You can always find a vulnerable mind in the most mundane of places. All you need is one intrusive thought and they’re yours. Take the supermarket for example.
I observed from the shadows as she trudged up the aisle, pushing the pram like a braindead Sisyphus. Awful screams emitted from the stroller. A mountainous clump of blankets did little to muffle the noise. The little fella had quite the set of lungs on him. His cries bounced off the polished floors with a stinging twang. The mother took no notice. It was clearly all white noise to her. She was completely numb to its presence.
“This was perfect.” I thought.
“A corruptible.”
The checkout employee began scanning the mother’s items. It was hardly a shop. Couple of noodle cups, a Mars Bar…and a tin of baby formula. Not much of a challenge for the young worker. The red light of his scanner flashed over the barcodes with pace.
“That’ll be $64”
The woman squinted at the worker.
“I thought the formula was on special?”
The baby’s screams forced the worker to raise his voice.
“It was. Sale ended yesterday. Back to $60 now. Two noodle cups are $3 and the Mars Bar is $1”.
His blunt delivery hit the mother like a punch. He didn’t even glance away from the screen.
“I only have $60” she muttered.
The worker looked up, now realising her struggle. His widened eyes suggested a more empathetic approach.
“Oh. That’s okay. Would you like me to remove some items?”
The mother considered her shop. A brief spell of hesitation passed.
“I’ll just grab the baby formula”
The worker tapped at the screen’s perspex.
“No problem. Usually it’s 10 cents for a bag but I’ll throw one in for free”
“Cheers.”
He began to shake out the plastic. The sudden rustling motion startled the child. Its cries intensified. Amongst the commotion, the mother slipped the Mars Bar into her jacket pocket. Her eyes darted around. Searching for anybody who had noticed.
No one. No one but me. This was going to be fairly easy.
They had a very small apartment…even for just a mother and child. It looked like public housing. The wallpaper curled off the plaster in swirling ribbons, falling down to the warped vinyl floor. It probably hadn’t been properly updated since the 80s. Living here would feel like hell…of all people, I would know.
I sat hidden in the abode’s dark corners, observing as she rustled the baby formula out of the plastic bag. The baby continued screeching from a carrier. God he was persistent. The mother placed the tin upon the kitchen bench before removing the stolen Mars Bar from her pocket. As she went to remove its wrapper a knock at the door interrupted her.
Disgruntled, she placed the chocolate back in her jacket and unlocked the entrance. A large man stood in the door frame with his arms crossed. A stained singlet did little to cover his protruding belly which hung above his exposed feet.
“We’re getting noise complaints again”
His voice was gruff, scratched from the daily packets of cigarettes. The mother was clearly disgusted by his presence.
“I’m sorry. He’s a baby. They cry. That’s what they do.”
“Your rent’s overdue.”
The man smirked. He knew how to push her. She inhaled deeply.
“I’m trying to find a sitter. I have multiple job interviews lined up an-“
“You can’t keep blaming everything on the baby love. Something’s gotta give.”
The mother’s face dropped, desperation kicked in.
“Please. Just give me a week. I’ll have the rent. The noise will stop. Just a week.”
The man furrowed his brow, evaluating the mother. His silence was thunderous.
“Not my problem.”
He slammed the door. Its chipped wooden surface lay inches from the mother’s face. She stared at it for a moment, taking in all the history of damage to its original design.
For the next five minutes she sat on the couch with the child, attempting to rock it into a calmer state. Eventually Its cries climbed a steady crescendo before culminating in a gurgled cough. Finally, silence.
As the mother pulled it away from her chest she examined a large stain of vomit down her shirt. She threw back her head with exasperation. The baby cooed happily.
Their washing machine was at least 15 years old. It was a large top loader with a folding lid. The rusted corners did little to hide its age. The mother grabbed a basket of sick stained shirts and proceeded to put a load on. The baby lay asleep in the carrier beside her, sporting a rare expression of peace. She seemed envious of its rest. I seized the opportunity. It was time to execute my plan.
The last of the washing powder was poured in from above before the lid snapped shut. The mother pressed a button and leaned back against the wall. As if from the weight of the stress, she nested her head in her hand. The water poured into the drum and she stood in silence, enjoying the brief moments of quiet.
With a flash of sparks, I snapped my fingers. The washing machine began to rumble. A red light flickered from within the drum. The mother watched with horror as the lid began to chatter. Its snaps awoke the child which immediately resumed its wailing. Mechanical whirring of the machine’s drum clashed with its cries. Steam started to hiss from the top.
Then it stopped.
The mother quickly threw open the lid and stepped back to avoid the hot water vapour. As it dispersed she leaned forward and examined the state of her clothes in the machine’s drum.
Except, there were no longer clothes within. Instead lay a pile of bank notes. Cash. Money. The machine had transformed her laundry into multiple green bills.
The mother snatched the notes out of the machine and began counting. It was over $100. She couldn’t believe her eyes. A theory crossed her mind. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the Mars Bar. She dropped it into the machine, closed the lid and pressed the button.
Like before, I snapped my fingers and the same theatrics started up once again. The rumbling. The red light. The steam. All exactly as earlier. The machine stopped and the mother opened the lid.
$1 sat at the bottom of the machine. The exact value of the Mars Bar. I could see the cogs whirring behind the mother’s eyes as she realised what was occurring. Whatever was put inside the machine would be transformed into its exact value in cash.
This is the moment I would instigate my final act. I leaned in behind the mother’s ear. She wouldn’t ever see me…or even know I was there. But that didn’t matter. She only needed to hear me sow the seeds of an idea in her mind. I spoke with a soft whisper.
“A human life is the most valuable thing one can possess”
She looked over at the crying baby before turning back to the open washing machine.
You can always find a vulnerable mind in the most mundane of places. All you need is one intrusive thought and they’re yours. I believe you, reader, have just had one.
As to whether the mother also had this twisted idea does not matter. She’s most likely just a story, probably not even real. But I’m certain you are…and I know you had that thought.
I can see you now. You probably can’t see me…try and look really hard in the darkest of shadows. I would introduce myself but you likely know of one of my names. It’s okay, we’ll meet soon enough. Your soul is irresistible.
You mighy be upset, thinking I caused you to think of such a terrible thing. Not at all. That shade was always inside you. I merely walked you to the door, closed it, then put you through for a spin cycle.
That’s the thing when you go through Satan’s washing machine…The soul goes in clean…and comes out stained.