In the field of real estate, there's a type of property every sane real estate agent avoids like a pest: stigmatized properties.
For the owners of said properties, selling them becomes night impossible, divine intervention excluded.
However, as May Thompson looked at the pile of unpaid bills on her apartment table, she had to face reality: if she didn't sell that mansion, her life was over.
As she held her head above the papers, the door creaked open. It was her daughter, Eve, coming back from highschool. The girl stopped a moment, looking at her mother as she hastily hid the bills and beer cans on the table. She didn't say anything but her furrowed eyebrows were words enough.
"Ah, sweetie, you are back already?" said May trying to divert her daughter's attention.
"...Yeah," she replied.
"The dinner is in the fridge. Eat it quickly please. 9 PM is not a normal hour to have dinner, especially for someone who has nothing to do but studying."
"Eating is eating. I don't see why the hour is important," mumbled the girl.
"You said something?"
"No."
"Good. I already told you to not reply to me," said May, slightly nodding. "Listen, my lunch is the fridge too so—"
"Yeah, yeah," the girl replied, her ginger hair flowing as she went upstairs.
"..."
***
"Filth Cleaner Ajax?"
As May went back from her night job in the early morning, she found a strange mail in her box. It caught her attention because, contrary to the other mails that appeared black on her phone thank you constantly activated dark mode, that one was of a sparkling white she didn't think her screen was capable of producing.
At first she didn't want to open it thinking it was just another junk mail. But here's the thing: she also recently decided to open all and every mail she received because seeing the constant "99+" on her screen was starting to annoy her. She didn't know if she was making any progress, but eventually, she was sure she could make that number disappear with enough time.
"Oh well…"
She decided to open it and see if it was some old site she gave her email to. If that was the case, she planned to block it and be done with it like the many others before it.
"We clean everything from dust to supernatural beings. Bugs, aliens or ghosts, just call us at the XX-XXXXXXXX…"
The woman stayed silent for a moment.
"Ghosts? Is that a joke or…"
The white background of the text was unnaturally bright. On the mail were drawn many cute mops, bottles of liquid detergent, pests, and ghosts. Someone clearly had fun making this, but she didn't find it so amusing herself.
She deleted the message and proceeded to read the next.
"Notice of expulsion…"
She stared at her screen with tired eyes not even seeming to process the words displayed on it.
"...My throat is dry."
Without another word, she threw her phone on the nearest sofa and went into the kitchen.
***
"H-Huh?!"
May woke up in an unknown place only lit by flashing lights. At first, she panicked but then she realized it was merely her living room. She must have dozed off in front of the TV.
"Sh*t! My shift!"
She hastily searched for her phone to check the hour. Thankfully, she still had about 30 minutes. If she skipped a few steps, she could prepare and get there not too late. But she didn't feel like it. She knew she was doing something bad by staying at home but she couldn't help it. She didn't even feel like turning off the TV.
"Hm?"
The cans she left on the coffee table had disappeared leaving only a single note that read: Seek help.
May furrowed her eyebrows. For a second, she considered going up the stairs and knocking on her daughter's door, but she refrained. What good could it bring?
"... My throat is dry."
But it was not a dryness simple water could calm down. Soon, the table was full of new green cans and May's was finally a bit emptier.
Suddenly, he phone rang. It was another mail, this time from her ex-husband, reminding her that they must meet in court soon and he would prefer if she just gave up on Eve before that. After all, it wasn't as if she couldn't take care of her anyway.
"F*ck you," she replied.
In fact, she decided to finally clean her box, writing that exact same sentence as the reply of any message she came across.
"F*ck you. F*ck you! F*ck all of you!!!" she repeated, sending the reply indiscriminately, be it to the one she owned, her manager at job or even random people she never met. As long as she could reply, they were f*cked.
Her phone rang again. Someone had replied, someone with a message so bright that it hurt the eyes.
[F*ck you? Does that mean you want Ajax to work for you?]
"Who the hell *hic* is this moron?"
Looking closely May noticed it was coming from that shady junk mail she saw earlier—Filth Cleaner Ajax.
"Oh… Heh, see how it is…"
Seems that they cleaned more than dust and ghosts.
"Well, well… seems… people are inventive as always," she commented, taking another sip. "Well, let's prank them a little."
[I'm penniless but I would like you to "clean" my body a bit
I'm sure you will like scrubbing that big pole of mine]
And the reply was sent. For some reason, she was really proud of herself. It would teach those idiots to not mess with her. It was things like that that tempted married men even when they were otherwise really faithful.
Suddenly, her phone rang again, this time a call.
"Huh? Who could it be at this hour? Bet it's just the manager using another phone number…" she said, muting her phone.
She had no intention to reply to anything but the caller proved themselves insistent. Finally, she decided to reply and, to put every chance on her side, she mimicked the low and greasy voice of someone who is sick.
"Hello?"
"Ah, hello, Miss Thompson! This is Ajax from Filth Cleaner Ajax!" replied the voice behind the door.
"... Huh?"
May put down her phone. It took her a moment to fully realize that the voice on the phone actually came from behind her apartment's front door.