[ WP ] Slowly start to realize that you have a roommate .

The first time I met Chuck, he was sitting in front of the television playing Super Smash Brothers with my lucky orange controller. 
 
 `` Who are you,'' I asked, `` and how did you get into my apartment?'' 
 
 Chuck looked fundamentally stumped. 
 
 `` Uh,'' he said, `` I'm Chuck, and I live here?'' 
 
 `` No you do n't. This is my apartment. This is a -- it's a one bedroom apartment, man! You expect me to believe you've been sleeping under my bed for the past two years? Get out!'' 
 
 When he gaped I could see the dangly thing in the back of his throat. 
 
 `` My -- my name's on the lease, man,'' said Chuck. 
 
 `` And my name's on the Magna Carta,'' I spat, yanking the chair out from under him. `` Get the fuck out, man! I could call the police for this!'' 
 
 He rolled up in a ball on the floor, lower lip quivering lugubriously, rocking back and forth with his arms around his legs. 
 
 I threw up my hands and went to get the landlord. 
 
 `` So you're saying, hmmm,'' said the landlord, whose name was Dave, and whose particular verbal tick was to speak with his lips very close together to hide his horribly crooked teeth, `` that there's another person, hmmm, in your apartment?'' 
 
 `` Honest to God, Dave. He's got one of those mental disorders they put you in the looney bin for. Narcolepsy, or whatever. Will you come take a look with me? He seems harmless enough. But I want him out of the apartment.'' 
 
 `` Does n't it seem like a task for the local constabulary, hmm?'' 
 
 I scratched my neck. Calling the cops was out of the question, considering the weed farm in my bathtub. I'd convinced Dave, who was no more familiar with marijuana than he was with the breeding patterns of the Norwegian Spacklethrush, that the farm was a science experiment. I was a hobby botanist, I told him. 
 
 `` Nah, man -- I do n't want to call the cops on him, I just want to clear him out, you know? Come on, Dave! Do me a solid here!'' 
 
 He came along at last, but by the time we reached my apartment, Chuck was gone, leaving no sign that he'd ever been there. Even my lucky orange controller was wrapped up in its cord the way I'd left it. 
 
 `` I'm sure he'll stay away,'' said Dave, patting my shoulder before he left. I resolved to make sure I always locked the door and tried to put the whole incident behind me. 
 
 For a couple weeks it was smooth sailing. Then I flicked off the lights one night and slid under the covers to discover Chuck already in there, snoring, a dribble of spittle attaching his mouth to my PILLOW! 
 
 I leapt back out of bed, tore the blankets away, ran over and turned on the light, ran back and snatched my pillow out from under his blocky head, ran into the kitchen to grab a knife, then ran back to stand in the doorway, dizzy from all the cardiovascular exertion. 
 
 `` WHAT THE FUCK,'' I screamed, brandishing the knife in one hand and the spittle-dampened pillow in the other, `` ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?'' 
 
 Chuck stared at me, horrified, his mouth a gradually widening crescent. 
 
 A noise began to escape his throat -- an `` eeeee'' sound like a leaky bagpipe being played several miles away -- that gradually broadened into a full-bodied sob. 
 
 `` EEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeEEEEEEEeeee,'' he wailed, clutching himself into a ball again. 
 
 I ran to the kitchen and fumbled with my phone. 
 
 `` DAVE,'' I said. `` HE'S BACK, DAVE! HE'S IN MY BED! DAVE!'' 
 
 When Dave arrived, the sobs had abated. I stood in the kitchen, gripping and re-gripping the knife. 
 
 `` What's this about, hmm?'' asked Dave, perturbed. `` I was fast asleep, you know.'' 
 
 `` I know, I know, but look, LOOK just COME, COME HERE --'' I put the knife down on the counter top and dragged him to the bedroom. 
 
 We stood in the doorway looking at Chuck balled up on the bed. 
 
 `` Well?'' I said. Dave appeared to be speechless. 
 
 `` I do n't get it,'' said Dave after a moment. `` You pulled the sheets off your bed?'' 
 
 I looked at Dave. I looked at Chuck. I looked back at Dave. 
 
 `` What?'' I squawked. 
 
 Dave turned to me, compassion in his big brown eyes. 
 
 `` Are you alright?'' he asked, softly. `` Is there something going on that you'd like to talk about? Because, hmmm, I am here to listen.'' 
 
 I was about to snap a curt reply when I became aware of a noise I had n't heard before. 
 
 Chuck... was laughing. A deep, slow sound, the voice suddenly several octaves lower. 
 
 He was no longer curled up in a ball. Now he sat on the edge of the bed, head tilted downward, eyes lasered in on me beneath craggy brows as if Dave were n't in the room at all. 
 
 `` Surprise,'' rumbled Chuck, and shook with chthonic laughter. 
 

