn’t hungry. After all, her carpet was eating. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do anything like that.

She fell asleep in the kitchen for a few hours, but woke because her carpet was trying to talk to her in her sleep. She stood up and walked to the living room and looked down the hall. Her bedroom door was inexplicably open, and her dirty laundry had scattered into the hall.

“Amelia,” it whispered. “Amelia.”

She backed into the kitchen, grabbed her cell phone, and dialed Jerry’s number because she had gotten it from him back before she realized that she couldn’t stand him.

She almost didn’t recognize her own voice; it was an effort not to whisper.

“Jerry, this is Amelia. Listen, I’m feeling kind of bad and was wondering if you’d like to visit.” She gave him her address and permission to break the door down, then sat in the kitchen with the lights on.

Her dirty laundry, her garbage, crept slowly into view.

“Amelia,” it whispered. “Amelia.”

Only then did she understand that it wasn’t her carpet she had been afraid of. She stood up and got a plate of half-eaten food from the table, walking slowly towards her laundry. She held it out, trembling. One oblique part of her wished she could remember how to smile. But it was too late even for that.

When Jerry arrived at her apartment, he found no trace of her. In fact, all he found were some bags of new clothes and an immaculately clean apartment.