Cleaning Day

Cleaning Day

bu Joe Prosit

Joe Prosit writes sci-fi, horror, and psycho fiction. His novels include Bad Brains, 99 Town, 7 Androids, Zero City, and most recently Look What You Made Me Do, a psychological slasher horror. He has published many short stories in various magazines and podcasts and compiled them in his short story collection title, Machines Monsters and Maniacs, all of which can be found at www.JoeProsit.com. If you’d like to find the man himself, he’s regularly on the road at cons and events all across the Midwest or lost deep in the Great North Woods. He lives with his wife, kids, and dog in northern Minnesota.

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Henry knew it was going to be the worst day of his life from the very moment he opened his eyes. There was a lack of buzz in his head, a lack of shine in his vision, a dullness of every sensation, a tiredness, a painfulness, an ache deep in his soul as if everything that mattered to him was missing, and as if everything around him didn’t matter. It was an unnatural and artificial but, nevertheless, authentic affliction. He grokked it all in an instant because every morning prior to this one had been the complete opposite. He was still in his pleasant private cabin, in his soft mattress buried under thick quilts, surrounded by soothing, hygge decor and pleasing sights and smells, but all of the joy and satisfaction and pleasure he’d felt for every single day prior to this one had been robbed from him. It had all been so petty and shallow and worthless in preventing what was to come to him. He understood why today would be the way it had to be, and he had a vague, fearful, idea of what was to come. Not knowing exactly what was coming, or how the day would be the worst day of his life, but being certain that it would be the worst day of his life, flooded him with dread. Which just propagated further terror.

Rolling over in his familiar bed, feeling completely unfamiliar with his situation, he saw his wife April was gone from her spot. A notecard pitched like a Boy Scout’s pup tent stood on his nightstand. It loomed like a death sentence nailed to a prison wall. Henry snatched it up, flipped past his name stamped in black ink on the front, and read the contents:

Henry,

Today is your cleaning day. What awaits you will be abject misery. For the next twenty-four hours, you will be subjected to the worst conditions possible for a human being to experience and remain alive. We offer you no consolation, no compassion, and no apologies. As diligent as we are to make every other day here paradise, we will take every measure to ensure today is your own personal living hell. You will endure every physical pain imaginable. You will know utter sorrow and grief. You will be shamed and scorned and rejected by everything and everyone that has ever granted you comfort. We will break your soul. The only solace we offer you is that come tomorrow morning, you will forget that any of this ever happened.

Without mercy,

The Spa Staff

“Oh, God no!” Henry moaned to himself. He didn’t remember ever feeling like this before. He had no tools with which to deal with the torment that lay ahead. He was completely unprepared. Completely defenseless. With eyes wide and heart racing and his naked body covered in cold sweat, he watched the door.

“It’s too soon!” he screamed. Even though he had no recollection of his last cleaning day, he knew, just knew, that he couldn’t be due for another. “You’ve made a mistake! You can’t do this do me! I don’t deserve–”

His pleas were cut short when his door broke inward. Four huge, aggressive men wearing masks and black coveralls stormed into his quiet bedroom. It was clear they had come to do him violence, and in all of his memories, he never recalled any other humans as fast and violent as these four men.

“No!” Henry yelled at them, scrambling to his feet on top of the mattress as if he had any idea how to defend himself. He was a cornered animal, and he’d do everything he could to stave off the oncoming tortures, even though he knew his doom was inevitable. Necessary even. He understood the why of what he was about to suffer, and that just made everything worse.

The four rough men in masks and ugly clothes seized him with their callus and incredibly strong hands. Henry tried to fight them off, tried to wrestle his limbs free, tried to hit and kick at them, but there was no use. No amount of begging or pleading would change their minds. No amount of hitting and biting would dissuade them. They ripped him out of his charming little bedroom and dragged him out to his fate.

#

Henry woke up to no alarm, with the sun already slipping through his curtain, and knew today was going to be another best day of his life. All of his senses were finely tuned. His bed was plush. The rich fragrances of pine and freshly-brewed coffee and of his wife’s body and soaps hung in the still air. Outside, the morning robins and thrushes twittered through his open window. A slightly brisk but nevertheless pleasant breath of cool air slipped into his bedroom along with their songs.

Beside him, April inhaled deeply, her first breath of what would no doubt also be another best day of her life. Over her shoulder, Henry saw their shared nightstand was empty. Not that he should suspect anything to be there, but its bare surface gave him reassurance, for reasons he didn’t understand. He touched her naked shoulder.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips brushing the mouse hair on her ear.

“Morning,” she whispered back.

“Coffee’s ready,” he told her.

Perhaps it was the auto brew that had woken both of them up at the same time. Or maybe the cool morning breeze. Or maybe the robins and the thrushes. Or perhaps a drip of serotonin from the neurotransmitter regulator The Spa had installed in him. Whatever it was, the timing was exquisite.

By merit of a life of discipline, hard work, financial prowess, wise investments, and with one final wise decision to push back from the roulette wheel while Lady Luck remained a lady, they found themselves here, at The Spa, where every day, save the rare Cleaning Day, was guaranteed to be blissful.

“Another day slaving in the coal mines,” he joked.

She half-laughed, half-smirked. “Okay. I’ll get up. But not until after you’ve made love to me.”

They were no spring chickens. His once black hair was now heavily salted, and the crows had marched their tracks next to April’s eyes a long time ago, but they loved each other all the same and remained very active together. His palm descended down her smooth skin, and their banter descended into laughter. When his fingers brushed over the surgical scar at her hip where her own neurotransmitter regulator resided under her skin, he thought nothing of it.

#

Brunch was served on the deck overlooking the lake. The sun hung in a cloudless sky and warmed the cool morning air just right. Two big cups of coffee steamed on the table in front of them. Henry took his coffee with a splash of creme de liqueur, not because he needed it, but just for fun. April took hers black because, she said, she liked the bitterness of the French roast. He ordered his eggs over easy. Hers, she asked to be poached. Bacon for him. Sausage for her. The staff here always cooked to order and cooked to perfection.

“Janet and her new wife Elanore will be joining us today,” April said after sipping her coffee.

“I like Elanore,” Henry admitted. She was a new arrival, freshly retired from a lucrative career in corporate law. “I think she’ll fit in with our group very nicely.”

“Oh, she is so funny,” April said. “And as cute as a button. Janet lucked out with her.”

When their plates were delivered to them, Henry noticed a red mark on the server’s wrist.

“Andrew, what happened to you?” Henry asked, concerned.

The server tugged on his sleeve to cover the mark. “ Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, sir.”

“It looks like teeth marks,” Henry said.

“It was a silly mistake on my part,” Andrew told him. “I assure you, I’ll take better care of myself in the future. Won’t let it happen again. Enjoy your meal and think nothing of it.”

So Henry did just that.

#

By noon, the full heat of the day was upon them, so they laid out in deck chairs in bikinis and trunks and soaked in the Vitamin D and serotonin. Not that they needed the extra dosage to carry them off into euphoria. Their embedded neurotransmitter regulators took care of that for them. As the ladies chattered and laughed, Henry pondered.

Life at The Spa was perfect. Every daily pleasure was granted to them on a whim. The only struggle was working the mind over on how it could possibly be better. He marveled at the good fortune of coming here to this place in history when existence could be so luxurious and carefree. It would have been impossible if not for Cleaning Days, he knew, or at least for the concept of Cleaning Days. It was the parity of pain and sorrow and torment that allowed the good days to be so great. Just as in finance, at the end of the day, the books had to be balanced. At least, that’s what the staff had told them.

“Where are David and Barb?” April asked, clearly trying to pull him into the conversation she, Janet, and Elanore were having.

Dave and Barb were old friends from their old lives, and if it wasn’t for Barb’s insider information, they may have never been able to retire as young as they were. And it was Dave who’d let them know of what The Spa had to offer and convinced them all to come here.

Henry shrugged, his mind still engaged in his musings. He did miss David’s companionship and male perspective and often uncouth humor, but he didn’t let that bother him. “Enjoying some time by themselves, I guess. It’s a gorgeous day out.”

“Time by themselves, huh?” April mumbled and sipped on her first mimosa of a day spent in a mellow haze of alcohol, sun, and good company.

“It doesn’t have to be a beautiful day,” Henry said, as much to himself as to the ladies. “We’ve enjoyed plenty of cloudy and rainy days, spent inside playing cards or games. Of cold winter days cuddled together before a fire or a good movie. This best day ever just happens to be sunny.”

“You don’t think they’re…” Elanore, Janet’s new bride, made a motion with her hands and a noise with her mouth going something like, “Eeh eer, eeh eer.”

Janet laughed. April did too, but added in mock exasperation, “You know, you two love birds, that’s not the only way a married couple can spend time together.”

“No! Not that,” Elanore explained. “I mean, do you think, you know, they’re…” She threw eyes side to side and continued conspiratorially, “Do you think they’re getting their floors mopped?”

“Elanore,” Janet gasped. “We’re not supposed to talk about–”

“They just had their… floors mopped…” Henry carried on with the euphemism. “…just last week. They were gone for the entire day.”

“Well, I heard they do friend groups all at once so that no one notices anyone else being gone,” April said. “I know they do couples together. I can’t remember a day since I arrived without my Henry by my side.”

“Guys, we’re really not supposed to be discussing…” Janet began, but silenced herself as a staff member with a tray full of Bloody Marys strolled along the beach toward another group of friends. When the server was well out of earshot, she finished in a whisper. “… our floors and when or how they get cleaned. Now. Let’s talk about something else. After all, every day here is a gift. We’d be ungrateful not to enjoy each moment.”

#

In the afternoon, they did yoga on the beach, working all their muscles until they were loose and limber and flooded with endorphins. The following aromatherapy, hot stone, and Swedish massages worked out any potential aches in their tissues. At three, they snuck into the sauna where the men and the women reclined in the nude, none of them ashamed or jealous or anything other than satisfied. Henry and April followed that with a retreat back to their private cabin for an adrenaline and dopamine-laced round of love-making, and then a good nap. By six, they met back up with Janet and Elanore on the boardwalk for a relaxed but invigorating stroll along the shore.

Dinner was fish and chips in the dining room of the main lodge. Walleye filets and French fries cut thick and drizzled with lemon juice and vinegar. Henry had discovered a new pilsner on the tap list and couldn’t decide which he enjoyed more, the food or the beer. April’s cheeks were a bit red from the sun, nothing a bit of afternoon lotioning couldn’t remedy, and it gave her a natural, healthy glow. Her rich brown eyes twinkled like freshly melted chocolate in the golden hour sunset.

#

After the sun buried itself below the waves of the lake and the pines and oaks of the opposite shore, the four of them gathered around a fire set up, lit, and stoked by the staff. They were all comfortably fatigued from the busy day and sipped cocktails to soothe anything that might ail them.

“Well, I suppose I’ll get to meet David and Barb tomorrow,” Elanore sighed.

Janet petted her sunkissed shoulder as if she could wash… clean?… away her spouse’s brief moment of melancholy. “And they’ll be all the happier to meet you.”

“I don’t think they were due yet,” Henry said, uncharacteristically contrarian even for himself. He finished off his first whiskey old fashion and plucked the cherry from its stem with his teeth. By the time the chunk of ice clunked against the rocks glass and the rocks glass clunked against the table, a server was at his side with another. Henry nodded to Andrew, the same server from that morning, and noticed again the mark on the man’s wrist. It had faded, the red softened into a pink, but it was a bite mark. Henry could see each individual tooth from, incisors to molars, embossed into Andrew’s skin.

The four of them waited for the waiter to be gone, before continuing. Henry dismissed the mark and signed it off for a life outside of the Spa, a life less fortunate, and resigned himself to be grateful for the blessed position they had all earned.

“Well, however often, it is necessary,” Janet said. “We’re all living proof of The Spa’s technique. Today, another miraculously, impossibly, wonderful day, is evidence of their genius.”

“Do you guys ever wonder…” Elanore began but had to pause to reorder her words just right. “Do you think that on our… our days off… Do you think that while we’re in the midst of being dusted and vacuumed, we regret coming here?”

“Never,” April said. “I’m smart enough to know, however harsh it may be, that each of those rare days grants me an eternity of days just like today.”

“I have a theory,” Henry spoke up. It had been something that had been stirring in his mind all day. “I’m not so sure Cleaning Days exist.”

“Henry, don’t say–” Janet began, but he cut her off because this was an important idea.

“None of us remember a single day being cleaned,” he stated plainly. “We have no scars from it, physical or emotional. There’s never been a morning I wake up not fully rejuvenated and ready for another day. If I’d spent the previous day as miserable as Cleaning Days are supposed to be, would I really wake up as happy as I did this morning? And every other morning for that matter?

“Maybe… Maybe all we really need is the idea of a Cleaning Day. One violin in an orchestra slightly out of tune. A single frame in an art gallery tilted off-kilter. A red wine stain left on a tablecloth to contrast with its whiteness. A picture of pain to remind us of our pleasure?”

“But the chemicals–” April started again.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Henry said. “The staff has told us all about how our body chemistry regulates our moods more so than events or surrounding, and how our receptors need to be depleted of serotonin and dopamine and norepinephrine and all that so we can fully enjoy days like today when we’re flooded with those feel-good chemicals… that there has to be a balance… but maybe all we really need is the ability to appreciate how fortunate we really are. We don’t need Cleaning Days. We just need to believe in Cleaning Days. Let me ask all of you one question. Do you dread your next Cleaning Day? After all, it could have happened just yesterday, and it could come again tomorrow as far as we know.”

One by one, they each admitted, nonverbally, that fear of the next Cleaning Day had never bothered them.

“Then there you have it,” Henry said. “It’s a game they play with us. But we’re smart and mature, emotionally mature, I mean. We’ve learned to take the benefits of the idea of Cleaning Days, of the contrast between good and bad, between heaven and hell, without worrying ourselves over when our penance might actually come due. I think, none of us truly believe in Cleaning Days, but we’re smart enough not to admit we don’t believe in Cleaning Days, lest they lose their potency. Like kids too old to believe in Santa who go along with the charade in order to keep getting presents. And so, we go about the rest of our days, one after another, never missing a beat, living each day in paradise.”

The ladies let that idea hang in the evening air for a bit. All were satisfied, as far as Henry could tell, with his hypothesis.

Eventually, Elanore spoke up. “So, just where were David and Barb all day today?”

Henry smirked. “Janet, it sounds like you have a lot to teach your new blushing bride.”

They all laughed at that. And the drinks continued to flow, and the laughs came easy, and there was no more discussion of being cleaned.

#

When Henry woke up the next morning, he experienced the first hangover he could remember in years. There was a staleness to the air, a stink in his mouth, a whole-body ache stretching down to his toes, and a whirlpool of acid in his stomach. He was in his comfortable bed, but nothing felt comfortable. And, what was worse yet, April was gone.

There was a card on their usually empty nightstand. His name was printed in stark, unartistic font on the front. He thought about reaching for it, but he already understood what it meant. He’d arrived at his Cleaning Day, and it was very real.

The bedroom door exploded inward under the full force of a heavy black boot. Four large and angry men stormed in, faster and more purposeful of deeds than Henry could recall ever seeing before. Their hands reached for him, grabbed him, pulled, and yanked at him before he could object or crawl away. Their tight fingers dug into his skin and tore at his muscles.

“No! Please!” Henry begged as they pulled him out of his comfortable bed. That was when he spotted the bite mark on the wrist of one of the masked men. “Andrew! You know me! You served me drinks! Andrew!”

As if breaking an untold rule, his naming of one of his assaulters, his words were answered by a punch to the face. His brain smacked against his skull, and just when he thought he couldn’t know more pain, he was struck again.

The day was going to be full of the most unpleasant of surprises, but the worst realization came to him as he struggled and fought and finally went to sink his teeth into one of the men’s arms. Those were his teeth marks on Andrew’s wrist, fresh just yesterday morning. He’d done that just two days ago. His Cleaning Day was just two days ago. And his next, most likely two days later. Every other day spent in awful torment, for the rest of his life.

“No! Let me go!” he screamed at them. “I want out! I’m done! I quit! Let me go!”

But of course, they wouldn’t listen. Of course, the Staff had heard every beg and plea and promise and attempt at compromise. But they were professionals, and they knew how to clean better than anyone.