Dave BI had a housemate, Dave, about 10 years ago who used to go out at exactly 7am every morning without fail and return at exactly 11pm every evening. When at home he would go straight to his room and not leave it until going out the next day. I don't know where he went but we knew he wasn't working. If we knocked on his door he'd ignore us. We didn't mind, he paid his rent, (left on the kitchen table without speaking to anyone).
After a couple of months or so a horrendous smell began emanating from his room. We never saw him to be able to confront him and one afternoon we drunkenly decided that he had a body in there and the correct course of action was to break down his door. In the end this wasn't necessary because we were able to pick the lock on his door.
What we found inside was the entire floor covered with rubbish literally waist deep with a clearing so the door could open. There were milk bottles filled with piss on every flat surface and cardboard boxes containing shit piled high in the corners of the room.
On top of all this mess we saw his diary. I'm not proud of reading it but he had become a non-person in my eyes and, besides, I really wanted to know where he went in the day. Inside was stories he'd written, about rape fantasies with him as the rapist. With this information we did the only thing that a reasonable person could do - we hounded him out of the house.
In retrospect I can see that this was a person with a mental illness but at the time we just wanted to get shut of the nutter. I still feel guilty when whenever I hear about a rape on the news that it might have been our Dave.
(,
Tue 18 Nov 2003, 14:01,
archived)
After a couple of months or so a horrendous smell began emanating from his room. We never saw him to be able to confront him and one afternoon we drunkenly decided that he had a body in there and the correct course of action was to break down his door. In the end this wasn't necessary because we were able to pick the lock on his door.
What we found inside was the entire floor covered with rubbish literally waist deep with a clearing so the door could open. There were milk bottles filled with piss on every flat surface and cardboard boxes containing shit piled high in the corners of the room.
On top of all this mess we saw his diary. I'm not proud of reading it but he had become a non-person in my eyes and, besides, I really wanted to know where he went in the day. Inside was stories he'd written, about rape fantasies with him as the rapist. With this information we did the only thing that a reasonable person could do - we hounded him out of the house.
In retrospect I can see that this was a person with a mental illness but at the time we just wanted to get shut of the nutter. I still feel guilty when whenever I hear about a rape on the news that it might have been our Dave.