Novelas y relatos de Randomly Smelling Bleach

Endless stacks of newspapers, cracked figurines and CDs, visible dust and worse of all, piles of unwashed plates. For a janitor, Mark was not a clean freak; he was a hoarder. Before I can move into the house further, the smell of chlorine wafts across my nostrils, sharpening my attention. My gaze zeros in on the coffee table before moving to the bedroom, surveying the messy beddings whose colour was questionable. The smell of bleach is even stronger here. Following the scent leads me to the bathroom; the bathtub is wet, and there are footsteps leading back into the room.

Real. “Kalen,” I whisper. I close my eyes, a whimper escaping my lips. He speaks again, softer this time. “Name five things you smell.” I can barely think past the madness clawing at my mind, but his voice is an anchor. I latch onto it. “Pine resin,” I whisper. “Iron blood. Your... your stupid musk.” A huff of amusement. “Two more.” “Wood smoke.” A breath. A pause. A shuddering inhale. “Rotted meat.”

I reached out to remove the book from the shelf, my hand trembling as I pressed the button. The door to the hidden chamber slowly slid open, and a wave of fragrance mixed with a rotten stench rushed out. The cloyingly sweet scent mixed with the foul odor was somehow even more nauseating than the foul odor alone. I couldn't help but gag several times. Unable to see things clearly in the dark, I dug out my phone and turned on the flashlight. The light illuminated the interior of the chamber. I took one glance and froze. The dimly-lit chamber was covered in a thick layer of soil. Right in the center grew a plant about half my height, with a grayish-green stalk and oversized leaves veined with b

Looking outside and beyond the horizon, I swipe my tongue across my lips to wet them, hoisting myself to my feet. Hands on my waist, I once over the entirety of my space, satisfied and proud, telling from the smile playing on my lips. I nod slowly, turning on my heels to head for the kitchen. It’s my next target. As soon as I step into my living room, a strong stench of bleach attacks my senses. Not unpleasant but too strong for my liking. I remind myself to be careful with the amount I use next time. Pinching my nose to reduce its potency, i dash across the living room and into my kitchen. A stack of dishes piled into the sink awaits me. I groan out loud, whining about having to actually do

As he lifts his keycard to the door, I remind him of my promise with a sharp claw to the back of his spine. He stiffens and then enters his code and thumb before swiping his key. “Silly me. I almost forgot that step. We wouldn’t want to set off an alarm.” “No,” My lip curls sinisterly, my tone promising violence as I add, “We would not.” The door slides open and the overwhelming scent of bleach covering the underlying scent of rot is overwhelming. As we step inside together, it is immediately evident why the smell is so strong. It's because there are so many of them.

The freshly scent of bleach, though faint, is strong enough to churn my stomach. It's the kind of clean that tries too hard... the kind that hides blood. We pass closed doors, the thick and silent things that give nothing away. There are no sounds, no voices or idea of what lies behind them. My eyes flick up to the cameras. There are several nestled in every corner like watching insects in the ceiling. Cold, patient and unblinking.

The sky blue eyes seemed to go under water so I just shut my eyes to clear it out but I wasn’t to open them again. All I could see was darkness. It felt cold and alone. A beeping sound started becoming louder and louder suddenly. Running in circles I tried to find it until it went away. Then suddenly, I heard it again and I would start running trying to find it. After the third time, I realized as I moved, the sound became quiet and went away so the fourth time, I just sat down and waited. It got louder and louder until it was deafening. Next came the smell, the smell of bleach. It was so overwhelming that my nose scrunched up in disgust.

Too clean. The scent of bleach hits me first—sharp, chemical, stinging the inside of my nose. Antiseptic lingers heavily behind it, mixing into something cold and clinical. All the blood from earlier? Gone. The mess? Gone. The chaos? Erased so thoroughly you’d think the violence was nothing more than a bad dream. Except it wasn’t. And the two bandaged women in the living room are proof.

The jagged chunk of missing flesh on his calf tells me why he most likely killed himself. The second we open the door, the smell hits us, as if we had just stepped into a landfill in the middle of a Texas July. It's overwhelming and all encompassing, suffocating and choking us. I can practically taste it in the back of my throat, and it forces me to gag harshly. Bending over with my hands on my knees, I force myself to take slow, deep breaths through the mouth instead of the nose. We need to search this room for any supplies, but I can't get past my sensitive gag reflex.