Tippy

Tippy, in life, was every playboy comic artist’s fantasy. The maid that bent over just a little too far to pick something up. The maid whose stockings were fastened tight with garters instead of the typical pantyhose style. Her eyes would linger too long on her clients husband’s or wives…her fingers brushing against their hands when she handed them something. Always a little to eager to fold…delicates. How many families had she worked for? Been fired from? How many lives torn apart- a home wrecker? She didn’t keep track. She just grabbed her supplies, tightened her apron, and moved on to the next house. She wasn’t in it for the devastation- not really. It was just an unfortunate side effect. She wanted to be noticed- to be adored- to be desired. She liked the families, the spouses, the work. She just craved the attention more than she could control…and one day it ended up catching up to her.  She really liked the Gables. The husband was handsy, but he loved to spoil her. Expensive lingerie, jewelry, money for a new car. Everything she could want, he gave and he worshipped her. Tippy just wished his wife was as happy with her as he was. Mrs.Gable was a pretty thing with a hot and cool temper, but didn’t really mean any harm. It was an accident- honest. At least- Tippy thinks it was. She remembers cleaning. The powder and stuff in the tub was soaking. And Mrs.Gable was screaming..she had found Tippy’s panties on her nightstand. Again. It was the last straw she said, she was done. She was tired of being humiliated in her own home by a thieving rat living off her scraps! Her hand hit something- some bottle of something or other than fell into the tub with a clunk and a glug. Then she left, slamming the door behind her…then the fog came.

[12:08 PM]

Tippy knew something had mixed, something toxic filled the air and burned her nose and throat. She tried to get out the door but it had jammed when Mrs.Gable had slammed it. She cried and screamed and scratched at the door as the gas filled the room and choked her. She could hear Mr. and Mrs. Gable on the other side of the door pounding and pulling at it, promising they’d get her out. Her lungs felt like they were on fire- and suddenly it was over.  After all she did, Tippy supposed it was fair that she went to Hell. It wasn’t anything like the stories- no chains and spikes and brimstone. Unless the road was brimstone instead of asphalt; it could be she didn’t know. Life didn’t change much, to be honest. People still needed their homes cleaned, still fell for her wiles, and still got pissed at her when it all fell apart. Despite all that, she felt very different from so many of the denizens of hell. She didn’t have malicious intent, just malicious consequences. That’s what brought her to the hotel. She had heard they wanted to reform sinners, make them better. Maybe they could help her, and hey! She knew how to clean hotels so she could work as a maid there and get help and everything will be better, right? Right?