Skeletons in the closet
| Just Hanging Around
"I said, No Wire Hangers! What don't you understand?"
"Alright Chelsea, just calm down. They were on clearance. I figured I would use them in my closet," Marco argued, unsure of what the fight was about, but always willing to pretend to stand his ground. Chelsea would eventually win any and all confrontations, but he felt the need to voice his opinion.
"They leave ugly creases. "
"Don't mock me!"
"Okay, you win. I'll take them back," he said, knowing full well that he would trash them as he drove down the street.
"Thank you, honey," Chelsea purred.
"Don't be mad. I just don't like wire hangars. You know how hard I work to keep things presentable."
"Over the top, I'd say. Don't you think?"
"You should appreciate the way I keep things so orderly."
Marco was in the mood to argue. He was tired of the arbitrary rules imposed.
"They call it an obsession, Chelsea. You might need the help of a mental health professional. I 'm not allowed in the storage closet. It's my house too," he said, wishing he could take it back as soon as he said it. Chelsea's reaction was not pretty. Rage danced in her eyes.
"You think I'm crazy? I'm a perfectionist. You want to see the closets in YOUR house? I'll give you a tour."
Chelsea was shrieking and crying in uncontrollable bursts. Mascara ran down her cheeks as wetted fountains of goo and her hair stood at attention in frizzy tufts.
"Chelsea, just forget it."
"You will witness what I do to take care of YOUR house!"
Marco trembled in fear. He had seen her riled but never psychotic. He assumed he had no choice but to tour the closets.
"Fine, let's see."
Chelsea escorted him into their bedroom. She slid the doors open on each side to present the contents. The clothing was separated by color and style. They were labeled by days of the week and season. Pants were creased in perfect form on individual felt hangars. At the bottom of the closet were clear shoe boxes labeled in precision. No dust was visible on the floor. It was freshly waxed and varnished.
"I've never seen a closet so neat. Can we be done now?" Marco feigned interest.
"And orderly, you forgot orderly. I deserve your appreciation."
Chelsea pointed him toward the spare bedroom, as she pulled the key from her pocket. Unlocking the door, she waved him into the room. Suddenly, he found it as odd that he had never been in this room.
"I do have a few skeletons in my closets."
Marco heard the statement but was unprepared for the sight. Chelsea slid the doors open slowly. Hanging on felt hangars were the human bony remains of Chelsea's past lovers. The skeletons were glossed and shiny, labeled with the names and dates of their entry into the closet.
Marco heard her whisper, "No wire hangars," just as the iron crushed his skull.
Word Count 500