Mrs. Petticoat

A Story by DownTheDrain

The best things in life are free.

The thought rang through Jeff's head on a constant basis. Even while he wasn't doing his work- it was always with him. Not much of work, i suppose. Work if you count petty shoplifting as labor. But work to Jefferey Samson, nonetheless.

Jeff was an adrenaline junkie. Sure, he was a junkie to just about everything else at one time or another. But he never quite got the satisfaction from shooting old morphine as he got from lifting a pair of designer jeans. It was his self-proclaimed livelihood. It was his calling. It was his gift.

And what makes it any less a gift than a gift that doesn't twist the long arm of the law? Perhaps not deemed valid by a big-nosed pencil pusher or court of legality, but, oh, it's a gift. A gift which, to him, was the difference between living in the comfort of a swanky one-bedroom, one-bathroom duplex, or living in the butt-f**k sewer. In the scope of protecting your a*s, that's a pretty sizable gift.

But what possible benefit can be gotten by swiping store merchandise? You don't get money just by stealing. What good does it all do? See, it's really quite simple. Jeff had this neighbor: Mrs. Petticoat. He didn't know why she went by "Mrs." given that she lived alone. Nor was he quite sure if Petticoat was her real name, but he supposed it didn't make much of a difference. Mrs. Petticoat was an elderly woman with graying hair and a kind disposition. Kind, though a tad forgetful. She did have the propensity to forget. She had dimentia, to put it bluntly.

Now, now, now. I know what you must be thinking. He didn't do anything terrible to this poor old woman. He didn't commit any unspeakable acts. He just took advantage of her confused nature and rather large retirement account to sell her hot goods, is all. A table setting here, a lamp there, a crock-pot here, a big-screen tv there and boom. Jeff's got himself a few hundred thousand bucks. I mean, what difference did it make to her anyway? It's not like she was gonna miss any of that money. And a good amount of the interaction she got with people was probably owed to good, old Jeff. He didn't imagine many people visited her. The only person she ever talked about, anyhow, was her husband Gerald Ford. And I doubt he visited often.

Jeff had first met this woman a few years prior, when he moved into the duplex. She hadn't declined quite so far to the point where she thought she was betrothed to Jerry Ford- but she was well on her way. He first cooked up the scheme in the unemployment office. It really wasn't all that complex.

Step 1) Steal

Step 2) Sell

...

It was just that easy.

And so it was. The plan ran smoothly for a good amount of time. Jeff made his mark all over the tri-county area. Sears was befuddled. Target was perplexed. Wal-Mart was downright stupefied. Nobody knew what hit 'em. And Jeff didn't even have any special plans for hitting stores. It was lady luck what granted him the grace of escaping each retailer undetected. Oh, sure. More elaborate plans were required to obtain, say, a barbecue. But I won't bore you with the details.

So, Jeff had a pretty good deal going. He stole. He sold. Life was grand.

He was smart about it, too. He never filched the old lady enough to the point where Social Security Headquarters in Kalamazoo would notice the Widow Petticoat was losing all her dough and not making any registered purchases. He was cautious. He had it all figured out.

But there was one thought that woke Jeff in the dead middle of the night, and that thought was the precarious nature of his gig. The old b***h next door could kick the bucket any minute and leave him with nothing. No source of income. Who was she? Just who exactly does she think she is? She had no right. Offer him this alternative to the life of a working stiff, then go belly-up in the middle of it all? No, sir. That was not happening. Not on Jeff's watch.

He could ignore this sad truth for a while, but not forever. Not while the w***e's eventual ghost loomed over him like a storm cloud on an otherwise gorgeous day. He needed a plan. And he needed it quickly. He needed it before his worries came to fruition. He needed to think. He needed to figure. He needed...he needed to alter her will...he...THE WILL!

Oh God, yes! Why the f**k hadn't he thought of this sooner? What the f**k was wrong with him!? The will! The will! The motherucking will! Jesus Christ, imagine it! He wouldn't have to feel guilty about essentially robbing a senile old bat anymore! The money would just be his. Nobody else's. His. I mean, he wouldn't even have to steal for money anymore! Sure, he'd still do it at his leisure. But no longer to keep a living. It'd be great!

And within a few minutes of devising the devious plot, Jeff had a whole plan already figured out. It went as such:

Step 1) Break into the old c**t's section of the house

Step 2) Doctor the old c**t's will

Step 3) Report back to headquarters for a cocktail

The last step was negotiable, but he thought it had a nice ring to it, so he kept it.

Jeff giggled gleefully at the completion of his planning. He resolved to have the cocktail right then and there. Why wait? Though he did think it would be smart to wait a few days before doing all this, if for no other reason than to let the complexities of his plan sink in. But the waiting didn't sit right with him. He couldn't stop the nagging. There was a constant negging in his head telling him to move on it as quickly as possible.

What if she dies tomorrow?

Or tonight?

What then?

You're up s**t creek without a paddle, that's what...

And Jeff knew it, too. The thoughts really started to get to him. He started to think that maybe he should go tonight. Maybe he should. No... He definitely should. He no longer thought he should. He knew he should. He was as sure of it as he'd ever been of anything in his entire life. It was all so simple, laid out right there in front of him.

Go tonight.

It's the best thing to do.

Go tonight.

It'll be alright.

Jeff hated when his thoughts spoke in rhymes. It was really irritating.

But he followed them, nervertheless. He would go to her place tonight. And he would change that damned will. He'd do it as if his life depended on it. Because, in a shitload of ways: it did.

Jeff gathered his supplies: a letter opener, a pen, a pencil, an eraser, white-out, a small lock pick, and a 13-inch buck knife. He wasn't sure why he brought the knife. But it looked cool. So, what the hell.

He walked down the hall which led to the short staircase. The staircase led downstairs and outside, through a door. Upon exiting the door, to the immediate left, was another door. This was the door to Mrs. Petticoat's portion of the house. Jeff proceded to walk down the stairs. He felt a bit guilty. In fact, he knew he was doing something inherently wrong. The thing is: he didn't care. he hadn't really experienced this feeling since the first few times he scammed Petticoat. It was really an odd sensation. He knew he was doing bad, and didn't care, which in turn made him feel worse. It was an extremely odd mix of emotions.

As he exited his door he felt a stabbing on his right thigh. It was the pencil. He had sharpened it a little too much and it had gone right through his pocket and was scratching against a mass of hair on his leg. He shook about and the pain stopped. Upon completion of the shaking, he looked into a tree adjacent the door. There was an owl perched on a low branch. It twisted it's head around three or four times in a disgusting fashion. Jeff hated nature.

He approached the door and turned the handle. The door was open. He couldn't believe it, yet he could. The door was open. She was crazy, after all. He went inside. The house smelled of shoe polish and death- Same as it always smelled.

Jeff took slow steps about the living quarters, taking care not to disturb the crone. He hadn't visited the woman in what had been a while, and she'd really let the place go to hell. There were discarded newspapers in large stacks on the kitchen table, greasy chicken bones on the television and what Jeff hoped was an old potato on the sofa. It was really revolting. He tiptoed around for a period of about an hour before he gathered the courage to go upstairs. He was afraid. He really was.

But what was there to be afraid of? Some forgetful old b***h in her nighty? Ha! Grow up, old boy.

Jeff realized how foolish all this was and began to walk upstairs. His fear made a conscpicuous but he was quick to strike it back down. He triumphantly marched up the steps. He was gonna get that will. He was gonna get it good. He was gonna pull it right outta the...outta the...wait a minute...where the f**k was it!? In all the comotion and the calamity and the cocktails, Jeff didn't stop one damn minute to think about where the f**k the will was! He had no idea.

It was okay, though. It was okay. The place was small. How many locations could it possibly be? It'd be alright. He just needed to start looking.

And he looked.

And looked...

Through the closets, in the cupboards, under the furniture, in the crawlspace. Every single place any logical being could conceivably hide their living will... But that was just the thing: this woman wasn't logical. She could've eaten it that morning for breakfast with a cup of Tang and he wouldn't be any the wiser.

No, no, no, come on. It had to be there. It was somewhere. She had to have one. She wouldn't put it in a bank. Think.....Think....Think...Think..Think.ThinkThinkThink....

F**k it. You know what? He'd had it. You know what he'd do? He'd ask the b***h. Get it straight from the donkey's mouth. What was she gonna do? Call the cops? Not in your wildest dreams. She could hardly operate her bodily functions, let alone a telephone. He didn't know why he hadn't just asked to begin with.

Jeff approached the bedroom. Despite the fool-proof nature of the plan, he had his doubts, though he was quick to cast them out. He'd just ask. And she'd just tell. Nothing more.

He creaked open the door, expecting to be welcomed by the calming lull of violent snoring... He wasn't. He heard nothing. Not a peep. He opened the door wider in order to cast a good amount of light on the bed. There was a large mass under the blankets. The mass was most likely a body, he surmised. He began to walk toward the bed. He started:

"Oh, Mrs. Petticoat...It's me, Jefferey. You know, I was just curious. Would you happen to be able to tell me the exact location of your last will and testament? Funny story, you see. Well I was in my bedroom earlier today and I got the funniest feeling. I was just thinking of you and got rather worried. I w-..."

"SHOVE IT, B***H!!!"

Jeff was struck from behind by a cast-iron pot. And everything went black.

Jeff was floating.

Jeff was falling.

Jeff woke up.

Jeff was tied to a chair in a dimly lit room being closely watched over by the newly coherent Mrs. Petticoat. She seemed all better now...

"So you thought you could just make off with everything I ever worked for, eh? My posessions? My money? My life?" Petticoat questioned.

Jeff was as confused as he was in pain. His head hurt so bad he could hardly make out what she had said. He winced at her as a tear fell from his eye. Blood was slowly dripping down the nape of his neck.

"What?"

"You know damn well what I said, you b*****d!" She was furious. "You come into my house, unsolicited, and you have the nerve to ask me where my will is? My will?"

That old b***h. That decietful old b***h. It was all a goddamned show. She was as as nutty as a nut-free assortment of valentine's day chocolates! Had she really been playing dumb all these years? It certainly seemed so.

"Well? What've you got to say?"

"What in the hell is going on here?" Jeff legitimately had no idea. He was totally out of ideas of what to do. But what would she do with him? Had years of pretending to be senile really led to this? Having him tied to a chair at her mercy? Psycho b***h.

"What do you want from me?" Jeff asked. He had a feeling that whatever this was leading to, it wasn't good.

"What do I want? What do I want?" she inquired.

"Yeah! wudda you want from me!?"

She backed up a few steps and gripped a knife on the table. It was Jeff's knife. The buck knife he'd brought with him. The crazy old w***e searched him. She was coming at him with the knife

"What do I want?" she repeated

Jeff was scared out of his mind. He would've s**t his pants but luckily he'd evacuated his bowles prior to coming over.

"I'll tell you what I want!"

This was the end. She knew it. Jeff knew it. Even that stupid-a*s owl with the twisty head in the tree outside knew it. It was all over. Curtains on Jeff.

...

"All I wanted to ask is...Would you mind giving this knife to my husband Jerry? He's only just left for the capitol and he can't possibly go without his knife."

...

What...the...f**k...

...

"Once he notices he's forgotten it, he'd be devastated! Just devastated! So would you do this for me? Please, son?"

Jeff just stared. He stared at Petticoat. Then at the knife she was brandishing. Then at her, again. He was emotionless at this point. It was like accepting your fate, then being told it was all a joke. It wasn't really like that. It was that. Jeff gave up. He went along with the charade.

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Oh, God bless your heart, son. Jerry will be so thankful! I really can't thank you enough!"

She dropped the knife on his lap.

"N-No. It's really no trouble at all...Honestly. Don't worry about it."

"Well, thanks again. And don't hesitate to stop by again, sweetheart."

Jeff just stared up at her, then down again. He was still tied to the chair.

"Uhhhh..." he hinted.

"Oh, my word!" she laughed "Where are my manners?"

She picked the knife up from his lap and slowly cut him free. He got up and quickly streched his arms. He felt okay enough. He gazed at her with a distraught look on his face. She just smiled back. It was as creepy as creepy gets.

"Stop by any time."

Jeff gave a fake smile and quickly walked out the door. He stopped. He poked his head back in for a moment.

"Now...you say Jerry. That is Gerald Ford, correct?"

"Oh, of course, son!" she laughed fakely.

Jeff added a fake laugh in return. "Just making sure"

She smiled and Jeff left. He walked back to his half of the building and sat downin the living quarters. You'd think he would be relieved to be out of the whole situation, but he really wasn't. He didn't quite know how to feel. He just felt odd. Utterly, utterly odd.

He sat...

And he thought...

He sat and he thought.

...

Suddenly the life of a working stiff didn't seem so bad.

FIN.