The Sunday Scaries
Volume 1, Number 21
Microfiction by Pat Harrigan
Content Warning: Language and Horror

The Garbage Man

Take the garbage out!
          Don, you don’t have to yell at the kid.
          The kid took the garbage out. The chute never worked and of course the elevator was broken, so after going down six floors he would take his time coming back up the stairs. There would be somebody around to play with down in the street, even a stranger would do. The kid made friends easily. Mom disapproved, but dad didn’t mind. In his child mind the kid was forming impressions, connections and patterns. He was deciphering the codes of his parents and he had come to believe that his father was composed of rigid ideas of work and less-articulated ideas of freedom—wouldn’t he (meaning dad) like to play in the streets and alleys with other little boys! But mom worried. If something happened to him people would call her a bad mother.
          He lifted the lid. There was a man in the garbage can. He wore a sort of shiny black pajamas and his face was covered by a mask with zippers over the mouth and eyes. He sat up when the garbage bag fell on him. The kid ran back up the stairs.
          For the next few days he forgot to take the garbage out until he knew the city had emptied the cans in the alley. So he waited until the next time dad yelled and then he took the garbage out. He flung off the garbage can lid and stepped back, clutching the trash bag to his chest. The can was empty of garbage but the man was still there, and he stood up and began to climb out of the can. The kid ran up the stairs.
          You’ll be happy about this, said dad the next morning. They’ve fixed the garbage chute. The kid looked over at the kitchen wall, where from behind the garbage chute door, held open by gloved fingers, steel-zippered eyes evaluated the kid and their family.
          Mom said, look who’s come to visit.
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