My Weird Maid: A Tale of Sadism, Ressentiment, and Cannibalism (Not Finished)

This year, I hired a maid to work at my house. During that time span, paranormal and disturbing events have been happening.

It all happened in January.

One day, I was browsing the internet and found an advertisement for unemployed maids in my area. It was a bright-colored advertisement featuring a maid as the cover image, and it said that it had "5-star service."

I clicked on it for two reasons.

1. I was tired of cleaning up at home.

2. Only $15 a month, which wasn't a bad deal.

I had to send my location and put my credit card information in. Of course, I had to put my personal information as well.

So far, I've only spent $45, but that's not important at the moment.

What is important is that I never saw the maid. I only got her name–Shauntelle. However, I did get a note in the mailbox. Quite a few, actually.

Sorry I cannot meet you in person[...]however, I will be working at your house today, just leave a spare key outside the front door.

I was a bit suspicious at first because clients should always meet the people who is servicing them, but said that she'd make the house "so clean you'd never realize it was your home."

That seemed like a scam, but there are cameras at my house, so I didn't really worry. After all, if she did something suspicious, I could alert the authorities and turn her over.

So I left a key in the in the mailbox, and I also left a note in there asking if she could at least give me her phone number.

And here the story ends. This is my first story after a month. Perhaps I'll continue writing in the future...

- drkenny.

–––

Anyway, here's another unfinished story that I'll be working on more later.

Today, today, today. Today’s Sunday.

Hello, I’m Saya. I’m currently with my best friend, Ataraxia. We’re joined at the hip, you see.

“Saya, can you please let go of my hip? I understand the phrase, but this is too much for me to handle,” Ataraxia says while shaking her leg.

“No thanks,” I reply.

By the way, I’m tugging onto her leg because she’s trying to escape. What I mean by that is that she’s trying to make me interact with new people so she can stop talking to me. The problem for her is that I don’t want to meet new people, since I already have her.

I mean, I know Ataraxia would never ditch me that easily, but you never know with girls.

Now see, I’ve met Ataraxia a long time ago at a boys-only private school we went to. At the time, I was 8 and she was 5. But that’s kind of a problem. If you’re friends with someone for too long, don’t you begin to drift off?

Ah, I’m starting to sound like a 14-year-old girl. Hmm…

Well, whatever.

Anyways, I’m a 21-years-old man! So this jovial demeanor I’m giving off is probably inappropriate for my age.

Not that I would know, considering I haven’t talked to any others besides Ataraxia.

Subject change.

Despite Ataraxia’s pleas for me to make new friends, I haven’t made any so far. So she’s taking me to her apartment today so that I can meet her friends. Now, I know what I said, but I only agreed because my schedule was clear today… and Ataraxia was practically begging me to go on my doorstep. Think of it as an adult playdate, I remember her saying not too long ago.

Now, I know that you’re probably thinking this is the start of a harem and I should be happy about it.

But she said that her friends are males, so something tells me that these are just acquaintances from work or people she paid to talk to me. I mean, she’s a girl, so she would naturally have more girlfriends than boyfriends.

Sheesh, she really thinks she can fool me. How adorable.

Ataraxia pulls out her room key. I don’t know why she didn’t accept my offer to give her free money last year. Now she has to be in this crappy storage compartment.

By the way, the common currency of this universe are called “Apokkies.” Short for “Apokkryphalia’s credits.” Well, it’s an informal abbreviation. Mainly younger people call them “Apokkies.” I think that it sounds cute, so I call them that too.

Apokkies are digital currency that cannot be replicated in any way. Even the most powerful magic users can’t replicate them for reasons I do not know at the moment. Apparently, that’s not public knowledge.

Now, I have a pretty large net worth (mainly because of my wealthy father), so I have no qualms about giving Ataraxia some money to help her out.

You see, before she met me–and I hate using this to describe her–she was a poor farmer’s girl, basically. It was so sad.

Well, she was (and still is, unfortunately) middle class, so… I’m not wrong, right?

I mean, her predicament was so horrible that the only way she got into that private school I was talking about earlier (funded by upper class dark elves) was she had to cross dress. As a guy! AS A GUY! (She still kinda looks like one though.)

So that’s one of the reasons why I wanted to give her money.

The other reason was because I love her very much. She’s just wife material! She can cook, she can clean… and she has the best ideas when it comes to fun. I hope to confess my feelings of love someday…

Um.

I’m getting off topic, so anyway… what was I just talking about?

Oh, right.

Ataraxia told me that she didn’t want my money because she didn’t want to rely on my money. I just told her to think of it as a gift, but she refused. I told her I’ll give her money on her birthday or Christmas, and she reluctantly agreed.

Anyways, Ataraxia just opened her door, and there are actually some boys sitting down.

Well, two boys and a girl. The two boys are on her sofa, and the girl is on the floor, playing on her phone.

But she said all of her friends were boys? Ugh, after this whole ordeal is over, I’m going to scold her for searching up randoms online to talk to me.

I also notice that this room looks very reminiscent of a hotel room that you’d rent if you’re, to put quite plainly, poor. In fact, the gross brown “carpeting” (it’s literally not, it’s just a hard flooring with little fluffiness) is nothing special. In fact, there are no decorations or anything (that I know of) that Ataraxia actually cares about. What.