The Flucks — Chuq — Christmas Morning 2055
40 extra-cozy years before the events of The Flucks
Be sure to read Part One — Chuq — Christmas Eve 2055 first.
Chuq’s story is mostly 1 cozy, and set 40 years before the events of The Flucks. She seems like she’d enjoy cozy more than Slacy and his sardonic wit. Chuq died from catching the Flucks early, having lived a long life with Slacy’s endearing friendship. These are her memoirs.
—Ed
Chuq
I met this doofus at the coffee shop, which led to meeting this beautiful girl at the tree lot, which led to me inviting them both to Christmas dinner. What the hell was I thinking?
Looking at this years later, I didn’t realize how much I was holding back. Then me and the big doofus started breaking down barriers.
—Charlotte
Christmas Eve 2055
I knocked on the door. The great part about small towns is that Slacy’s house was in walking distance—I didn’t lose my breath or anything. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but the smell of water in the air told me this would be a dreary day.
Wearing a red checked flannel shirt and jeans, I waited on the porch, jacket draped over my arms. What can I say? I had to ape Maddie’s fit. The delivery drone dropped it off just in time this morning.
The porch’s vinyl siding was yellowing and dead vines fractaled their way under and over them. Honestly, this isn’t the small town ancient homes vibe I was promised.
Where is this guy? I knocked again. Was that... uh... a power tool? I banged on the door. Oh man, this dude is making me late—he said 7:00 sharp.
I told my watch to send I'm here.. The whirring-buzzing stopped. The door was yanked open.
“You’re here!” he yelled, wearing, I kid you not, a full one-piece coverall, “Slacy” embroidered on his left breast.
“Yep, that’s what I said.”
“What?” he screamed.
“Nothing. Good morning!”
“What?” he god-damned screamed again.
This fucking guy. My hands frantically waved around my ears and gestured words vomiting out my mouth.
“Oh, right.” He tapped something on his watch. “Sorry, these new earwigs cancel out everything. Couldn’t hear a thing but my music. You’ve got to protect your ears, you know? I’ve got spares for—”
“Woah, woah, slow down dude.” My hands were trying to calm a rearing horse. “I thought you said you weren’t a morning person.”
“Morning? Oh, yeah, I didn’t go to sleep.”
Oh brother. “That’s not good my man.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine—I’ve got a coldbrew tap in the kitchen.”
“Your mom had a coldbrew tap?”
“Nooo, of course not. That’s the first thing I installed.”
“You?—” If I didn’t change the subject, we’d be here all day. “You going to invite me in?”
“Oh yeah, come on.” He swiftly turned around and walked out of sight before I could take my first step. Shutting the door behind me, I entered the hallway. I assumed since we were doing demolition I should leave on my leather lumberjack-fit boots. What, they were on sale with free overnight drone delivery?
The hallway was rather basic-white-mom. White sheetrock walls, white wainscoting, pictures in gold frames every five centimeters.
I looked at the pictures recognizing that sardonic grin on a boy standing in front of science projects, boy in blue uniform looking like some mini AirForce officer, boy holding up drones, and boy in various poses wearing medals.
Geez this guy has done more as a kid than I have done in forty-something years. No diplomas or academic awards, though. At the end of the hall, a picture of a teenager in front of a prop plane, holding up a... pilots license? “Now, come the fuck on, really?”
“What?” he said from around the corner. A hardhat and goggled eyes slid from the edge of the wall. “This way!”
I followed him, parting draped plastic to enter a room that was in complete disarray. The carpet was gone, revealing plywood floors covered in sheetrock dust. Frosty plastic covered more openings and dimmed the feeble rising sunlight coming through the windows. In the center stood a foldout table covered in gear.
“Okay, so you’ll need this—”, he passed me goggles that I slipped on, “—and this—”, a hardhat, “—these but, don’t put them on yet—”, work gloves. I took them and put on hardhat—it was too small.
He looked at me grinning. It’s like this guy has two modes: grinning or blank stare. “The button on the back will adjust it.”
I pushed the button and the hardhat slid down and snugged fit. He stood there, holding his palm out, offering two small, green caterpillars. “And these, too.”
“Um. No thanks, I ate already.”
“What? No. You put them in your ears.”
“No the hell I do not!”
He definitely rolled eyes that time. “They’re just earwigs.”
“And that’s supposed to somehow make me feel better about it?”
“They’re not actual insects. Tap them twice to your watch and they’ll pair. Put them by your ears, and they’ll crawl in, making a perfect fit.”
“Your mom will crawl in and make a perfect fit! I’m not touching those things.”
He continued to hold his hand out, staring. Then, continued to stare.
“Uhggg fine!” I palmed the grubby worms, paired them, then put one by my ear, bracing for impact. I took a breath and touched it to the ear, wincing. Nothing happened, so I pushed it into the opening of my ear canal.
It started moving, writhing its way into my ear. The scraping sound was wet and gloppy, like water beads sloshing in an ASMR vid. That didn’t kill me, so I put the other one in the other ear. It wiggled its way in, coming to a stop with a squelch. Then, nothing.
Absolute silence. The sudden sensory deprivation made my eyes go wide. My heart raced. My breathing picked up. My mind filled in the blanks.
⍟⍟⍟
A whine began, then crescendoed. Ringing echoed throughout my skull. Giggling backgrounded, and bassy warbling rattled my teeth. Chu-chunk. Chu-chunk. Chu-chunk.
⍟⍟⍟
Slacy grabbed my wrist without warning, twisted it, and tapped something on my watch. White noise, then the sound of his voice, flooded in.
“It’s alright, it’s alright, Charlotte,” he soothed. He took in a deep breath, still gently holding my wrist that was palm open and rigid, then breathed out. He did it again, this time I mimicked. “In” wiish, “Out” woosh. “In” wiish, “Out” woosh.
I stared at his eyes, his intense focus frightening, but still somehow calming. He noticed my return to this reality and spoke. “Sorry, I should have warned you about that or put some music on or something.” He tapped a few times and Zoë Keating’s cello warmed my mind.
🎼🎼🎼🎼 🎼🎼 🎼🎼 🎼 🎼 🎼 🎼🎼🎼🎼
〜〜〜
My wrist free, I punched his arm. “Dude, what the fuck?”
“Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “My bad—it’s quite disorientating your first time. Let’s leave it so you can hear me, but not eardrum-busting sounds.”
“Okay, I’m good.” I punched his other arm. “I mean, now I’m good, what’s next?”
“Now, we do the most important task—” His stupid smirk was back. “—choosing the right tool.” 2
He waved his hand over the table like he was revealing a magic trick. “The mini-sledge is light, but packs a mean punch. The ten-pound sledgehammer is heavy, but—”
“Hey my guy, does this info-train have a caboose?”
He blinked.
“Just give me the sledgehammer, dude.” I put on my gloves.
“But—”
“Give.” I held out my hand.
He shrugged, picked up the hammer by its neck, one hand just under the head, and held it out. Like he was Thor, and I was accepting Mjölnir. It crackled with electricity. No... but it did in my head, so shut up.
I grabbed it with one hand and lifted. Nope. I grabbed it with two hands and lifted. There was a big taped “X” on the wall. This was going to be so fucking awesome.
Wait, my grip is in the wrong place. I slid one hand down to the end and the other to the middle. I’m taller than the boys, I’m taller than Slacy, I’m a big girl—I got this.
I swung at the “X”, crashing, sheetrock flying everywhere— “Fuck yeah!” —continuing through, off balance, momentum pulling me by the hammerhead, falling into the wall, head poking into a different room, seeing a bed covered in shards of sheetrock and dust. “Aw, fuck!”
I extracted myself from the wall, sheepish grin plastered stupidly on my face.
“And that’s why we wear the hardhat,” Slacy said with two knocks on his own.
“Right. Got any power tools?”
He grinned and held out something pointy, sharp, and with a button. “Sawzall?”
I dropped the sledgehammer head first onto the plywood floor with a thud, the handle reverberating with a hollow clank shortly after. “Gimmie!”
I contemplated the wall, deciding how best to attack, and spied a power receptacle. “Um, what happens if I hit a wire?”
He grinned. “That’s why we shut off the power.” His grin faded. “I think.” He darted out of sight, a few seconds later the overhead light shut off, leaving only diffuse sunlight. “Now?” he yelled.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah!”
He came in, some wand thing beeped in his hand. He waved it around the outlet like he was casting a spell, then roved across the wall like he was looking for water with a dowsing rod. “We’re good.”
“Wait, you didn’t cut off the power before I swung that sledgehammer? You could have killed me!” I pointed the saw thing at him and pulled the trigger.
He held up a finger. “Now now, safety first.”
I’m going to strangle him. There’s already a table and clear plastic everywhere to keep the mess contained. This saw can surely cut through bone. Instead, I huffed out a breath.
I turned to the wall and started cutting. It vibrated the shit out of my arm but sliced through the sheetrock, studs, wires, probably some stashed rebel gold.
The whole wall was still intact, save for the thin box I drew with the saw. I kicked right in the center with my kick-ass lumberjack boots. The wall segment creaked, then fell, revealing the bedroom I scoped out earlier.
“Fuck!” Coughing, I waved my free hand in the air. “You forgot the dust masks.”
That reminded me that this guy forgets everything. “Wait, is the roof going to fall?”
“Now that—that I checked,” he said solemnly. “It’s load bearing, has a twelve-inch header.”
“30.5 centimeter header” I corrected.
“Right, right. I’m still not used to that. Breakfast?”
⍟⍟⍟
The kitchen was actually pretty nice. Marble counters, blue cabinets that reminded me of that whole farmhouse aesthetic from the 20’s. A few of the cabinet doors were missing and there was no tile yet. About 80% complete.
Oh, right, I mean 2020. Boomers keep telling me they don’t understand when I say that. Get with the century grandpa. The smell of brewing coffee and the splurting sound of it finishing brought me back to the 50s.
Slacy passed me a warm mug of coffee and got fresh eggs from the rack on the back counter. He started scrambling them.
“Oh, do you cook?” I loved cooking. I had the whole meal planned for this afternoon. Most everything waited in the fridge or oven since I prepped them last night. As soon as I had the idea for the dinner and my menu chosen, I placed an order and the drone dropped them off with plenty of time to dice—
“I can cook eggs. That’s about it.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Well, that’s a point off his best-friend-material tally.
“So, looking forward to seeing Maddie tonight?”
Where the fuck did that come from? “Oh, yeah... sure.”
“Your mouth says ‘sure’, but your eyes say ‘come to momma’.”
“Why are you like this?”
He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
I grinned. Fuck, it’s contagious. “Uh huh.”
Okay, two points for Slaceindor. Ah, shit, thirty years and I still can’t shake that TERF.
“Do you need me to bring anything?”
“No. A drone delivered groceries last night and I prepped most of the dishes. The ham won’t take long in the flash cooker. Besides, I don’t like people in my kitchen when I’m cooking.”
“Ok, sure. I get it, your space and your work is important.”
Oh my, I might platonigasm. Instead, I said “Mmhmm.”
“I’ll bring the wine and a pecan pie. I can come early to help you assemble it. I’m at least capable of that.”
“You have a pecan pie here already, just for yourself?”
“Yes. Jealous?”
“Actually, yes.”
We ate the eggs and sipped coffee on the porch. The rain had started. I was freezing my ass off out there, but Slacy didn’t seem to mind the weather. The eggs had a cajun seasoning, which was an unexpected combination for me, but tasted yummy nonetheless.
“That was fun today. Thanks, I needed that,” I told him.
“Okay,” he replied. Sheesh man, stoic much?
“Alright, I’m going to head home and shower. I’ll start cooking in three hours. See you then?”
“Absolutely.” He grinned.
Author’s Notes
Okay, Chuq was having too much fun with Slacy. So, now this is a three-parter.
This was meant to be a single Christmas special chapter. 2,600 4,600 words later, a part two three was needed. Expect that tomorrow (right after I actually write it).
I actually like this darkness under the surface writing. Some body horror snuck in, but I think that makes the rest extra cozy.
Come back Christmas day for Part 3.
I can hear her calling — Hallowtide Files: The Gheeldyn