The Cleaner

I heard word of The Cleaner early during my freshman year. The upperclassmen spoke of him as though he was a god. Personally, I didn’t think he existed. There’s no way some guy goes around at the end of a party saving all the wounded soldiers. No chance in hell.

At least that’s what I used to believe. Then late during my sophomore year, it happened. I came face to face with The Cleaner.

It had been an over the top party. Tables flipped, bottles smashed, floor soaked. The place smelled like rotten yeast and vomit. Two hours before there had been 50 people in this living room, now, there was just me falling asleep on the couch while the stoners giggled in the corner.

I have no idea what time it was when I heard the crash. Whatever the commotion was it woke me from my drunken haze. Noises from the kitchen, cans being kicked around, bottles rolling across the table. Who in the hell showed up to a party that was already over?

The clinking of bottles stopped, replaced by the drunken shuffle of a man only mildly connected to reality. The shuffle grew louder as he meandered down the hall towards the living room. I froze, daring not to interrupt.

He turned the corner. I took in all that was the The Cleaner. Backwards flat brimmed hat, polo shirt—collar popped, cargo shorts stained with dip spit, beer, and some sort of red liquid. Blood? Maybe. More likely the jungle juice they had been serving next door.

I watched from the corner of my eye, pretending to sleep. He wobbled over to the coffee table all the while staring at the pile of cans. Slowly, one by one, he picked them up and poured the contents into his mouth. Swill left at the bottom of a can, emptied. Half drank Natural Light, crushed. Quarter full can filled with cigarette butts, devoured. Every wounded soldier he picked up was given the proper sendoff it deserved. There was no man left behind, no matter the state it was in.

I watched him for the next five minutes moving from table to table. Cans, solo cups, bottles, all were fair game to him no matter the contents. After finishing every last drop in the room he spun around and surveyed the scene. He let out an audible burp that seemed to last forever. With a glint in his eye, and a grin of satisfaction on his face, he stumbled out the back door.

I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep. The most glorious sleep I had had in weeks. I had seen a master at work, and all felt right with the world.

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Thanks so much for reading everyone, this was my entry into the Urban Legend Flash Fiction contest hosted by @jrhughes and @horrorguyian. You can see the other entries into the contest here. Hope you all enjoyed!

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