This Ain’t No Mudd Club

It’s three in the morning when Billy Idol’s “Mony Mony” suddenly blares from downstairs. 

Written by Sheri White
Art by 51 Pegasi

This Ain’t No Mudd Club

It’s three in the morning. I’ve been wide awake since a little after midnight, when Billy Idol’s “Mony Mony” suddenly blares from downstairs. 

“Get laid, get fucked!” people gleefully shout at the right time, and the sound of laughter followed. Occasionally I’d hear breaking glass on a hard floor, then a chorus of “asshole!” with mocking snickers.

Smoke from cigarettes, cigars, and joints wafts upstairs and under my bedroom door, setting off my allergies in a storm of sneezes and coughs. I take a drink of water from the glass on my nightstand, but my door suddenly opens with a hard slam into the wall, and I drop it, soaking my sheets.An obviously drunk couple stumble into my room, laughing and kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes. “Whoopsie!” the woman chortles. “Didn’t know this room was occupado.” The man laughs and grabs her around the waist, shutting the door behind them. 

Before my mind can process what just happened, I hear the toilet flushing in the bathroom down the hallway.

“Hey, man! Get out of there, I’m gonna puke!” The bathroom door opens, but not in time because I hear vomit splatter on the carpet.

The music gets louder, bass thumping through the floors and rattling the windows. Laughter transitions into shrieks, torturing my ears. Voices in conversation amplify, competing to be heard over the maddening cacophony.

Fragile items are treated with indifference. I flinch at the shattering of glass and ceramics and porcelain. 

I can’t take it anymore.

“Stop it! Please stop all this!” I scream from my bed. I get no response, but I didn’t expect one. I burrow under my wet sheets and curl into a ball.

It’s three in the morning.

There’s a wild party in my house.

I live alone.

About the Author

pink black and yellow abstract painting

Sheri White’s stories have been published in many anthologies, including Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself (an ezine), I Cast You Out, published by CultureCult Press, 666 (Dark Drabbles, Book 11), published by Black Hare Press, Tales from the Crust (edited by Max Booth III and David James Keaton), Halldark Holidays (edited by Gabino Iglesias), and HWA’s Don’t Turn Out the Lights (edited by Jonathan Maberry). Her collection, Sacrificial Lambs and Others, was published in 2018. Sheri lives in Jefferson, Maryland with her husband Chris, their daughter Lauren, their three black cats (Lucy, Sadie, and Vlad), and two dogs (Dobie and Josie). Their other daughters Sarah and Becca fled the scene last year. In accordance with unspoken Maryland state laws, there is always a can of Old Bay in her cupboard, and she visits local breweries as often as possible.

About the Artist

51 Pegasi is a hallucinogenic trip through a world of Stepford dolls that shimmy their way around a 60’s Nuke Town in a dystopian world that almost was. A pop surrealist fever dream from London-based designer Jenna Patrick, who, let’s be honest, probably spends most of her time making boring things look slightly less boring. But hey, who needs reality when you can escape into a world of pop surrealism and pure unadulterated madness.


2 responses to “This Ain’t No Mudd Club”

  1. Sheri White Avatar

    I love the artwork for my story – thank you!

    1. Cream Scene Carnival Avatar
      Cream Scene Carnival

      We’re so happy that you’re happy, Sheri.

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