Horror 100 Volume 1

Cockroach

"If God loves us so much, why did he create roaches?" Debra mutters to herself as she edges closer to the bathroom, clutching a rolled-up Daily News. She had slipped into her pajamas when she spotted The Thing; that dirty creature with the six hairy legs and the swishing feelers and the gold flecks on its penis-shaped black-brown head.

It was in there.

She pushes open the door and gasps. Now it's perched on the white plastic toilet seat. Debra is certain she'll never again make a number two or two and a half in the bowl. There's no other bathroom. Her itty-bitty apartment is situated in the rib cage of Harlem. She curses her lack of apartment-hunting skills. "It's gentrified." The real-estate agent had assured her. Debra had spotted white women cross the street from her second-floor window on occasion. But at night it's when the mixed-race clans loiter outside, playing their boom boxes, trading put-downs; the white boys punctuating their pretentious hip-hop slang by calling each other 'niggahs.' and the black teens laughing along between slugs of their Forty-Fives.

Yeah, right. Gentrified.

Ex-president Clinton once lived just up the block, Debra was told. She bets he never had to deal with the Harlem Roach. This one is the biggest she's ever seen.

"Stay put, you bastard", she says to the intruder, her makeshift weapon poised. The roach scurries underneath the bowl, then pops into view. She shrieks and jumps back. Now it's disappeared. "Where are you, home-wrecker? You evil-looking sonofabitch?"

The thing suddenly bolts towards her and she nearly trips back against the bright yellow sofa. Now it's crawled under it. She skips to the other end of the living room and makes a call from her cell, her back pressed against the peeling wall.

"Todd??"

His answering machine. Shit.

"Leave a message." A beep. Go.

"Todd, you need to get over here a-fuckin-sap! I'm not kidding! Please?"

She clicks off, shuddering, staring at the sofa across the room.

Mice she can deal with, barely, even the so-called 'German Cockroach', the water bug's less imposing cousin; those little ones. But this monster, hidden underneath the sofa, is lying there in wait, mocking her. Debra has to remind herself that Todd, her prized handsome fiancé, will soon take her away from here. Their wedding is just two months away.

She had met 'Toddy' at the Museum of Natural History where she works as a ticket printer behind a PC, doling them out to the mostly tourist crowds. What a cool guy. His parents are well-off financially and live in Connecticut. Todd's a Yalie. Four years her junior. Yeah, well, so what? Six feet even, athletic, with thick brown hair and the bluest eyes. Hitler would have adored him. And clean-shaven! At age thirty-two, Debra thought she would eventually have to settle for a plump balding guy, pushing fifty, with a five o'clock shadow passing for today's "mans' look." Please.

Pure luck their eyes had met the exact moment she handed him his ticket. Debra's most striking features are her large green eyes and taut, slender frame. Added to this is her corn silk auburn hair, an eye-pleasing adornment. "Off-beat pretty." he had described her during their first date, which was a visit to the Museum, the very place she worked for but never dared venture into. The sight of stuffed animals and those creepie-crawlies kept her at bay. Todd dismissed her phobia and guaranteed his protection should any of those beasts suddenly come to life and leap at her.

So considerate, her Todd; such a good listener. Who'd ever thought such a goofy, preppie- sounding name like 'Todd' could jack up her heart-beat? The age gap? No prob. And the guy can dress. Calvin Klein. Navy Yard. And Brooks Brothers for his gig on Wall Street.