My New Roommate

I went back to school to move in and meet my new roommate. She didn't want to give me her address during the summer, so I didn't know if she had, say, a popcorn popper. Could be worse, though.

The room was a lot bigger than the last one. Darker, too. Actually kind of hard to see. Maybe a little too dark. I do like it dark, though. Turned out that my new roommate, whose name was Gar, had brought special curtains.

I don't think she was human, really. It was pretty cool. She was about seven feet tall, bald, with pointy ears and weird eyes. Her eyes looked those novelty specs made of kitchen strainers. She had a strange way of swaying as she stood or walked, as though her bones were flexible. I think her skin had a bluish cast, although I never saw her under good light.

Anyway, we got along okay. We were both kind of nervous. I'm entirely too nice, as I learned last year with my horrible roommate Weinman, so I made a good impression. She seemed friendly, but shy. She had her own computer and other important stuff, but I did, in fact, have the only popcorn popper and electric kettle. Gar did have a TV and VCR, as did I. We decided to use hers, because it was a lot nicer. She had one of those flat-screen TVs and a VCR that hung over the upper window ledge. Both were made out of shiny metal. The controls didn't have the standard electronics glyphs -- two vertical lines for pause, one right-pointing triangle for play, two triangles for fast forward -- but I didn't feel like it would be a problem to remember. The electronics glowed with a cool blue light, not the garish green and red LEDs I was used to.

We both unpacked and synchronized schedules. Hers was pretty good for me -- she didn't have early morning classes or late night classes, and she'd be out a lot of the time that I was there.

The room really looked eerie once everything was unpacked. Total blackness, lit only by computer screens, TV and my lava lamp. I would try to turn on my reading lamp, but Gar would wince and look at me, so I'd turn it off. She said she didn't mind Xmas lights, though, so I was going to get some. I don't care for Xmas light dorm décor, normally. Too clichéd. This situation seemed to require it, though. Adjust.

I was goofing around on Usenet and reveling in returning to an Ethernet connection, when I noticed the strange, mewling cries from under my new roommate's bed. I ignored them for an hour or so, but finally had to ask Gar about it. She grinned broadly and brought out a large rectangular metal pan, full of unearthly slime and nameless tiny shapes, glibbering and meeping and writhing in the evil goo. Listening closely, I could tell they were screaming with all their might in the grip of a viscous hell.

Also it was eldritch.

I looked closer, but couldn't see much in the darkness. Gar handed me a magnifying glass and a penlight. She seemed really proud of the box of slime.

At higher magnification and with illumination, the little shapes were miniature Chris Elliotts. They were wearing horizontal striped Chris Peterson shirts and wailing, but when they saw the light, they quieted down. Each was about the height of a CD case, I guess. Measuring, that's 4¾ inches or 12.2 centimeters. There were five or so. They were covered in goo from the waist or chest down, but had none of the sticky black slime on their upper halves. It was as if the slime tried to stay together as one being, and so was careful not to leave any of itself apart from the rest of the group.

They looked at me hopefully, as though I might save them. Then Gar brought out a small bottle with an eyedropper, both full of glowing liquid. She expertly applied the dropper to one of the Chris Elliotts' heads. That Chris started shrieking, worse than it had been before, and the rest all cowered in their little holes of filth.

"They REALLY hate that!" said Gar.
"Boy, do they," I agreed.