STALKER

Chapter 35 - Weirdo aka Peter Troy Part 2

My body clock is reliable, so I woke up just before 7 like any other morning. Unlike other mornings, there was someone in the bed with me. Under normal circumstances, I'd be long gone but I didn't feel the need to rush off. I was curious about the guy. Instead of leaving a potentially awkward situation, I took my time looking around his room and all the memorabilia. Nothing here gave me a clue what he was like. He looked one way and lived another. At the club, he appeared to be a flirt, loved the ladies, a player.  He could charm the customers out of big tips with that smile of his,   You would never in a million years imagine he lived like this.

Snuffling noises keep coming from the bed. He snores. I wonder if he knows? If his lovers have told him or if they kept that unsexy bit of information to themselves. He's still plastered to the wall, that can't be comfortable. He looked like he was trying to get as far away from me as possible. To late. He's going to feel stupid when he remembers he squeezed my butt without any prompting from me.

I assume there's a good reason why the house is empty, with only that room showing any signs of life. Why all the old stuff? One wall is covered in faded black and white photographs, like in police shows where the obsessed detective maps out the crime, victim, and the suspects. From what I can make out the photographs are from the 1940s and '50s, men in uniforms, planes, houses, and family shots. I assume the way they are placed is significant...a sort of disjointed timeline. A tiny photo is the center, the others radiate out in different directions. It's of a family group, all smiling happy faces; mother, father and probably three sons. They look something...not sure what.

There are a couple of old suits hanging on a coat rack in the corner. They look like they've been lovingly kept in good condition. My fingers brushed the lapel, it was neatly pressed. I undid the buttons and looked inside, the satin lining was smooth, slightly faded and even the label was intact and fresh. I sniffed the lapel. I thought it would smell of mothballs or musty with age, but it smelt of him; cigarettes and soap. Interesting, he actually wears it. It makes no sense, he's a young guy, dresses well looks normal. Maybe this is some weird fetish. On the dresser, there's an old fashion shaving brush, a mirror, and comb; all the things that should belong to an old man. I open a small leather box sitting with the other bits and pieces. It contains an old watch and a signet ring...I think I know what this room is.

Snort...the noise actually makes me jump, I can't help but laugh. Timothy rolls over and buries himself deeper under the blanket. I noticed hours too late that he's still got his shoes on. I went to the bed, sat on the edge, and took them off slowly, so I didn't wake him.  At that moment I felt someone come into the room. The angry spirit was back, his mood hadn't improved. He's a protective, possessive soul, he is fond of the guy.

"Good morning." I walked out of the room, hoping he wouldn't follow.   I went to look for some breakfast. I was starving. It was a big house, and I wondered around before finding the kitchen. Like the other rooms, it was bare and used. The only food items in one cupboard were coffee, tea, and instant noodles. Timothy is starting to make me look normal. How does someone live like this? I was being followed and it was hard to feel at ease with someone on my heels.

It appeared if I wanted breakfast I had to get it elsewhere. I needed to take a break from the house anyway, I still had the house keys in my pocket and let myself out.   I figured that when sleeping beauty woke up he'd feel as sick as a dog and he might need some TLC.    I was breaking several of my life rules but as it wasn't a one-night stand as such, so I could hang around a while. I have to admit to being curious; about the slumbering house, about the guy who lives in a room filled with the belongings of someone else's life and none of his own; and about who his housemate was.

......

I wasn't gone long and when I walked back into the room Timothy had rolled back against the wall. I knocked on the table to wake him...nothing. It took several hard raps to finally get his attention. He rolled over, half-opened his eyes he tried to focus on me. Then they went wide, I could see he was slowly remembering the previous night, one embarrassment at a time.

I kept knocking on the table until he got the shits enough to pay attention.  "Wakey Wakey. The fact I had fresh coffee in my hand finally registered with him and he got up and slumped against the wall, reaching out like an infant.

"Please, I'm dying. I have the worst hangover of all time." He looked rather cute in a disheveled sort of way.

"You have no food in the house," I said as I sipped on my coffee.

"Correct."

"No furniture either, by the look of it." I went on hoping for a bit more of a response.

"Also correct."  He was confirming my first impression of him, rude, shamefully lacking in manners.

"This is a very odd house. Are you odd?" I don't even know why I asked that. He was up there at the top of the list with my mother and grandmother.

"Very." He was pissing me off and enjoying it.

"WW2 cosplay or something?" Last chance Timothy, play nice. He didn't even bother to answer that time. Instead, he reached for his cigarettes and lit up, which irked me. He snores and he smokes. The list of things I didn't like about him was getting longer. He was shoowing me out of the house and he isn't the only one. The angry fellow is hanging around the door. I was over these two. It was time to leave.

....

We bumped into each other again a few more times. I made another delivery to the house a few weeks later. He managed to surprise me again, appearing at the door in a bizarre outfit that left me wondering what he was up to. Are tongs and rubber gloves sex toys? He was as impolite as always. As I got on my bike and went to my next job, I added the small parcels to my list of things I'm curious about.

Then there was the unfortunate night when Terrence had too much to drink and got frisky. He was all hands, which didn't bother me but the minute he set eyes on Timothy he got territorial. It would have been funny except he decided to put on a show in the middle of the club. Terrence was shame-faced the next day, didn't stop apologizing for a week, and I was left feeling like I needed to explain myself to Timothy.  

I'm glad I decided to drop in, unannounced but armed with his favorite coffee and breakfast. There was a feeling of deja vu as I rang the doorbell and listened to it bounce around the empty rooms, waiting to see how he was going to surprise me this time.

He outdid himself by appearing at the door wrapped in a kid's superhero doona. I wasn't complaining. I now know he has abs and muscular thighs. At that point, the visit was already a success. I bribed him with coffee to let me in and it was then that I got to cross off a few things from my "curious about"  list. Yes, he knew there was a spirit in the house. Yes, he knew who it was...his grandfather. Yes, he was like me but more so. Timothy saw what I only felt. But he had no idea how powerful his essence was.  He was capable of a lot more.  I also found out that his relationship with his grandfather wasn't always amicable.  When I saw him talking and warding off nothing, looking utterly terrified it felt like old times. It took me back to when I was a kid and my grandmother raging or chatting with someone that wasn't there during one of her rituals...fun times. I surprised myself when I suggested asking her to help remove him from the house. 

....

Last night we crossed paths again. Destiny keeps throwing us together,  or maybe it's me.  He feels good against my back, not sure I'd ever get used to the snoring, and there's the fact he's straight.