The lady that showed me the apartment told me the building caught fire in 1880, luckily only the top two floors of the four-story building had burned. That explains why my third floor apartment looks so modern when compared to the rest of the building. The apartments on the top two floors are luxury suites that take up the entire story. They were recently remodeled after being sealed off for over a hundred years, but for some reason the third floor is much cheaper than the fourth floor. I told myself I was going to research the fire before I committed to the lease, but the lady was cute so I signed the lease with the intent of impressing her. Being the first time owner of a luxurious downtown penthouse is a hard opportunity to pass up, even though it’s not on the top floor.
The first night is always awkward in a new apartment, especially alone. I just don’t understand why I’m single. I’m a young optometrist fresh out of grad school. I’m in shape, I’m loaded, I’ve got a badass car, and now I just moved into this gigantic apartment. What’s not to like about me? I’m a fuckin’ catch!
The part I hate most about living alone is showering, you are at you’re most vulnerable state while you’re in the shower. I didn’t always feel that way. But when I was in grade school my grandpa made me watch that movie Psycho and ever sense I’ve had this strange urge to maintain control. I get really crazy when I lose control.
Well unfortunately its 11:00 p.m. I’ve been at the gym all night, and I smell like an ass. Tomorrow’s Friday, I have to work. I must shower. Its no big deal, single people shower everyday. And I’m definitely never going to find a chick smelling like gym room musk.
Lathering shampoo is always the worst part about showering. All the suds start falling down into my face, and I always feel blinded. If a killer were going to rip open the shower curtain and slice me to pieces that would be the time.
I always undress in the bathroom. This way I always have a knife in the pocket of my pants. I fold my pants the same way every night, and I always make sure the pocket with the knife is facing up. I don’t want the killer to see my defense before I have a chance to stab him with it.
Shutting the curtains is a commitment I’m not always willing to make. “Goddamn this B. O!” Tonight I make the commitment.
I scrub and scratch the shampoo onto my scalp with an intense haste, but pain doesn’t matter. Did I just hear a noise? I’ve got to clear my eyes. I must have control! I think I see someone behind the curtain. “Hello! Is there anybody there?” No answer. Of course they didn’t fucking answer! I open my eyes too early and blind myself with the remaining suds on my face. Through the blurry pain I see a tall dark figure behind the shower curtain. I blink furiously trying to relieve my blind eyes. Fuck the burn. I must live. I must have control!
I fling open the curtains and dive for my knife. My soaking hands drench my folded sweat pants. Fuck my eyes are burning! Suddenly I hear a crash in the kitchen! “Hello? I’m going to slash you to pieces if you don’t show yourself!” No answer. I run into the kitchen and see that the window leading to the fire escape is open. I know I closed the window before I went to the gym. I’ve been robbed.
* * *
Fortunately I survived my shower, and so far I haven’t noticed anything missing. I hope it was just some petty thieves and not an insane neighbor. I always have the worst neighbors.
I feel much better now that I’m clean. Falling asleep is not nearly as difficult as showering because I keep a loaded Glock nine millimeter underneath my pillow. I would take a gun into the shower but I’m worried that the water and mist would rust the barrel. I only invest in expensive weapons. They are precious to me.
* * *
Lonely Friday nights are a tradition for me. I get off work at five and the office I work for is closed on the weekends. Some of the lab technicians I work with have a poker game every Friday night. They invited me to the game once but none of them had enough money to match the bets I was placing. One of the guys tried to cheat so I pulled my Smith and Wesson nine millimeter from my holster and set it on the table, I could tell I was making them nervous. They don’t invite me to their Friday night poker games anymore. Those pussies are probably just jealous that I make more money then they do.
I take up different hobbies to fill the void of my lonesome weekends, but I rarely stick with anything. Since this apartment building is in an artsy-part of town I figured I’d go down to the local art store and try to pick up chicks.
When I got to the art store the only chick there was behind the counter. In fact, we were the only two people in the store. I grab a bunch of brushes, tubes of paint, canvases, basically anything I can grab. I don’t look at the price tags. Money is not a problem with me. I just want to impress the cashier. She looks kind of cute. How much could painting supplies cost anyway?
“Four-hundred, ninety three dollars, and twelve cents.” She announces after ringing up the last tube of paint. Rather than respond I stare blankly into her young eyes. I can tell I’m making her nervous with my silence. I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. I quietly hand her my credit card. The credit card machine seems to take an eternity to process my purchase. The Silence is making everything awkward and I feel like I’ve lost control. “Crazy weather we’re having huh?” I finally break the ice. “Uhhh… yeah. I love the change of the seasons.” She replied! “Well… I’ll see you around!” I think she is trying to get me to leave. She hands me my bags and I walk out of the store without saying a word in reply. Damn it, I didn’t even give myself the chance!
I decide to buy a bottle of whiskey and drink my problems away. Sitting in my gigantic living room drinking myself into madness I feel the sudden urge to paint a picture. After all, I do have a small fortune invested in a bunch of painting supplies sitting on the floor by the front door. As I paint the canvas I don’t really intend on painting anything in particular. I’m just blobbing goops of red paint on the canvas and brushing back and forth. Brushing the canvas I start to see a red border developing on the canvas. It almost looks like a red curtain. I decide to paint a brown stage. Mixing the paints on the canvas I start to feel an overwhelming feeling throughout my entire body, almost like I am under another’s control. It must be the booze. As this mystical feeling moves my hand back and forth I look at the canvas I am painting. It is fucking terrible! It doesn’t look like a stage at all. I decide to go to bed a failure in yet another attempt at a hobby.
I begin to fall into that stage of sub consciousness in which you feel half-awake but you’re unsure if you’re dreaming or not. As I lay in bed an old man slowly walks into my bedroom door and approaches my bedside. He must be the intruder from earlier! He stops and looks down at me. Straight into my eyes he glares, and in a ruffled voice the man asks: “ Why have you come to disturb me?”
“I am not here to disturb you, I only live here. Who the hell are you? What do you think you are doing in my apartment?” I scream at him. I reach for my gun but my arms are motionless. I can only squirm my head back and forth!
“In the name of the lord I will punish every demon you send my way Satan! Why does your master Lucifer send you to torture me? I’m nothing but a lonely old man!” His voice echoes throughout the room with such a power that it shakes my body.
I try so hard to reach for my gun as he starts to move in on me. He sticks both his old, long, wrinkly hands out at me with the intent of strangling me. “No!” I scream. Why wont my arms work? If I could just grab my gun I could smoke this motherfucker. What is wrong with me? I must be dreaming. I must be dreaming.
I awake in a cold sweat, and I can’t breathe. Inhale. Exhale. I get up out of bed and walk into the living room. The canvas is lying on the floor and the cup of water I used to clean the brushes has spilled on the new carpet. I must have knocked it over in my sorrowful, drunken stumble to bed. The more I look at the canvas the more I’m beginning to think it doesn’t look like a stage at all. In fact the brown stage kind of looks like a building. And the red curtain kind of looks like a fire. It looks like a building on fire. It looks like this building on fire. “That’s fucking awesome! I have to hang that up right over the couch!” I congratulate myself.
After watching two hours of Ren and Stimpy re-runs on late night TV and taking shots of whiskey I black out. The next morning I am brought into my hangover by a loud thudding happening up stairs. Neighbors so soon? I am already regretting picking the slightly cheaper third floor apartment, rather than the more expensive, yet identically size fourth floor apartment. I always have the strangest neighbors.
As a means of breaking the ice I always ask my new neighbors for some sugar. I know its corny but I’m desperate for some company, and maybe there will be some cute single girls living there.
Three knocks on the door and I hear some soft footsteps approaching from inside the apartment, as the door creaks open I take a peak at who is inside. It is a young boy about twelve years old. He has red hair, a pale and freckled face with extremely high eyebrows and cheekbones that slope to a point in the center of his face. He looks like a heathen brat. “Hello little boy, do you think you could get your parents for me?” I ask. “No.” he yells as he slams the door in my face. What a little bastard. Someone should teach that little punk a lesson.
All that afternoon I had to listen to that fucking kid run from one end of the apartment to the other. I tried to turn my stereo up loud enough to block out his footsteps, but it seemed like every time I turned the music up louder he would just run faster and make more noise. I even put a Slayer album on the stereo, but the heavy metal was to no avail. The brutal music seemed to make that little shit more excited. The thudding would begin at one end of the apartment, then it sounded like he would run to the other end and then run back as quickly as he could manage. What a little fucker. I finally was relieved when I fell asleep at eleven p.m., unfortunately I didn’t have the courage to take a shower. Especially after I was robbed the last time I showered. And that dream I had last night is not helping my courage
That night the same man visits me. As he walks towards my bedside I don’t even bother trying to fight for control of my arms. I’ve lost control. “I’m truly sorry for the things I said to you last evening. You see I had you confused for someone else.” The man calmly says as he stops at my bedside. “Let me show you something Franklin, follow me upstairs.” The man leads me out of my apartment, into the stairwell, and up to the top floor of the apartment building. The stairs are made of marble leading to the top floor, and the maple handrail is unfamiliar. The first two stories of the building look like this now, but the top stories have carpet over the stairs and a metal handrail, I wonder if somebody fixed the hallway now that they have residents on these two floors. “Do you know who lives in this apartment Franklin?” The man asks. “No. I tried to meet them yesterday but the bratty ass little kid slammed the door in my face.”
“Let me tell you something about the child living in this apartment Franklin. He has been possessed by one of Satan’s many demons that can roam the Earth. They have been sent here to drive the innocent into insanity, and to convert the faithful into non-believers. But I know you are not an insane person Franklin. In fact, God has sent me to inform you that you will be fulfilling a prophecy similar to the one that lead me to my own salvation. You see this building was built on a portal to Hell. Humans cannot see this portal, which is why you have never seen the many spirits it transports to hell daily. Unfortunately Lucifer can also use this portal to send demons onto Earth. Many years ago one of Satan’s demons bewitched a young boy who also lived on the fourth floor. I, like you, also lived on the third floor beneath the possessed. I accepted God’s request. Do you accept God’s request to once again preventatively destroy a possible threat to the good, and holy?”
“You’re fucking joking with me. Do I look like an idiot? I’m a fucking doctor buddy! I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“This is no time for joking Franklin, Satan must be stopped.” Replied the calm old man.
“But I’ve never been religious. Why has God chosen me?” I question.
“You are now what I was before. I was once a lonely man with all the luxuries of life handed to me. I know about your parent’s car crash, I know about your inheritance, I know everything about your lonely, tragic existence.” The man looks dead into my eyes with the composure of someone who has reached total nirvana.
“Fuck you! Everybody knows about my parent’s crash! I hate fucking talking about my parent’s crash! I should kick your ass for bringing that up.” I can’t hold back my tears and my eyes blur as I stare a look of pure hatred into the eyes of this old man. “If he would have let me drive they would still be alive! He was too drunk, damn it he had lost all control! Why the fuck are you doing this to me?”
“You have lost everything. You are one man who has nobody. But you can have someone Franklin: God. God is the perfect savior, and this holy deed will be the ultimate repentance. That is why God’s fate has led you to this apartment. We are both prophets of mortal blood. We are of the same mold. You will discover this truth with time. But for now you must decide. Are you willing to help yourself by helping God?”
“Yes.” I reply in a clogged voice resulting from my emotional breakdown.
“Good. Oh, here comes little Ricky now. Don’t let his size confuse you, Satan has given him extreme powers.” And sure enough the same redheaded kid came walking in the room. Only now he is dressed in extremely old clothes. He is barefooted, with dusty old pants that don’t even reach his ankles anymore. His suspenders wrap over his murky dark brown, wool shirt. His sleeves are rolled up and his hat looks like it has never been taken from his head. In fact everything looks different. Everything in the apartment looks very old. The stove is coal burning, there is no refrigerator, and candles light the entire apartment. The décor of the apartment is themed around the color of the dark wood that lavishly decorates every nook in the apartment. Suddenly I see little Ricky drop to his knees in the center of the living room and his eyes roll back into his head. He begins to scream shrilling noises, and he starts to foam at the mouth. Suddenly he begins to laugh in the most frightening, deep, and demonic voice I have ever heard. “Fools! I see you! I know you have traveled to my world. I see all! I will punish you with such intensity that you will beg me to pluck your eyes from your head just so you will not have to see your treacherous remains!” I have to wake up. I must regain control!
But I can’t wake up, just like I couldn’t grab my gun. The old man walks out the front door and down the stairs so I quickly follow behind him. As we walk back to my apartment I realize that the room looks nothing like my apartment. There are a lot of fine gothic details in the woodwork and doorways of this apartment that must have been destroyed during the fire and forgotten during the remodeling. There are excellent paintings covering the floor, table, and walls. A real talent has created all of this art. I also begin to notice how there is nothing modern in the entire apartment, the fire pit is even functioning! The fire pit in my apartment had been sealed off during the remodeling. “You now know what you must do. Don’t you?” The man interrupts my thoughts.
“Kill him.”
“Yes you must remove him from the Earth and banish that demon back to the Hell that he came from.” The man speaks in such a monotone voice now. I haven’t heard his voice tone fluctuate since my first encounter with him at which he screamed with all the force of God.
“How do I kill him?” I ask.
“You absolutely cannot leave before he dies! You have been chosen by the lord himself to partake in this cleansing of evil. You must watch him die! You must burn him in the same way that demon wishes you will burn in the fiery pits of hell. It will not kill the demon, but it will kill his vessel, and the fire will send him straight back to hell. God wants you to burn him alive just like he had me do so many years ago. God is the keeper of Heaven’s gates. God is not someone you want to disobey. If you think the demons are bad on Earth, try dealing with Satan in hell.”
“I can’t do that! I don’t want to die!” I shriek.
“What do you have to live for Franklin? You are all alone. God is giving you a purpose.” The man makes a good argument. I am really lonesome. “Do God’s deed. Kill the child of Satan, and send that demon back to hell.” This was the last thing the man said to me before I awoke.
Again I awoke in a cold sweat, only this time I really feel disgusting. I had sweated profusely throughout the night, and my entire comforter was soaked in pungent sweat. I didn’t even realize I was taking a shower until after I had rinsed the shampoo from my eyes. I guess some things just aren’t scary when you’ve got God on your side.
I spend most of the day staring blandly at the living room wall. I don’t want to die, but what is the point in living after disobeying God. And if I don’t kill this brat then I’ll have a demon in constant, and close proximity to me. I decide to hang the canvas on the wall, but first I have to paint windows on the building. I’ve never felt the fulfillment of salvation before but I think I felt the tingle of God saving my soul as I brushed the white paint onto the canvas. I really have been chosen. But why me? I must dream! I lie down and try to fall asleep. The answers will come to me in a dream.
Lying in bed during the daytime is useless for me. I’ve never taken a nap before in my life. I just lie flat on my back and watch the ceiling. The thudding of that brat has been non-stop today. I have to go out and make myself tired. I’ve always hated Sundays. All I have to do is golf and go to the shooting range, and I’m always alone during either activity. So I go to the shooting range and imagine the target is my young neighbor. Aiming a handgun is the ultimate form of control. Sometimes the wind on the golf course obstructs my control and I get frustrated. But going to the shooting range is always fulfilling. The butt of the gun rest in my powerful hands as I pull the trigger. I empty round after round into the target. I nearly separated the target in half I shot so many rounds into the thing. The loud banging of the handgun only makes me more alert. The control of my perfect aim makes me even more attentive. I’m not going to fall asleep. I must go by blind faith. I am the chosen one. God has given me control, and it is now up to me to fulfill my destiny. I control the fate of the holy people.
* * *
Pouring gasoline all over the apartment smells worse than I could have ever imagined. I douse the two thousand dollar stereo first, who needs music? Besides the devil influences most good music anyway. The mattress almost soaks up the entire gallon, so I put a few trails leading to the gas stove and the water heater just for reassurance. Should I go get another gallon? The gas station is only across the street, and I don’t want the kid to live. Fuck it, this will do. I turn on all four-stove tops and let the kitchen fill with the leaking gas. That should take care of it. Walking back into the bedroom I give myself the sign of the cross. Head, chest, left, then right shoulder. Then I recite a prayer: “Dear God, please give me your divine wisdom and supreme power as I journey into the battlefields between heaven and hell. I ask for your blessing and hope that you will cherish me for all I have done in the name of the lord. Amen.” That was relieving, and I really felt a spiritual presence. But the thudding has stopped. In my commitment to dousing my apartment I didn’t even notice that my neighbors are not home. I guess now I’ll just wait for them to return.
I’m waiting for the apartment to fill with gas, I’m waiting for the perfect moment for my life to end, but most importantly I’m waiting for the first thud to come bellowing down from upstairs. That demon wont make it three steps in the door before I blow his ass straight back to hell. I don’t even worry as I pick up the box of matches from the end table. I know I am doing the right thing. I know what God wants me to do. I know that I am in control. God has given me control through salvation.
No comments:
Post a Comment