by Nancy Sherer

One Tuesday, as we returned from grocery shopping I smelled something wrong. We followed the malevolent odor that wafted through the entry way up the stairs to the living room, wondering what could possibly smell that bad until I got to the living room where, like The Amnityville Horror house, more than a dozen houseflies clung to the glass of the window, desperate to escape. But still we could not locate the source of the noxious fume.

Flummoxed, we decided to call the natural gas company although it didn't seem like exactly the chemical used to mark natural gas. They responded quickly. Within minutes a wand-wielding man was at our door. As he entered, before he even waved his gas-detecting stick through the foul smelling air, he declared that we were dealing with, not a gas leak. A dead animal.

We didn’t have to speculate on what or where that dead animal was. My next call was to a pest control company. The conversation went approximately like this:

“I have a dead raccoon in my chimney, can you send someone to get it out?”

“A raccoon?”(did I detect a sneer in his voice? Could it be he didn’t believe me?)

“Yes, a raccoon. It died in our chimney.”

“Probably a bird or bat got down in there, but not a raccoon.”

“I’m sure it is a raccoon. (Now I’m beginning to get nervous. If he doesn’t believe me, will he still send someone over just to look?)

“If there’s something in your chimney, you need to call a chimney sweep.”

Relieved that he at least was willing to give me some advice, I called a chimney sweep company and this is how the conversation went:

“I have a dead raccoon in my chimney.”

“Dead raccoon? You need to call a pest control company.”

“I did, but they told me to call you.”

“It’s probably a bird.”

“I’m sure it’s a raccoon. It raised its baby in there, but now it’s dead.”

“Well, okay, a raccoon. I can send someone over on Thursday.”

That was two days away. How could we survive the smell until then? At least it wasn't a gas leak. I lit candles in the fireplace to create an updraft. This took the odor up out of the house. I hoped that the flies would go upward, but that was not what happened. Swarm after swarm of newly hatched flies speckled my picture window long after I gave up trying to count them. I knew the end was in sight so I vacuumed the flies from the glass and tried to relax. I thought the worst was probably over.

The next day came the maggots. Hundreds of maggots, probably even thousands of maggots, dropping down from the chimney flue and crawling, crawling, squirming, worming their way across our living room, down the stairs, even into the hallway as far as the bathroom. Insecticide slowed them down, but for the next two days, I kept the vacuum handy, ready to suck up another load. Worried that the maggots could crawl out, or considering their life cycle, fly out of the vacuum cleaner bag, I kept the vacuum outside on the deck between hunting forays.

Finally, Thursday morning the chimney sweep arrived. Without pausing for conversation, he began spreading a tarp over the carpet as though he was preparing to sweep the chimney.

I was confused, and told him so as diplomatically as I could. This is how that conversation went:

“I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you so much. I’ve kept candles burning to keep the smell from being sucked into the house.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it.” He continues laying out chimney sweeping paraphernalia.

“No, no. Our chimney isn’t dirty. There is a dead raccoon in it.”

“Oh, yeah, here on the order is says.... It says there’s some birds in there.”

“No, I told the guy it was a raccoon.”

“Well, I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, thank you.”

I escorted him to the back deck where I had a ladder prepared for quick roof access. He climbs up, walks to the chimney, and leans over it and reels back.

“That stinks! I’ve never smelled anything like it. What is that?” He climbs down, goes to his truck, returns with a flash light, climbs back up on the roof and peers into the deep, dark hole again, then again reels back.

“I can’t believe how bad that smells.”

“I know. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“There’s a raccoon down there!”

“I know. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I don’t know how you’re gonna get that out of there.”

“Well, could you use a hook or something to pull it up?”

“That smells awful.” Now he starts back down. “I don’t know how you’re gonna get that out of there.”

His continued use of the phrase 'how you're gonna get it out of there' contributed to my growing panic.

“But. I thought you knew of some way. What would you do if it had just been a bird?”

“I don’t know how you’re gonna get that out of there. You need to call a pest control company.”

“I called them first. They told me to call you. I don’t think they believed me when I told them it was a raccoon.”

“I’ll call them for you.”

When he said that I swear a golden glow emanated from his blue striped coveralls and encircled him like an angel. He was a genius, using his power for good.

But his first call was to his boss. As he said that there was no way he could remove the raccoon from the chimney his aura dissipated. However, his next call was to the pest control company. Apparently they believed him because in less than half an hour a truck inscribed with the words, “Integrity Pest Control' pulled in the driveway.

The sweep, who had decided to wait for the pest control guys, had returned to the roof to occasionally peer down the chimney, reel back and repeat, “I can’t believe how bad that smells.”