demon.Part 2 Tidy

I admit. I am not the tidiest around the house, and I think if it wasn't for my wife's constant...reminding, my home might approach something like what is in this story lol.

Seriously though. This is not an idea of mine. I read about it somewhere as a throwaway comment by another writer. It went in the machine and kind of processed, mingled with some other ideas I had, then came out as this. The idea may not have come from me, but I think I have worked it enough to at least claim most of the blame.

Alan had to follow his ears to find the ringing phone, which he did, eventually, after shifting a mountain of papers; rubbish and manuscript. It surprised him that whoever it was had the patience to stay on the line long enough for him to answer, though he supposed if the person wanted to get hold of him badly enough they wouldn't give up easily.

His objective was finally reached after about five full minits of rummaging and half hearted tidying. He could actually see the floor now, his frantic efforts bringing some sense of order to the mess. He supposed he really should get an answering machine.
'Hello?'
A scream of feedback noise tore from the speaker into alans head. He reacted instinctively, throwing the source of the noise clean across the room where it bounced off a wall and landed out of sight in an overflowing bin. Shock buckled his legs and he want down. Fortuanatley an overstuffed chair was under him, unfortunately so was something else. It cracked as he landed, the sound unheard over the ringing in his ears, but he felt it give under him. Alan didn't know what it was, grateful for that mercy at least.
After managing to put his head together he got up from his slouch, a name an ex girlfriend had given the the seat, not his posture, to retrieve the handset from wherever it had landed. This was getting beyond a joke. Alan knew that he really should clean up this place and keep it tidy, the problem though wasn't in the first part of that idea. He could clean like a demon when the mood possessed him. The problem was in keeping things the way they were. He was so busy right now with his day job and his new novel that he just never had the time to keep up with things. Add to this his eye condition and it was no wonder that things slipped when they did. What he needed was someone to help him. A maid. He would gut out the place to begin with, the hired help not having to deal with the worst of it. The fact that it was getting a regular going over would be good enough for him, just as long as he remembered that there was another person with access to his flat. That was one hurdle he would have to overcome.
So it was settled then He would get rid of the mess and start looking for hired help. Alan had an idea that a friend of his mom did this kind of thing to earn a bit of extra money. Might be an idea to check that one out. That and an internet search would get things rolling.
He yawned.
Not today though. he could start all that tomorrow. All this excersise had tired him out. he had cleared half the room and still hadn't found the phone. Well to hell with it. Peace and quiet from the outside world would be good for a while until he got his ideas sorted out. Whoever had phoned him could fucking wait.
Alan pushed a pile of papers back into a drawer, fully intending to get back to it first thing, and got to his feet, grabbing a fur lined coffee cup as he did; its final destination the window sill in the kitchen. The only item in that room that seemed to be out of place in this, if not clean, then presentable area of the flat.
It was two days before Alan could get around to settling things. The work had called him in (on his mobile) to cover for a sick worker, which he did grudgingly, getting home that night too tired to even attempt any writing, never mind anything else. He fell strait into bed, not hearing the swish of cloth as he trudged through the littler of clothes on his bedroom floor, or feeling it when he banged his head off the bed post.
He noticed it next day though. In his usual morning routine the colourful bruise stood out against pale skin across his forehead. A tender patch of skin that would never heal completely. Alan was sure there had to be a dent under there some where. Prodding confirmed this, nearly blinding him with pain in the process.
Injured or not he had a busy day ahead of him.
Rinsing his face Alan got under way. First he would finish what he had started two days ago, then he would sort out the other matter.
Flat then mom's, in that order.
It took him a while to get started, but once he had set his mind then everything was done quicker than he had anticipated. An added bonus was his mother deciding to visit him that day, so he had a bit of help and didn't have to go out. Alan asked her about the possibility of her friend helping him out over a cup of coffee in the now pristine kitchen. His mum wasn't sure, she would ask her friend if it was possible. Alan, a bit put out by this nevertheless thanked her. She mentioned that if it wasn't possible then she could ask around to see if anyone else was interested. He thanked her and let her know it was not necessary. He had a good idea of where to look.
Before she left she extracted from him a promise to visit soon. Despite misgivings about the likely hood of this he agreed cheerfully and waved her goodbye. She left his flat around eight that evening for the last time. Speaking to him only once after that, to let him know that her friend was no longer taking on any new clients.
So it was plan B then.



Contrary to what was expected his computer was actually well kept and clean. Alan ran maintenance scans every few days, and had upgraded his connection to the best he could afford. So the only reason that things were running as slow as they were was the amount of traffic on the site. Right enough it was prime time for usage, and it was a popular search engine he was using, so it should not really surprise him.
Alan decided to try another search engine. He typed in an address he had read in a computer magazine; that was currently residing under his bed amongst unspeakable crimes against hygiene, The resulting page announcing that he was now in the site called PILE, as in COMpile. It asked him to type his query into the box provided, which he did; changing it a few times until it looked about right, then pressed the looking glass icon to start the program. It seemed to do nothing for a while before the icon scaled up, revealing a list of results, the first four of which were sponsored links, which the always are, the rest giving him answers that started off reasonable, then descended into the ridiculous as he scrolled down, coming to the BACK TO TOP link which he chose. The sponsored links seemed his best bet, with one even being local. Apparently the company was a collection of diverse business interests that ranged from independent grocers to lawyer firms, cleaning services at the grocer end of the scale. All IBF (independent Business Federation) approved.
The website was simple enough to use, more or less being a description of who they were, where they were, what they provided and how to contact them.
Alan keyed the contact number directly into his mobile; the house phone still AWOL (for evermore amen) The other end answering on the second ring. He introduced himself and asked if he could speak to someone about the possibility of using their services. The voice on the other end (The person sounded like they hadn't gotten much sleep lately) informed him that he was speaking to the boss, and that it would be no problem at all to hire one of their staff. The two of them then discussed terms (the first job a sort of trial, 'try before you buy' sort of thing) and hours that would be most convenient for him, this being first thing in the morning. Alan was told that this was no problem and when would he like the job to start. Alan said he would like the work to start the next day and the final arrangements were made. Tomorrow his flat would be the cleanest it had ever been since he had moved in.
Satisfied with his lot, Alan cut off the call.



His new housemaid arrived next morning at eight am sharp. For him this was a good time; halfway between waking up and starting work, so 'on time' was perfect. They had a brief conversation before she actually started. Her first point of business, the breakfast dishes. Alan had not asked for this, so he was glad she took the initiative. He thanked her, pulling on his coat for work, before leaving, sure that he had made the right decision.



The hired help carried on, kitchen sparkling clean in ten minits, the bathroom fresh and bleach smelling in half an hour. Bags of rubbish from both rooms lay at the front door, ready to be taken down to the bin shed later when he got home (at his insistence) while she continued on with her work in the living room.
He was on over time that day, finally getting home at around half past eleven, exhausted. One of the bags that had been left at the door fell over as he entered, the knot breaking open and the contents spilling out across the floor. Normally he would have dealt with this right away, but as tonight had been too long he left it for the morning. At least he had the day off tomorrow, the whole twenty-four hours all to himself, so it would not be any kind of inconvenience to deal with this small mess.
Apart from this the maid had done a wonderful job. Every room in his flat, including the unmentionable living room was as neat as a pin. Everywhere polished almost to the point of obsession; not a mark was left. Even the old cup rings were gone from the sideboard, the marks from the walls and the dried in paint from the carpet where he had had an accident while decorating. If this was the quality of service that the company gave, then it was no wonder the man he had spoke to seemed tired. They must be busy constantly.
Alan smiled, breathed in the aromas deeply into his chest and exhaled slowly. Now he realised what his mother had been about. Cleaning was certainly its own reward. He might even start cleaning the flat himself.
Satisfied, he decided that a little treat was in order. Alan was still tired from his long day. But his mood had lightened considerably, some of the weariness lifting with it. A clean flat, good mood and day off lead him strait to the fridge for a drink.
This too, he discovered had also been attended too. All his leftovers had been sorted into grades, the ones he had had the longest no longer in residence. It rankled him slightly. Just a small insignificant thing, not really worth the bother.
Alan fetched a beer and, on heel turned from the fridge interior, kicking the door shut behind him, causing something to fall over and smash, pouring its contents all through the fridge as he left the kitchen. The beer had not been particularly strong, though he had underestimated how tired he had been, falling asleep in the chair, the glass bottle slipping from his hand and rolling under the table trailing thin suds after it unnoticed. Hours later he would wake up with a heavy hangover and go into his room to discover that his bed was made and his things were all neat and tidy; shin banging his night table as he fell into bed for another few hours, knocking his lamp from it into the bin, alarm clock going the other way to jam in between the table and bed. In his fevered dreams where an army of identical cleaning maids attacked him with their dusters his covers would be thrown off in a ball and his clothes would part from his body to the far flung reaches of the room. He would wake up, still half asleep, go into the toilet and urinate mostly in the right direction. Slip on a wet patch and grab on to a shelf to stop himself from falling over, the contents of that shelf not so lucky. The rest of the day would go without event until he awoke again at nine o'clock in the evening to find his flat clean as a whistle. Bags and all gone from the hall. This did not strike him as odd at all until he saw the folded sheet of paper on the living room table.

It read

Dear Client,

As owner and proprietor of your cleaning service I hope you have found this probationary period to your satisfaction. If you have not first let me apologise for any dissatisfaction you may have and cancel your request without any due charge to yourself.

However, If you are happy and satisfied with our work then please phone the number below and let us know that you wish to go ahead with the contract. At this point I am obliged to remind you that this is of your own free will, and, as stated before you may decline our offer with no penalty. Looking forward to hearing from you Alan.'

S