The Incredibly Consequential Life of Charlie Zappala

Chapter Three: The Roommate, the Refrigerator, and the Ghostbusters Ripoff

Work was slow the next day. Well, it was always slow, but on this day in particular it was exceedingly slow. The patient flow at work was steady and few, if any, made conversation. Phone calls came less than usual. Charlie ended up tabbing through the three programs they had opened on the computer, cycling through more times than they could count just to pass the time.

The apartment was empty when Charlie came home that day, like it usually was. Both Anna and Bert worked farther away in the city and were often more affected by rush hour traffic. Charlie didn't mind, though. In fact, it was a good thing. It was nice to be alone for a few minutes every day. Today, Charlie celebrated their alone time by sprawling out on the couch and watching cable news. They shut their eyes for just a minute.

Hdnkff.

A loud, rumbling noise came from the kitchen.

Charlie paused.

HDNKFF.

The noise came again, this time vibrating through the floor.

Charlie sat up with a labored sigh. They stood up with timid, rickety limbs. They made their way over to the kitchen, craning their neck to see what was awry.

Nothing seemed wrong. Or, at least, nothing was on fire or in total disarray. Charlie paused another moment, waiting to see if the sound came again.

Something rustled. From what they could tell, it was coming from the refrigerator.

Something clunked.

Charlie hesitated. "I swear to god, there better not be some fucking Zool shit in this fridge," they said to no one in particular.

They reached out for the door and slowly pulled it open. A gust of cold air hit Charlie's face like a brick wall.They blinked a few times, trying to stop their eyes from watering.

Once their vision cleared, their heart dropped.

The inside of the fridge didn't look like a fridge at all. The space—once filled with at least two near-empty pizza boxes, an unused jar of mayonnaise, and a small bag of lettuce—was now an empty...space. The area within the fridge walls was warped, like a rippling body of water. It was discolored, no longer the orange light of the old internal lamp, but now a milky blue. It hummed, not the sound of a Cold War-era motor running, but something deeper and carefully controlled.

Charlie shut the door immediately. "Ghostbusters did it first, assholes!"

They fled the kitchen and collapsed against a wall in the living room. They pulled their knees to their chest.

Charlie's heart pounded in their ears and nearly burst out of their chest. Thoughts raced through their head at a mile a minute.

What the hell was that? They needed to get out of there.

Or what if it was all in their head? Then maybe it was best for them to stay put.

There was another rumble.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Charlie pulled their arms in closer.

The unsticking noise from the refrigerator opening reverberated through the apartment.

Charlie held their breath, struggling to hear anything outside the sound of their pulse. They squeezed their eyes shut.

They thought they heard the floor creak with footsteps. Their knees buckled.

"Hey, Char, are you alright?"

Charlie's heartbeat slowed almost immediately. They opened their eyes and looked up. It was Bert, standing at the apartment entrance. His face showed genuine concern. Well, mild by normal human standards, but genuine by Bert metrics.