Day 2,614

The rhythmic thudding of the ancient dryers always used to make me feel so tired. Probably because my mom would leave me at the laundromat near our old apartment when she had a night shift at the bar next door. In her mind it was safer to keep me close by in a shop with CCTV than an apartment with a lock you could pick with a knife.

So my childhood memories are mostly the smell of detergents and the sound of the dryers - my lullaby.

It made me feel safe to be surrounded by warm clothes and soft scents until last week. I was there at 10pm as always to get a quick load of washing done before work the next day and apart from the owner's cousin at the desk there was only me and a few machines running other last minute loads.

I remember it was 10:30pm exactly when the air suddenly turned cold enough to see your breath and the world outside seemed to freeze. The guy behind the desk ducked down and whispered for me to hide, which I did without question. Luckily I've always been scrawny so I opened one of the broken dryers and curled up inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Whatever was happening, I still wanted to see it... definitely wishing I hadn't but hindsight's just like that. 

The first thing I heard after a couple of tense minutes waiting in the dark was the door opening and something wet shuffling towards the desk. I only caught a glimpse of it but it looked human at that point, human enough that I almost came out and carried on but the way the owner's cousin spoke stopped me.

His voice sounded tinny and far away, like there was a wall between us. He asked the new guy to please put his washing in a specific machine and said it was already paid for. Sur enough the guy turned and headed for it and god I wish he'd turned the other way so I hadn't seen the front of him.

He looked like he'd been cut clean in half and was only held together by his half-buttoned coat. His intestines were spilling out and trailing behind him and it was these that the guy wanted to wash apparently. Only found that out after he left of course, but at that moment I assumed he had a bag or something.

Turns out he comes three times a year to wash up, leaves behind a solid bar of gold and never says a word. The family's terrified of saying no and the gold keeps them afloat enough that they can afford to send their kids to good schools, good enough to let the shop go when they pass away.

As for me, I got an ounce of gold for my troubles and a story to tell.