Submitted by Susan:
Gary and I worked in an office together and when he asked me out for drinks after work on a Friday one time, I didn't see any harm in it. We were acquaintances, and though he seemed nice, I didn't know very much about him
While Gary inhaled beer after beer, I nursed my gin and tonic. I asked him all sorts of things about himself, but he didn't ask me me one thing. When I did volunteer information, it was as if he didn't care at all. Something must have been more interesting at the bottom of his beer glass, I guess.
On our way out of the bar, he was somehow able to hold it together enough to ask me if I wanted to go back to his place to watch a movie. "I live alone," he said. I told him that I might need to leave partway through, as I was tired.
His apartment was wallpapered, and I do mean wallpapered, floor-to-ceiling, with posters of women, mostly naked from the neck down, and in clown makeup.
I turned to him, smiled, and said, "I'd love to hear the explanation for this."
He pushed past me to put a DVD into his player and said, "They're my roommate's."
I was going to point out that he had earlier told me that he lived alone, but the next thing I knew, there we were, on his couch, watching a Japanese horror film, and surrounded by dozens of clown ladies. Not exactly how I had pictured my Friday evening.
If it hadn't already creeped me out, it began to when he started mimicking the killings onscreen. Like when someone's head was cut off, he made like to pantomime my own head being cut off. When someone was gutted, he made as if to karate chop my chest and then drew it down slowly.
Finally, he turned to me and said, "I'm hard as a rock. You ready?"
"I sure am."
I up and left at that moment, faster than I think he was able to realize that something had happened in the first place. It was a little weird at work after that, but definitely more for him than for me.
Submitted by Susan: