The Creepy Woman from Work

By Randall Molsbee

It's bad enough being jobless. Even worse, living in your car at the park. For months, Rusty would use the park city water for drinking and use the park bathroom and water to bathe. Rusty thought gaining employment would solve his problems. At least, he had income coming in, friends to talk to, and a house to live in. He never thought he would ever face any problem with his coworkers. A new employee is later hired. Mitzi pursues Rusty with unknown intentions. He tries to be a friend, gives her a morning greeting, yet she remains silent. All she does is stare at him. The situation goes from bad to worse after Mitzi goes into the men's room to stare at Rusty. He e-mails her after he gets home, questioning why? The police get involved, and Rusty's boss threatens to fire him if the police show up. The police talk to Rusty's witnesses about Mitzi's actions. Based on true events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645440369

Book preview

Chapter 1

My name is Rusty Miller, twenty-five years old in 2009, recently been on unemployment, and seeking a job. My limited money keeps going down, and there are no job openings.

I read the town paper, apply for any jobs, talk to the employers weekly, and get told they don’t need help at the moment. I even ask if I can do small work for them at home, and they tell me no. This is during the recession.

As each day passes, my food supply shortens. I use the small amount of the remaining cash I have to grocery shop at the Dollar General, saving $5 a week, using the five dollar coupon on Saturdays, and sometimes, Fridays only. I always call for that thousand-dollar survey, praying to God for a breakthrough, nothing yet. Saving $20 a month helps, especially when you’re jobless.

I was forced by my Mom to move to a house in town, leaving my Dad alone because he’s an abusive alcoholic. He would get drunk, come in, and give this blank stare as if he wasn’t in his body. He would yell, curse, and beat the walls, even at 2:00 in the morning, keeping me up, never allowing me to sleep. I never liked living with him, but I had no means of paying bills, nor providing for myself.

It was a small house, white walls on the outside, with burgundy pillars, along with a gray carpet porch, built for a bachelor, which I am, not even in a relationship. The front door lead inside a somewhat large living room with beige walls, a lighter beige-colored carpet, and you could see the kitchen from the entrance. To the right was a small room with blue walls. The carpet was the same in every room that had carpet. The bathroom walls were dark green with a gray tile floor, a normal-size white toilet, and the shower was also white. I never had a bathroom with a shower before. The kitchen walls were white, a white tile floor, and the bedroom walls were white with the same color carpet.

After making many trips of loading, and unloading my belongings with no help from Dad to my new house, everything including Butterball, my cat, was all in the house. I’m more of a dog fan, but she grew on me.

Butterball’s mom was mostly white with black on the left side of her face, orange on the right, two black spots on her body, then orange on the base of her tail, and black all the way. She was attacked by a vicious creature that tore most of her fur off, blood everywhere, and some brain hanging out. I used to feed her, and spend time with her. She didn’t have a name. She gave birth to Butterball when I was twenty-one. She was almost dead, and couldn’t nurse Butterball. My Mom, Lisa Miller, and I bottle-fed Butterball, cleaned her, and wiped her areas. Butterball needed a good home.

The fact that Butterball’s mom was in excruciating pain, my Dad, Mitchell Miller, put her mom out of her misery. He got drunk, then shot her once with a shotgun. First, the back legs for fun, then her head. My Dad’s a hateful person; he has no compassion for anyone, nor anything. This is why we don’t connect.

For a long time, my cat never had a name. I’m bad at naming cats. A male cousin of mine dropped by our place before I moved here, and saw how fat she was, and said, That’s a butterball. I’ve called her that ever since.

She weighs 14lbs in her adulthood, and was a beautiful brown, black, and orange mix. Butterball first ran in the house after I put her inside, and she hid.

I left the front door open and search for Butterball. I walk toward her, pet her, and try to comfort her. She let me pet her a little, and she ran to the living room, scared, and out the door.

She climbs up a tree, and I had to wait until she came down by herself. It took her a while, but she got comfortable living there before I did due to no work. She just wasn’t used to being in a new place after years of her birth home.

When I first move in, I put all the furniture in two rooms. I only assemble the bed, and set up the television. Being depressed without a job, I wasn’t motivated to move the furniture around. Everything was just in the way. Each day gets more depressing than the last. I would wake up about 8:00 in the morning, slowly get dressed, use the bathroom, comb my hair, put my contacts in my eyes so I can see, walk to the kitchen, open the refrigerator, reach for the milk, go to the cabinet, grab the cereal, and the other cabinet for a bowl, make raisin bran, open a drawer to grab a spoon, walk the bowl of cereal into the living room, eat breakfast, then turn the television on, seeking a laugh from Tyler Perry’s House of Payne, and Meet the Browns, which came on weekday mornings.

I pray for any job opportunities as my day begins, then go out applying for seven jobs daily. Receiving no calls, I go home, then would drink Canadian Hunter straight at 10:00 in the morning. I repeat this day over and over, getting suicidal, and desperate for death over employment. I also repeatedly call to ask if there was any opportunities, always hearing no. Waking up with no job takes the motivation out of me fast. A year passes, and still no job opportunities.

A good friend of mine e-mails me:

Rusty, I texted you, and you didn’t respond. Why?

Now I realize he used his cell phone to attempt to text me, but at the moment, I have no phone that text; it only makes phone calls, takes photos, and videos.

His name is Ethan Beggs, a deaf man, and we used to work together at Sneakers R Us in Munday, Texas from May 1, 2007, through May 1, 2009, then I was laid-off. I know it is very rare to be hired, and laid-off the exact day, and month.

Ethan and I laced sneakers at Sneakers R Us at the time. We e-mailed each other a few times after. He taught me some sign language on and off back when we worked together.

We exchanged e-mails on October 2007, and being out of a job, and depressed, I forgot we had each other’s e-mails. His e-mail cheered me up a little, knowing someone thought about me. I respond to Ethan’s e-mail:

Hey man, I never knew you texted me. My cell phone plan doesn’t allow texting options. It just makes phone calls, takes photos, and videos. This isn’t a good thing for you because you are deaf, no offense. How are you doing my friend? I’m alright, I guess, not great since I can’t get a job. I drink whiskey straight because I’m depressed, waking up, and no job to go to. Please pray for me to get hired. Thanks for your prayers. You’re friend always, Rusty.

I’m close to running out of money today, and can’t afford to pay the bills. Many months pass, and it’s 20°. I have a wall heater, but can’t afford gas for a fire to stay warm. So I’m covered in heavy quilts, and still stay cold though. I’m coughing which turns into a cold, but I can’t afford any cough syrup for it. Some days, I lie in my bed all day, being depressed without a job.

I pray continuously, Heavenly Father, I pray for a job soon. Please give me the strength to cope with this horrible situation. Please be with me as I travel, seeking employment, and forgive me for my shortcomings as I forgive those who trespass against me. In Jesus’s name, I pray this now, amen.

Later, the power shuts off.

Chapter 2

I pack my clothes, and belongings in many trash bags. I fold up the shirts and jeans, neatly providing space. I put all the clothes hangers in a separate bag, take the bedsheets, but leave the mattresses, and the bed. I open my dresser drawer, grab my boxers, and socks, everything I can take, and put in my car. I go to the bathroom, and grab the Gilette Mach3 razor blades, and handle, bathing towels, shaving cream, renu contact solution, container for my contacts, I take one fork, one spoon, and