It's a Dirty Job, Dead Ned

I took a monster job at The Winchester Hotel.

I clean crime scenes. My motto used to be “It’s a Dirty Job, Let Me Do It.” But after I got a call from someone wanting to hire me as a hitman, I realized that maybe I didn’t need a motto.

Ned Galloway, Crime Scene Cleaner.

That’s all my business cards say now. Oh, and my phone number. 

Hate to break it to you, but law enforcement don’t gotta clean crime scenes. Not everyone has the fortitude for cleaning up what’s left of the dead.

I mean, you got your murders, right?

Not only do you have blood and corpse juice staining your carpets, you have fingerprint powder on the doorways and luminol on your walls.

Okay. Then you got your suicides.

Look, it’s traumatizing enough to find Uncle John put a shotgun in his mouth three days before you found him. Then you gotta hunt down pieces of his skull under the couch and figure out the best way to scrape brain matter off the wall?

You can imagine how many relatives want that job. 

Natural deaths ain’t any easier. Especially if if the poor soul isn’t found right away.

It’s my business to understand the decomposition process, mostly because I make my own cleaning products.

For one thing, 409 is amateur stuff. Use it to clean your bathroom, if you want, but if your sister slit her wrists in the tub, you’re gonna want something stronger to scrub that ceramic.

If your Grandpa died in his recliner watching Fox News and nobody thought to check on him for a couple of weeks … well, let’s just say you’ll want to throw out the recliner.

And you’ll want to call me because I’m the guy that can rid the living room of the smell and remove all the biological evidence left by a rotting body. 

People already think I’m nuts because I clean up crime scenes for a living. Some jerkfaces call me Dead Ned. That’s hurtful, you know? I’m in the service industry. I provide value. 

Anyway. Not long ago, my cell phone rings at three a.m. It’s not unusual to get a client phone call in the early morning hours, so I answer. 

“Hello?”

“Are you … Ned Galloway?” asked a raspy male voice. 

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“I have your business card,” continued the voice, “and it says here on the bottom It’s a Dirty Job, Let Me Do It.”

“Oh. You have an old card. You’re not asking me to kill, are you?”

“No, but it’s good to know you offer a wide range of services.”

I wasn’t sure if this guy was serious. “I don’t kill people.”

“Well, no one needs help killing people. They’re easy. I assume you kill other things.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of what the guy just said. I figured I heard wrong. “You mean like nuisance animals?” I’ve had to deal with rats before. Bug removal is part of the job, though. Still. Maybe I should add pest control as an a la carte service. 

The man’s laughter sounded like rusted hinges on an old door. “Nuisance animals. I’ve never heard them called that before. I like it.”

I sat up, rubbed a hand over my eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“I need your rather unique services, Ned.”

“Okay. I charge $250 an hour. I’m completely open tomorrow, so I can come by at your convenience to assess the damage and give you an estimate.”

“How much for you to come now?”

I didn’t really want to get out of bed, put on my gear, and drive anywhere. I decided to double my fee thinking the guy would balk and decide making an appointment was the better deal. “$500 an hour.”

“Excellent. I’ll text you the address. How long will it take you to get here?” 

The phone pinged and I looked down at the address. I wasn’t sure where it was, so I plugged it into the maps app on my phone. The drive would take about thirty minutes from my place in Baker, California. I needed time to take a shower, get into my gear, and check the supplies in my van. “I can be there in an hour.”

“I’ll pay you an extra $1,000 if you can get here in thirty minutes.”

I made it in twenty-eight. The Winchester Hotel was three stories with one of those creepy attics and a spire at the top. It looked kinda spooky.

Two single lanterns with flickering lights hung on the side of the large wooden door. Those baby flames barely penetrated the dark. Seemed like the place needed a paint job and maybe some landscaping.

Sand, rocks, cactus, and scrub bushes from the Death Valley desert made the hotel look extra creepy.

The moon was full, which let me see well enough add my PAPR (Powered Air-Purifying Respirator) headgear to my personal protection suit.

Basically, I go full Hazmat on every job. You never know what’s gonna be at the scene. Doing the Level A PPE as recommended by the Centers for Disease Control ensures my safety.

My mini-tablet fit into a large zippered pocket on the side of the pants. I used to carry around a clipboard with masses of paperwork attached to it. I’m all digital now. The client signs an electronic contract and I email it to ‘em with a single tap. 

As I walked up the path, I had an insane urge to turn around, get in my van, and drive away. Far away. It’s a stupid feeling to have. There’s nothing outwardly wrong with the hotel or its surroundings.

But, you know … I was getting a weird vibe.

I lifted my hand to knock at the door, but it swung open before I could rap my gloved knuckles against the wood. 

“Oh, thank Lucifer,” said the thin, pale man with wavy dark hair. He was dressed in tan cable knit sweater, dark brown pants, and shiny loafers. “You’re Ned, right?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t stop staring at the two large, white fangs protruding from the guy’s teeth.

“Shoot. It’s my fangs, isn’t it?” 

As I watched, the scary sharp teeth retracted up into the man’s gums. 

“I’m really sorry. I forgot.”

“Forgot you had fangs?” I asked. My voice shook.

“Please don’t be frightened, Ned. I have no intention of eating you.”

“Um…” I wasn’t sure what to do. The guy actually looked deflated as if he expected me to scream and run. Believe me, I was about a second away from doing just that. 

“I’ll understand if you don’t want the job,” said Ned. “But we monsters don’t really have cleaning services. For obvious reasons.”

Monsters. Okay. Maybe this guy was just fucking with me. The fang thing was some sorta visual effects stuff. “You work in the movies?”

He frowned at me. “No. I’m an accountant. Except on Tuesdays, of course.”

Tonight was Tuesday. Well, technically Wednesday. I’ve dealt with weird people before. At least this guy didn’t come to the door completely naked snacking on Cheetos. That’s happened to me twice. Different dudes, too. 

“Why don’t you show me the problem area?” I asked. 

“This way,” he said, opening the door wider and gesturing for me to come inside.

I gotta tell you, I didn’t want to go.

But next thing I know, there I am, standing in a lobby that belonged in a horror movie.

Flickering lanterns were perched on the check-in desk, which was made of wood blackened by age and use. A huge chandelier hung above us. At least a hundred candles in that thing. Probably more.

The thick black carpet had all these gold symbols and wiggly-woos in it.

Satan’s castle, if you ask me.

“Who’s he?” A young woman dressed in black collared shirt with white-washed jeans and a pair of black sneakers stood behind Fang Guy. Her shirt had “Winchester Hotel Staff” and “Amelia” gold embroidered on the top left side.

“Ned Galloway,” I said. “Crime Scene Cleaner.”

“Really, Frank? Really?” she said, poking Frank in his bony shoulder.

“Well, it’s too much for the both of us to clean,” he said.

“Gunther’s gonna kill you.”

“Don’t you mean us?” asked Frank, turning his head to stare at Amelia.

“You’re the moron who answered the call to Room 9.”

“It was an accident.” Frank threw his pale skeletal hands into the air. “How was I supposed to know the guest had a poisoned tongue a million feet long?"

“Well, now it doesn’t have a tongue at all.” Amelia looked at me. “How are you with disposal of remains?”

I blinked. “I … uh, well. That’s not really what I do. I clean up after the body’s been removed.”

Ned and Amelia shared a look.

“But … but I know how to dissolve bodies,” I said. Sweat rolled down the sides of my face. “It’s not something I’ve done professionally.”

“He said he doesn’t kill people,” said Frank.

“What do you kill?” asked Amelia.

“Nuisance animals, sometimes.”

“Well, this unholy monster from the depths of hell is definitely a nuisance animal,” she said.

“What the fucking fuck?” The question was asked by a deep growling voice. I looked over my shoulder and I saw a huge biker with neon-green hair. It was braided, and it dangled to the man’s ass.

He wore a T-shirt with GREEN ARCANE across the front, tight black leather pants, and military boots. Tattoos covered nearly every inch of his visible skin. He had cat eyes. Or lizard’s eyes? I dunno. Little triangle pupils. Damned creepy.

Jesus Christ. These people were terrifying. Honestly, I was gonna piss myself if I didn’t get out of here. “Is this place a movie set?” I asked hopefully.

“It’s a hotel,” said Scary Man. His strange gaze landed on Frank. “You answered a call from Room 9, didn’t you?”

“How do you know it wasn’t her?” asked Frank, jerking his thumb toward the woman.

“Because she’s smarter than you are.”

“I’ve been alive for more than five hundred years, Gunther,” huffed Frank.

“And yet, you’re still a dumb ass. I asked you to man the front desk once a week. Tuesdays. So I can go—” Gunther paused and narrowed his eyes at me. “—and do the thing.”

“Look, I like yelling at Frank as much as anyone,” said Amelia. “But the guest in Room 9 stinks. Other guests are already complaining.”

“Unfortunately the stench isn’t because it’s dead,” said Gunther. “What did you do?”

“Cut off its tongue,” said Amelia.

Gunther’s strange eyes widened. “That’s it? You cut off its tongue?”

“Well, yeah. It bled out,” said Frank. “The hallway carpet is squishy from all the blood—and we could see the … erm, guest had expired.”

“Smells like burnt fish sticks dipped in rancid mayo,” added Amelia.

“Sweet Lucifer in Stilettos,” said Gunther. “Please tell me you closed the door.”

“The tongue blocked the door.” Frank shivered. “These are new shoes. I’m not ruining Italian leather with monster slobber.”

“Way to prioritize, Frank.” Amelia rolled her eyes.

“You weren’t exactly helpful,” he snapped.

“I called Gunther,” said Amelia, “and you called—” She pointed at me.

“Ned,” I provided.

“Ned,” repeated Amelia.

“It’ll grow its tongue back,” said Gunther. His eyes widened. “We are fucked.”

That’s when a metallic Godzilla-like roar ripped through the hotel. It was such a loud, shit-your-pants sound that it made all of us freeze. I watched the chandelier swing wildly above us. Somewhere glass shattered.

Gunther ran toward the godawful bellow followed by Amelia and Frank. If I was smart man, I would’ve pounded sand, jumped in my truck, driven to Mexico, and started a new life.

But, nope. I followed the trio right toward our doom.

Because I’m a damned idiot.

Past the check-in stand, through a lobby filled with a lot of weird chairs (who sits on spikes?), and to the right, we hurried down the squishy carpet to the end of the very dark hallway—and holy fucking shit on burning toast!

“That’s a tongue?” I asked. My voice sounded hysterical even to my own ears. The … the … whatever-it-was was huge and purple and bumpy. It smelled awful. Like a pile of decomposing bodies in a damp, moldy cellar filled with burnt sugar.

It was the worst stench I’d ever breathed, and for me, that’s saying a helluva lot.

I once cleaned up a cult house with multiple suicide victims. The bodies weren’t found for two weeks. It smelled like a fucking field of spring flowers compared to the rancid scent emanating from the huge piece of lumpy, discolored meat stretched out in the hallway.

“This is why you never answer calls from Room 9,” yelled Gunther. “We have to get that door shut.”

A huge stick-like limb, about as thick as a baseball bat, covered in black hair stepped on the tongue.

“Gross!” yelled Amelia.

Another hairy stick leg appeared.

And then … then … an eyeball as big as a fucking watermelon and as black as a starless sky peered at us through the doorway.

“How the fuck did you get that thing in there?” whispered Amelia.

“Why is it in there?” asked Frank.

“Not a story I need to share,” responded Gunther. “Frank, go push on its legs.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re the strongest of us, vampire. Go push on its fucking legs!”

Frank took off his Italian leather loafers. He wasn’t wearing socks. He took a shuddering step onto the tongue, which made an awful squishing sound.

I heard Frank’s feet sizzling.

“Frank, you better run,” said Amelia, “or you’re gonna turn into goo.”

“God, I hate this job.” He zipped across the tongue so fast, I only saw a blur of motion.

“You,” said Gunther, pointing at me. “After Frank shoves Tiny’s legs back into the room, shut the door.”

“Nope.” I shook my head.

“You have on steel-toed chemical-resistant boots,” said Gunther. “Tiny’s spit won’t eat through your footwear.” He paused. “I’m about eighty-seven percent positive Tiny’s saliva won’t dissolve you.”

Amelia patted my back. “Those are some pretty good odds,” she said.

One look at Gunther told me I didn’t really have a choice. So I jumped onto the tongue and ran down the lumpy flesh.

Another metallic roar issued from the beast as Frank shoved the legs past the door’s frame. The monster was forced backward.

I grabbed the doorknob and pulled it forward.

Tiny didn’t like that.

Another furred limb appeared above Frank’s head.

“Shit,” I yelled. “Frank!”

The vampire grabbed the limb and yanked. I heard a loud crack and a screech that sounded like train wheels braking on rusted rails.

Frank tossed the bleeding limb behind him.

“SHUT THE DOOR!” yelled Amelia and Gunther from the safe end of the hallway.

I grabbed the knob again and with Frank’s help we wrestled the door shut.

“You’re melting,” said Frank.

I looked down. My footwear was gone.

So were my feet.

Frank still had his feet, but I saw bone peeking out from melted flesh and singed muscle.

He scooped me up and the next thing I know, we’re off the tongue and back in the lobby.

“Those boots were expensive,” I said.

Frank sent me a sympathetic look. “I feel your pain. Imagine what would’ve happened to my loafers.”

Amelia smacked Frank’s shoulder. “Fucking vampires. Sociopaths, every bloodsucking one of you.”

You know, I never thought about my own death. But I could feel myself floating into darkness. And then … nothing

---

I woke up in a dark room. I wasn’t in my PPE gear anymore and I think I was laying on a bed. A really nice one. Even though it was super dark, I could see the room. Nightstand, lamp, wall, opened closet, door.

I felt great.

“You like the bed? It’s a Temper-Pedic.”

I screamed and shot up, swinging my legs off the bed.

Hey, look at that, I had feet again. I wiggled my toes. I realized I was wearing some really fancy pajamas. Silky. Comfortable as hell.

The door opened and the overheard light flickered on.

Amelia walked in. She looked toward the corner—the one behind me and said, “Get down from there.”

I followed her gaze and saw Frank bunched up at the top. “I forgot how much I hate sleeping on the ceiling.” He unfolded himself, hovered in the air, and floated past the bed. He landed next to Amelia.

“Okay, so good news, Ned,” said Amelia. “You’re … well, not alive, exactly.”

“You’re a vampire,” said Frank. “Turning you into the undead is the least we could do after you helped put Tiny back into its room.”

“I’m like you?” I stared at him. “With the fangs and the blood drinking and … and the no sunlight thing?”

“Yes.” Frank smiled. “We’ll get you suitable accommodations. This is my room, and I’m not sleeping on the ceiling again.”

“Yeah, and Gunther wants you to do your thing with the tongue and the broken monster leg,” added Amelia.

I sat on the bed and blinked at them. Okay, so I wasn’t a human anymore. And apparently I would have to get used to a new diet. How was I gonna work? What about my house? Why did Frank say I needed a room here? What the actual fuck?

“I think we broke him,” said Amelia, bending down to look into my eyes. “Don’t worry, Ned. Gunther will explain everything to you. You’ll get used to your new … er, life.”

“We should eat someone,” said Frank. “C’mon, newbie. Let me show you how it’s done.”

“I’m gonna eat a person?”

“Yes. Then you’re going to get to work. Welcome to the Winchester Hotel,” said Amelia.

Frank grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go.”

We walked out of the room, and the stench hit me like a Mack truck going 100 miles per hour. I looked to my right and saw the tongue. It was already decomposing and oozing green muck. The leg had been placed against the wall, like an abandoned broom.

“Well, shit.”

Amelia patted my arm. “Yeah. Sucks, doesn’t it? It’s a dirty job, Dead Ned.”

---

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