The Wallpaper Lady

This story was written and narrated by Houston area author Lynn Long. Visit his website for more info:

Newt Bunko double-checked the address and identified the house. The Craftsman in the middle of the block.

“Good, I’m on the right side.” He never let the client see the red, replacement door on his beige Crown Vic. Appearances matter. After he parked the land whale, he popped a tape into his stereo unit. The staccato theme to Mission Impossible­ blasted through hissing speakers. When the music stopped, the tense narration started.

“Good morning, Captain Commission. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to make this sale. You are an eagle—an earning eagle. You are the captain of cold calling. Now go in there and close this deal.

As always, should you or any of the Fantasti-Cans Force not make the sale, the Secretary will drop you on the leader board. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck and always be closing.”

Inspired, Newt fished out a tube of peppermint Binaca and gave his mouth the blast that lasts. The steering wheel pulled a gap in his straining shirt as he slid out of the sedan. Armed with a thick sales book and brimming with confidence, he waddled toward the house.

As he huffed up the steps, he came eye to eye with a snaggle toothed Jack-O-Lantern waiting patiently on the porch. Thick paper embossed with a cliché image of a witch covered the door. The old hag beckoned, ‘Step inside my pretties.’

Taking a deep breath, Newt exhaled a minty “You got this,” before pressing the doorbell button. It took a few minutes for a thin, gray-haired woman dressed in black to appear. To Newt, she looked like she had posed for the door cover.

“Good Afternoon, Mrs. Spellman. Newton Bunko with Best Ever Windows. I called earlier.”

“Oh, yes, young man.” The LOL, Little Old Lady, opened the door wider and waved him in. “Come in my little sweetie.” She let out a strangely harsh laugh. “Just kidding. I love Halloween and the sweet darlings in their costumes.”

Newt gave her a big smile. “I do too. I can’t wait to hand out the candy.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. He lived in three-story walkup and he would spend the night drinking lite beer, eating a 250-count bag of fun-sized Snickers  and watching the horror movie marathon.

“Mrs. Spellman, I don’t want…”

“Stop right there. I’m Miss Spellman—never found Mr. Right. Besides, just call me Edwina.”

“Of course, Edwina. Call me Newt.”

“Sure Newt, please have a seat.” Edwina choose the small, plaid loveseat and Newt plopped down right beside her.

Flipping to the back of his book, Captain Commission dived right in. “No need looking at the economy lines. For a fine house like this one, you’ll want Elite.”

More by accident than intent Newt had told the truth. It was in fact a lovely home. Newt figured the bungalow was built in thirties and the craftmanship implied by its name, was evident everywhere. The cottage had more space-saving built-ins than a yacht: bookcases, mailboxes and even a telephone nook.

Without hesitation, he jumped into the sales pitch. The quality of his merchandise, how it enhanced home value, the energy efficiency and, of course, its lifetime warranty. Non transferrable and by the looks of this old bird, it would expire within five years.

“That’s all very nice,” squeaked Edwina. Newt’s blitzkrieg sales pitch seemed to have overwhelmed the frail woman. “It just seems like it would so expensive.”

“That’s a common reaction, but don’t you worry. The good people at headquarters can tailor a payment plan to fit your income.” Adopting an erudite tone, he added, “Besides, you have to think value over cost. A window replacement program from Best Ever pays for itself. Especially the Elite line.”

Reaching over, she placed her hand on his knee. “Oh, I just don’t know. This is when I wish I had a man around.”

“Miss Spellman, Edwina, rest assured I’ll be with you through every step of the process.” Placing his hand on top of hers, he leaned in for the kill. With a Binaca fresh whisper, he asked, “Miss Spellman, tell me how to earn your business?”

 “It seems like the right thing, but it just makes me so nervous.” In a flash, she perked up. “A nice cup of tea. That always calms me down.” Rising, she shambled into the kitchen to prepare the beverage service.

Newt sustained a plastic smile as she left the room. Great. I hate tea.

The little old lady was taking forever, so he investigated a nearby window. He found a double-hung, oak frame unit with polished brass hardware. Flipping the catch, he opened a sash. It moved as smooth as butter. Replacing these windows with the vinyl crap he peddled would be criminal.

Not my problem.

As he closed the window, the wall paper caught his attention. On the right, a chocolate brown paper with a gold, Art Deco pattern adorned the wall. An abstract paper in varying colors with elongated and distorted ovals covered the other half. The pattern reminded Newt of that Dali painting with the melting clocks. It was just plain weird.

“Here we go!” The LOL pushed a tarnished, silver cart with the tea service. She had a teapot snuggled in a Jack-O-Lantern cozy and a tray of Halloween cookies: scary ghosts, wicked witches, mutilated pumpkins and a dancing scarecrow. They returned to the couch where she served. Newt gave it his best shot, even holding out his pinky as he sipped the brew.

“My, this is quite tasty.” He complemented the tea as he bit into a heavily frosted cookie. The morsel was more icing than cookie and the salesman wanted to spit it out.

Be calm and munch on. A sale was in the balance, so he washed down the cookie.

“You like them!” Edwina beamed. “Have another.” She pushed the tray toward him.

“Oh, no. Got to watch the old waistline.” He patted his amble belly. “But I’ll have some more of that tea.”

The two sat there for an hour sipping tea and talking about anything but window replacement programs. As the sun dropped lower in the sky, Edwina stood, went to one of the bookcases and removed a cut crystal bowl.

“This one was from last year,” she announced as she handed it to Newt, who struggled not to drop his cup or the bowl. After ditching the demitasse and clasping the crystal, he read the inscription:

First Place

Grandiflora Rose

Loddiges Rosarian Society

“Impressive,” pretended Newt. Pointing at the row of bowls in the cabinet, “And it looks like this isn’t the only time you’ve won.”

“I have the best entry every year.” Edwina snapped up, straight as a rod. “It’s nothing but pure jealous spite when I don’t win first. I just throw away those second-place cups.” Just as quick, she softened and leaned in close to her guest. “I’d tell you my secret, but then I’d have to kill you.” Newt joined her in her harsh, unsettling laugh.

“You must try another cookie,” commanded Edwina as she used silver tongs to place the dancing scarecrow on his saucer. This confection did stand out, with silver beads for his eyes and buttons. Forcing a smile, Newt bit his head off.

Now this one is tasty. It was a peanut butter and chocolate concoction that he wolfed down in a couple of bites.

“My, you really liked that one. Sorry I only have the one.” The LOL beamed.

Newt grinned and was about to reply when his bladder went into overdrive.

“May I use your facilities, Ma’am?” Newt rose from the settee.

“Why so formal, kiddo.” She pointed toward a door at the far end of the room. “You can syphon the python in there.”

Flabbergasted by her answer, Newt toddled toward the toilet. Beautiful tile work and polished brass adorned the chamber. Everything except the floor which was covered in a strange, clinical vinyl. After closing the door, Captain Commission scolded himself. Get back on point. Time to seal this deal.

He patiently stood over the bowl while his serpent spewed out a stream of yellow venom. He was zipping his snake back in its den, when a weird wobbly slithered up his spine. Looking down, he watched his Thom McAn wingtips spin and fall away as if they were being flushed through the floor. Slumping to the ground, he watched the ceiling gyrate and float away. Closing his eyes, a tranquil wave swept over him. Now he felt like he was floating in a warm, briny sea. He tried to move, but he couldn’t twitch even one itsy-bitsy muscle.

The door to the bathroom opened and Edwina stepped in pushing a stainless-steel cart. She gave him a picture-perfect smile. “Curarium. At least that’s what I call it. It’s an oral neuromuscular paralyzer that I synthesized from the curare plant. Works pretty good, don’t you think?”

Captain Commission couldn’t answer. Nonchalantly, Edwina opened the medicine cabinet and worked a control panel hidden behind the glass door.

“Timing is critical. I have to give you the cookie right before the pee potion kicks in.” A panel in the roof dropped like a trap door. As a nylon sling descended, she continued. “Weight, age, a bunch of factors can screw up the clock. Good thing I’m an old pro.”

She took off his worn shoes and holey socks and dropped them into a garbage bag. “Thom McAns? I didn’t know they made those anymore.”

Her skilled hands looped the sling around his ankles and she went back to her control panel and held down a rocker switch. “I used to do this with an old rope pulley. This is a whole lot easier.”

Up went Newt. As he hung like a side of beef, she took a huge pair of shears and cut off his clothes. After stuffing the remains of his cheap suit into the garbage bag, she pulled on rubber gloves with a proctologist pop. The LOL came over and sat on the side of the tub. “Let me tell you my little secret…

The was a beautiful rose, red as a robin’s plume

But nasty chemicals would make her gloom

Feed her meal of blood and bone

And all other flowers, she’ll dethrone

Because fresh kill is the trick to make her bloom”

She stroked the hair out of his face and flashed him a sweet smile. “I feed my babies a diet of blood and bone meal and they just flourish.” She beamed, “I’ve tried dogs, cats, birds, you name it. But they do the best on good ol’ homo sapiens.”

Frowning, she continued. “One thing that always bothered me was the waste. Then I thought—wallpaper. Once you roll out and dry human skin, it almost becomes translucent. A stretched face produces the most interesting patterns. Plus, it’s quite durable and easy to clean. Electrolux, Kirby, Rainbow. Vacuum machines alone did one bedroom. Then it was magazines, insurance, supplements. There’s always somebody trying to sell you something.”

Standing, she continued, “Vinyl windows, that’s a hoot.” Edwina slapped Newt’s ample butt. “This is a Wesley Peter’s house. You think, I’d put in cheap windows. That is a hoot.”

Returning to her cart, she retrieved one of her crystal bowls and put it under his head. “Only seems fitting, don’t you think? You’ve been hanging long enough. It goes faster if your blood has pooled toward your head. You feel a little pinch, then get sleepy and … well you know.”

She got face to face with Newt. “Don’t worry it’ll go fast.” Finding the strength, he managed to shake his head and blurt out “Nuuca.”

“No?” Edwina gave him a wistful look. “I’m afraid so, honeybun. I’m low on rose food and besides, you know a tad too much.”

Stretching out her arms and arching her back, she elucidated further. “It’s quite an ordeal. I have to leave you hanging here about three days until the skin loosens up enough to harvest.” She thumped his belly. “Even with a big boy like you, you don’t get as much as you’d think. Then I can extract the bones. The rest of you will end up in that low-shelf cat food. You know, that ten cans for a dollar stuff. The people who make that crap don’t ask many questions.” 

She shook her head. “You won’t believe how much floral scented Glade I go through and they don’t sell that door-to-door.” She gave him a hoot and another ass swat.

Moving back to her cart, she examined a tray of instruments. “Hmmm, which one to use?” After looking back and forth between the tray and her victim, she made her decision.

“This one will work just fine.” She approached with a well-honed paring knife, and felt for his throbbing neck pulse.

“Left or right, sweetie?”