It sits within a cusp of space and time. It exists in service as a way-station, a dumping ground, a collection galley. It’s where supernatural horrors reside and are retrieved when needed. It’s where ghosts, UFO’s, gremlins and sixth dimensional dinosaurs – that cats see from time to time – come to play until they are called upon. It’s where lost socks, misplaced 3D glasses and that mysteriously vanished gecko from under the refrigerator are deposited, dumped and collected.
To unassuming passersby, it’s the laundromat on the corner where the casual customer waiting for the dryer buzzer to sound may catch a kerfuffle, a glint at the edge of perception. Often dismissed as late-night eye or delusions of a nervous mind set to conjuring under a haze of dusty fluorescents, the reality of it all is left unrecognized. For that tussle, that momentary mutation of the air, is simply the universe snatching away a laundromat resident or one returning from duty somewhere off in the elsewhere.
Should a need arise for UFO sightings high in the skies of a mid-western North American principality, a rural Russian village or placed low among skylines of Mexico City or Istanbul, the laundromat provides. When one learns of tragic accidents, mechanical failure the attributable cause or when early morning chores discover crop circles on a lowly wheat farm in Hertfordshire, England, unbeknownst to most, blame is lain squarely on tiny gremlin shoulders. Those very gremlins who, in stylized shapes of miniature men, tease and perturb the dinosaurs as they wait with impatience for their next calling. When a touch of a poltergeist is required, or midnight visitations during any given All Hallows Eve, the laundromat’s apparitions – who lie in wait under fresh washed sheets or soaking up the warmth of recently used dryer barrels – are then called upon, eager to fulfill their duties.
The Universe, being the naturally mischievous entity that it is, finds amusement in the visage it has assigned to Earth’s way-point of the supernatural. Such a mundane, unassuming manifestation, yet only one of a multitude of way-stations, taking on innumerable embodiments storing and casting out and about those unimaginable variants of horror as sensed by a myriad of species splayed across the continuums.
This post was inspired by Uetsuji Shotaro’s Coin Laundry of Horrors and Io9’s Concept Art Writing Prompt