The Laundromat at the Edge of the Universe

By A. P. Hubbard

When a meteorite blasts thirteen-year-old Jasper Snert's house into a million smithereens, his parents tell him it's time to get a job. They didn't have meteorite insurance. They need money for a new house. The only job Jasper can find is cleaning up around the old laundromat out on Highway 51. The laundromat is a strange, lonely place. When the weird, old washing machine repairman explains that he's actually the immortal sorcerer Ozmodis, who helped the Pharaohs build the Pyramids, it gets even stranger—especially when it turns out to be true. . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483572772

Book preview

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Chapter 1

The Meteorite

—I—

THE METEORITE THAT DESTROYED JASPER SNERT’S HOUSE struck at exactly 8:32 p.m. on Saturday, June 18—the night of the infamous, once-a-year Wing Ding at the Gut Bucket Grill, and two weeks to the day after Jasper’s parents completely forgot his thirteenth birthday.

Jasper knew the exact time of the meteorite because just before it struck, the man on the car radio said, At the tone, the time will be exactly 8:32 p.m.

There was a tone.

There was a flash.

There was a boom, and the whole sky lit up.

Jasper’s mother slammed on the brakes and the Snert family’s huge old sedan screeched to a stop right in the middle of the deserted highway.

Crickets chirped. A country-western tune drifted out of the dusty speakers. On the horizon, flames licked at the night and settled down to a dull glow.

What in the name of all that is good and holy was that? Jasper’s mother asked.

I do not know, his father replied. I surely do not know.

Jasper did not say a thing. But Jasper knew exactly what that boom had been. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. But somehow, he knew what it had been. What he didn’t know was that that boom was about to change his life.

Forever.

All right, woman, his father said, ain’t no reason to sit in the middle of the danged highway all night gawking at a little fire. Step on the gas and let’s go.

I’ll go when I’m danged good and ready, Jasper’s mother replied.

You’ll go now! Jasper’s father said.

From behind the car, the mournful drone of an approaching eighteen-wheeler blared into the night. I’m ready, Jasper’s mother said. She stepped on the gas. Gravel crunched, and the giant car started to move. It was now 8:39 p.m.

Approximately two hours earlier, at 6:27 p.m., the Snert family had left their house to go to dinner at the Gut Bucket Grill for the occasion of Jasper’s two-week-late, completely forgotten thirteenth birthday. Jasper did not much care for the Gut Bucket Grill. The patrons were loud. The food was greasy. The air stank of cigarettes and vomit and beer. Jasper had once found a cockroach asleep under his napkin.

Jasper thought it might have been nice to go somewhere he wanted to go for his forgotten thirteenth birthday. There was a French restaurant downtown, or so his French teacher, Ms. Le Fort, had told him. And a genuine replica of the Arc de Triomphe stood in the outdoor food court of a giant shopping mall, or so Jasper had seen on TV.

Jasper liked studying French. He was the best student in his class. He thought he might like French food, too. But when he suggested this to his parents, his father had just cackled and said Jasper could get French food at the Gut Bucket Grill—French fries, to be exact—because that’s where they were going for his birthday dinner. The GBG Wing Ding came round but once a year, and Mr. Snert would burn in Hades if he was gonna miss it.

Approximately fifteen minutes after leaving the restaurant, however, Jasper’s father was burning in the bathroom of the only gas station on Highway 51 instead.

I told you not to eat them accursed chicken wings, Jasper’s mother said. Should’ve stuck to the French fries like me and the boy.

From inside the battered toilet stall, Jasper’s father groaned in reply, followed by some other, more awful sounds.

Jasper cringed. Why had his mother come into the men’s room? Why had she insisted Jasper come in with her? Only his mother would do such a thing.

He tried to move, just to shift on his feet, but the floor was so dirty his sneakers stuck to the tile.

Lord, his mother said, I am about to succumb to the odor in here.

Aww! his father said. I can’t take it no more, Mary. Them chicken wings was contamirated!

Contaminated, Jasper whispered.

Contaminated! his mother bellowed. The word is contaminated!

Jasper managed to extract one shoe from the floor and take a step back toward the exit. Can I go back to the car, ma’am?

Hades, no! We’re a family, and we stick together through thick and thick. His mother slammed a fist against the stall door. When the Hades you gonna be done? Smells like King Kong’s diapers in here.

I’ll be done when I’m danged good and finished, woman! You don’t like it, get out. What the Hades you doing in the men’s room anyhow?

Making sure you don’t flush your skinny butt down the toilet!

Jasper’s mother turned her huge body toward the entrance. A small man in a tattered hat had just come in and was staring at her, a perplexed look on his face.

What? Jasper’s mother said.

Um, the man replied.

Well, either you do your business, or get out. Can’t you see we got a situation here?

The man bit his lip and then turned around and left.

Jasper wanted to die. He wanted to melt into liquid soap and seep between the tiles, or rush into one of the stalls and flush himself into the sewer. No doubt the rats and the water bugs, or whatever creatures lived down there, would be better company than these people who called themselves his parents.

Were they really his parents?

Sometimes Jasper was not so sure.

He didn’t look like them. He was tall while his father was short. (Freakishly short, some might say.) Mr. Snert’s eyes were small and brown, almost like dots, while Jasper’s were big and blue, like little pools on a summer day. Sure, his mother was tall, like him. But while Jasper was as thin and wiry as a lone mountain tree, his mother was as big and round as a hill of manure. Jasper’s hair was brown. His mother’s was blonde, except at the roots.

Maybe, Jasper thought, he had come from an egg, or maybe from a pod that fell from outer space. He didn’t remember being born. It seemed like the kind of thing you would remember if it had really happened. His mother always said they were family, but maybe she was just trying to convince him, because he couldn’t figure it. He just couldn’t figure it.

Lord help me, Mary! his father wailed. Them chicken wings is fixing to fly up out of my gullet!

Serves you right! his mother said. You are collecting the wages of your sin.

Eating chicken wings ain’t no sin, woman.

It sure as Hades is.

Well, it ain’t in the Bible.

Well, it should be! And if God could hear you blubbering in that toilet right now, he’d add it in a footnote.

God hears everything, Mary.

Then eating chicken wings is gonna be a sin come morning!

Jasper buried his face in his hands. If only he could escape. Wait in the car, or even just outside the bathroom. But they were family. They had to stick together. And anyhow, he was still stuck to the floor.

It’s coming, Mary, his father said. It’s coming!

A sudden, gurgling retch came from within the stall, followed by a sound like a mud-filled balloon hitting the wall. Fifteen seconds later, the door swung open. There stood Jasper’s father, all ninety-eight pounds of him, bespattered with sweat and other, unnamable fluids. Okay, he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Let’s go home.

Little did the little man know that by the time they arrived home, the Snert family would no longer have a home to go home to.

—II—

When Jasper and his parents had left for dinner that evening, the only thing taller than a haycock in all the flat fields for miles around had been their little house. When they returned, the only thing taller than a haycock was Jasper himself, and maybe his mother.

Their house was completely gone.

Well, not completely. But what was left of it did not much resemble a house.

It resembled a barbecue.

Where their house had stood was now just a crater full of ash and glowing coals. If they had had some hamburgers and steaks, they could have had a very nice cookout. But they did not. And besides, Jasper’s father was still feeling a little ill.

Oh! he said. Oh, Mary, you were right. This is a sign from God! He is punishing me for eating them chicken wings.

Jasper’s mother simply stared, dumbfounded. Then, after a long while of simply staring, dumbfounded, she said, My program, Wilbur. My television program. I’m going to miss my favorite program. My television program.

Neither Jasper nor his father had any comment to this. Jasper’s father, because he was too busy staring blankly at the glowing heap of coals that had once been his house. Jasper, because his mind was on something a bit more important than his mother’s favorite television program.

Ma’am, what about Ranger?

My program. My television program.

But . . . Ranger.

Forget about that rat-haired hyena! Jasper’s father said. Can’t you see our dang house been blown to Hades?

Jasper nodded. But he did not forget about the rat-haired hyena.

Yes, Ranger was rat-haired. Yes, he did look more like a hyena than a dog. But he was Jasper’s rat-haired hyena, and the best and only friend he had.

Jasper scanned the flat darkness for his dog’s eyes reflecting the moonlight. Maybe Ranger had escaped before the house blew up. Maybe he had sensed some impending disaster, the way they say birds sense an earthquake. Maybe he had pushed his way through a screen window and run off into the night.

Jasper looked deep into the darkness, but he did not see a thing. Still, there was hope. In his heart there was a spark of hope that Ranger would come bounding out of the gray fields to greet him as he had so many times before. If not tonight, then tomorrow. There had to be hope, because the opposite possibility—being left alone in the world with only his parents—was simply too awful to contemplate.

My program, his mother muttered. My television program.

—III—

Jasper and his parents spent that night on the wide bench seats of their car. It was not until the following morning, when a team of scientists arrived in several large white vans marked National Aeronautics and Space Administration, that Jasper’s parents discovered exactly what it was that had blown their house to smithereens. Of course, Jasper had already known.

A meteorite! Jasper’s father said. That’s a bunch of bull!

Mr. Snert was not sure what a meteorite was. He thought it might be a person from a country called Meteor. One way or the other, he was sure it didn’t have anything to do with blowing up their house.

The scientists from NASA only looked at each other and shrugged. They had seen the meteorite with their telescopes. They had tracked it from the moment it came near Earth. They knew the meteorite had landed in Laurence Corners, Jasper’s little town. They knew it had landed on Jasper’s house. But Jasper’s father did not believe it. He was sure that he knew better.

He wheeled on Jasper. This is your fault, ain’t it boy? If we didn’t take you out for your danged birthday, none of this would’ve happened.

Jasper did not say a thing.

His father put his hands on his hips. You done something. You left on the gas on the stove, or you was making a home-made bomb up there in your room with all that science stuff you always messing with. Fess up, boy!

Jasper opened his mouth to reply, but only closed it. What was there to say to this logic? Jasper knew what a meteorite was. He had learned about them in school. He had read about them in books. Jasper was fascinated by space, and science, and anything to do with it. He knew what had happened. If they hadn’t gone out to dinner for his birthday, they’d all be dead.

Well, come on, his mother said. If you done something, tell up now, lest the further wrath of God be brought down upon our heads.

His parents scowled at him like two angry crows. His father poked him in the chest. You’re gonna pay for this, boy. And I mean more than with just a whipping. I mean with cash money. You’re gonna get a job. You’re gonna make enough money to buy us a new house!

Jasper only took a deep breath and scanned the empty, colorless world around him. Where in the name of Hades was he going to get a job in all those empty fields? But more to the point, when in the world would his rat-haired hyena come bounding out of them again?

Chapter 2

The Laundromat

—I—

THE NEXT DAY, at approximately 9:30 a.m. in the morning, Jasper started his search for gainful employment—at the only establishment within thirty-miles of the Snert family’s former home that might possibly give a job to a thirteen-year-old boy. None other than the Gut Bucket Grill.

What can he do? asked Gus, the owner of the GBG.

Jasper’s parents looked at each other and then at Gus and then back at each other.

He can speak some French, Jasper’s father said.

Don’t need no French. Gus pulled the back of a fat hand across his nose and wiped it on his apron. Can he cook?

Hades yes, Jasper’s father replied.

Jasper’s mother looked at him. What in Hades can the boy cook?

Well, boy, Jasper’s father said, what can you cook?

Jasper did not reply. He was busy looking at the stains on Gus’s once-white apron. It was amazing how many stains there were, and how many colors. They were like a big party of colored clouds. Bright red hot sauce clouds. Little green booger clouds. Deep purple blueberry jam clouds. Yellow rancid-butter clouds. And dark gray grease clouds. They made pictures and shapes like clouds, too. One of them, Jasper thought, looked just like Ranger.

Boy! his father said. What the Hades can you cook?

Jasper gave a start. He looked around at the three sternly staring faces. French fries, he said, and all the faces laughed.

—II—

The Snert family’s next stop was the gas station on Highway 51 where Mr. Snert had vomited and done other, more-horrible things two nights before.

Well, the attendant said, could use somebody can clean up the men’s bathroom. Somebody made a Hades of a mess in there other night.

Jasper opened his mouth to protest, but before a word came out, his father said, He’ll do it! and that was that.

Jasper Snert had a job.

But on the way back to the still-smoldering pit that had once been their home, Jasper’s mother said, Just cleaning up one dang bathroom ain’t gonna buy us a new house.

Then he’ll just have to get another job, his father replied.

Where in the name of Hades is the boy gonna find another job in this God-forsaken mess of fields and dirt?

Jasper’s father frowned. How the Hades should I know? He narrowed his already narrow little eyes and turned toward the window. As soon as he did, those narrow little eyes popped open as wide as a pair of potholes. There! he shouted, pointing out the window. There! There! Stop the car, woman!

Jasper’s mother slammed on the brakes and the Snert family’s huge old sedan screeched to a stop right in the middle of the deserted highway—again. Only this time, they were not stopping to watch a meteorite destroy their house, but for something much, much stranger.

What in the name of all that is good and holy is that? Jasper’s mother asked again.

I do not know, his father replied again. I surely do not know.

Well, can’t ya read the sign?

Why don’t you read it?

"Why don’t you read it?"

Oh, all right!

Jasper’s father squinted at the sign. He twisted up his face one way, then he scrunched it up another, and finally, in a kind of slow and unsteady voice, he said, La—um—laoo—um—laoonn—um—

Laundromat, Jasper whispered from the back seat. It says laundromat.

And so it did.

Well, pull over and let’s have a look, Jasper’s father said.

Jasper’s mother eased the car onto the shoulder. She cut the engine and they all stepped out. From the empty fields, the wind blew dust into their eyes. Somewhere, an old metal sign squeaked. Overhead, the noonday sun shone down like an angry headlight. The Snert family peered at the ancient-looking building and no one said a word. Finally, after a little while, Jasper’s father spat and said, So, what the Hades is a laundromat?

Now, it may seem strange to you that somebody might not know what something is as common as a laundromat. But Jasper’s father had spent his entire life living among those big, gray, empty fields. He had never left them even once. So there were a great many things he didn’t know anything about. One of them just happened to be laundromats.

It’s a place where you can pay to wash your clothes, Jasper said. He had learned about laundromats in his home-economics class at school.

Can y’all get a job there?

Maybe, Jasper replied.

Well, let’s find out.

Stop! Jasper’s mother barked. She raised a plump forefinger and pointed at the thing in question. This here laundromat, or whatever the Hades it is, was not here when we drove by before.

Well, it’s here now, Mr. Snert replied, walking toward the entrance.

Wilbur Snert, I have lived in these parts my entire life, and I have driven down this here stretch of road every day of that life, and I have never seen this laundromat here before, and there ain’t nothing else around these parts but a bunch of big, dang empty fields, and if this here thing was here before, I surely would have noticed it. It weren’t. I didn’t. And it ain’t normal.

Jasper’s father reached out and took the handle of the front door.

As you value your eternal soul, do not go in there, his mother cried. It’s Devil’s work!

Oh, for God’s sake, woman, danged thing’s probably been here a hundred years and you just never done noticed it, so danged busy watching your TV programs.

No! It’s Devil’s work, sure as I’m standing. This here is the Devil’s laundromat!

Jasper’s father opened the door. Then the boy can work for the Devil. He stepped inside, and Jasper stepped in behind.

—III—

For a long while, Jasper and his father just stood and stared. It was a laundromat all right. Had all the normal features of one. Washing machines. Driers. Formica tables. Wire baskets on wheels. Orange and blue fiberglass chairs. A sign on the wall spelling out The Rules.

Last wash 9:00 p.m.

Do not overload machines.

Do not ride in baskets.

No animals in laundry.

Jasper scrunched his lips.

No animals in laundry?

Who would put an animal in a washing machine?

There certainly were some wicked people in the world.

He looked at the sign a moment more and then continued to examine the room.

Buzzing fluorescent lights overhead. Big windows along the front. Sink on legs with a long, rusty spigot in one corner. Out-of-order vending machine in the other. All in all, just a regular, everyday laundromat. Except for one thing.

It was filthy.

Absolutely filthy.

It was a good thing there were washing machines, because if your clothes weren’t dirty when you came in, they would be before long.

It was the dirtiest, dustiest laundromat Jasper had ever seen. Of course, outside of books, it was also the first.

Supposed to wash your clothes in here? his father asked.

Jasper answered with a sneeze.

That laundromat may have just appeared there that morning, fallen out of the clear blue sky, but if you judged by the inside, it had sat there collecting dust and dirt since before the dawn of detergent. Every surface was dusty. Every other surface was dirty. There was dust on the dirt and dirt on the dust, and there was dust and dirt on everything.

Jasper sneezed again.

Jasper hated dust. He was allergic to it. If he could have turned that whole laundromat inside out and tossed it into one of its own washing machines, he would have, if any of the washing machines actually worked. And apparently, one of them did. Well, one of the driers, anyway.

Creaking and wheezing in the corner, one of the ancient, decrepit-looking things was spinning behind a foggy glass door like a wheel on an overturned car. Jasper looked at it and sneezed. His father sneezed too and said, Let’s get the Hades outta here. Ain’t nobody around anyhow.

They turned to go, and that is when it happened. The signal of all else that was to come. Rising up against the whoosh of the wind outside and the squeak squeak squeak of the old tumbling drier like the wail of some alien creature. A long, drawn-out drone, as low as a fog horn and as loud as a jet engine. It rose and fell and shook the building and then settled into a kind of WHUM! WHUM! WHUM! like the beating of a giant, mutant heart.

What the—

A tall, gray door stood in the wall at one end of the room, shaking in its frame with the throb of the noise. Whum! Whum! Whum! Light of every color sparkled from its edges in time with the sound. Whatever was making the sound and the light hid in the room behind that door.

Jasper’s father snorted. Must be some kinda generator. He approached the door.

Jasper did not move a muscle.

At the top of the door, written in gleaming letters, shone the words

SuperWash 2000.

Below that, a sign read

KEEP OUT!

Jasper’s father snorted again and put his hand on the rattling knob. A loud buzz cut the air. The flashing lights and thrumming noise came to an abrupt stop. Something clicked. Jasper and his father turned their heads. The drier had also come to a stop. Jasper’s father let go of the knob and they both stared, as if some new, strange thing was about to occur.

And in fact, it was.

Behind the foggy glass of the drier door, something seemed to move. The drier shook, and all at once the door burst open as if pushed from inside. Jasper’s father yelped as a hand reached out of the drier and grabbed the jamb. He shot behind his son quick as a possum up a tree. Another hand joined the first and, the next instant, out of the drier came a shaggy, human head.

Jasper took a step back. His father clutched him from behind, trembling like a scared kitten.

Who—who—who the Hades are you? he said, peering around Jasper’s arm.

The face on the head looked back with big, glossy eyes under big, hairy eyebrows. It had a big, hairy gray beard, and a lot of hairy gray hair all around. In fact, except for the big, glossy eyes, the only part of the face you could see through all that bushy gray hair was a long, hooked nose, like the beak of a bird.

A bird that eats meat.

The face did not answer. Instead, the two hands on the jamb moved to the floor and the person attached to them crawled out of the drier and stood up, a tall man in blue coveralls. He cracked his neck to one side and then to the other and said Ozmo while pointing at a name-tag on his uniform that said the same thing. And who the Hades might you be?

Well, well, I’m Wilbur Snert from down the road, and this here’s my boy.

The man called Ozmo dusted off his hands. Wilbur Snert, eh? You’re the fella whose house got hit by the meteorite.

I is! And what’s it to you?

Nothing.

And what the Hades you doing inside that drier?

Working. Ozmo pointed to another tag on his uniform.

Read it, boy, Mr. Snert said.

Jasper read Washer Wizard Repair Service.

You was fixing it? From inside? his father asked.

Looks that way.

It was moving!

So it was, Ozmo said.

Jasper did not say a thing.

Well, Ozmo said, what can I do for you gents?

He looked at Jasper and kind of grinned behind his big old beard. As he did, Jasper noticed something a little strange about one of Ozmo’s eyes. His right eye, to be exact. It wasn’t just glossy, like the other one. It was glassy. In fact, it was glass.

It was a glass eye.

It would be hard to say how Jasper had noticed this, except that the eye was kind of dead, like the eyes of a stuffed owl he had once seen in a book.

While Jasper watched the eye, the old man watched him, still grinning, as if he knew what the boy had discovered. All at once, he winked. Something sparked. The eye seemed to twinkle, and suddenly—

Jasper froze, staring at the eye.

The eye stared back!

This was not the eye of a stuffed owl, a lifeless piece of glass. It was the eye of a living owl! sparkling with all the sharpness and intensity an owl’s eye has.

Or was it?

For a long moment, the old man held Jasper with that living, owl eye. His grin crept into a wry smile. He winked again, and quickly as it had come to life, the eye faded back to a dull, glassy orb. Ozmo looked away. Jasper stood petrified and then slowly let out his breath.

All the while, his father had not noticed a thing.

Well, he said, daring to step out from behind his son, we was wondering, that is, we was thinking, um, we was—

Looking for a job? Ozmo said.

How the Hades you know that?

The old man shrugged. Then he said, "Un dessin vaut