poetry
Roommate
by Arthur H. Manners in Issue Twenty-Two, February 2026
The day after Danny died of pneumonia
He came downstairs to call the landlord.
I watched trembling from the kitchen
As he rasped and bubbled into his
phone, “Damp’s gotten worse,
you need to get down here.”
“Danny, you’re dead,” I said,
“They took you away in a bag.”
He just smiled, his teeth mossy green,
And said, “Just settling up, mate.”
So we sat in the living room and
I tried not to scream while he
Brushed dried flakes of mildew
Off his cheeks.
I told him I called his parents
After I found him,
in his bedroom—so thick with black mould
it had Grown along the underside of his mattress.
“It’s these student rentals,” he said.
“They get you good, make a fortune
From your decay.”
We passed a giddy while
over the same old gripes—
The leaking pipes, the busted boiler—
And I almost forgot I was
Talking to a corpse.
Then the landlord arrived
With his usual spiel
About getting a guy over next week,
And didn’t we know
What a good deal we had here,
How he had given us a home;
How was all this complaining
Any way to repay him?
And Danny nodded and guided
Him up to his room to
Show him the mould.
And the landlord shrugged.
He was halfway through
Telling us about the coming rent hike
When Danny grabbed him and pushed him
Against the wall of mould,
Which gave like putty, and the
Landlord sank in flailing and screaming
And just when it looked like
He might claw his way out,
I threw myself against him.
Danny and I pushed until he got
A mouthful of darkness,
Gurgled, and vanished into the wall.
In the silence Danny slapped me on the back
And sighed. “Time for you to move out,
good buddy. I’ve got a new roommate.”
© 2026 Arthur H. Manners
Arthur H. Manners
Arthur H. Manners is a British speculative fiction writer, with a background in space physics and data science. His work is published/forthcoming in places like Analog, Strange Horizons, and Solarpunk Magazine. He lives in Cambridgeshire, England. Find his website and newsletter at www.arthurmanners.com.