The Apartment

My toes wriggled in my boots, a smile playing on my lips as I stood at the entrance of my new flat, the one I’d just leased. From the day I first went downtown with all its vibrant hues and sweet commotion bustling with activity, I longed to move to this part of the city. When I found a decent apartment near the square at an incredible rent, I knew I couldn’t let the opportunity slide.

I opened the door to let the musky air out and stepped inside. It was a typical two-bedroom apartment with its enormous white walls begging to be decorated. The place was still empty, but the movers were to arrive any second. It was a modest bargain, understandable given the price, but this prime location made up for it.

I turned on the fan and, taking in a deep breath, slumped against the wall. I relished the scene of the empty apartment, my body tingling with a sense of achievement. I had managed to get a place to stay in a decent neighborhood, all by myself. Despite initial apprehensions about the cheap rent, the place already started to feel like home.

The doorbell rang, jolting me from my thoughts.

“Must be the movers,” I grunted, annoyed at the interference, and got up to get the door. It was indeed the movers, and soon they started bringing in the meager furniture I owned.

The whole day was a blur of unpacking and arranging, but by evening, everything was in place. Tired as I was, drowsiness overtook me as I sat down at the dining table. Within moments, I fell asleep.

***

 I woke up gasping for breath, the remnants of a nightmare fading away. I could barely recall stark darkness surrounding me- suffocating and relentless darkness. I glanced at the clock—11 PM. I realized I had been knocked out for a few hours from fatigue. Some chores still remained to make the place feel like home, but I could put them off until tomorrow. For now, despite the headache, I craved a simple sandwich and some more sleep. With a groan, I lifted myself up but soon fell back from a sharp pain in my wrists. Looking down, I saw fresh scars and bruises.

 “What the hell?” I whispered, touching the wounds. They ached as if they were indeed new. Shaking off the eerie feeling, I made my way to the kitchen. My favorite veggie sandwich would surely help- after all they were my grandma’s recipe that I cherished growing up. The mere thought of it made my stomach grumble.

Amidst unusual dizziness, I swayed from side to side and reached the kitchen counter. The scars didn’t hurt as much now, but my body felt profoundly limp and frail but I persisted and started to chop up the veggies. I loathed being obstructed from following my desires and was always willing to endure, even if it meant going against my own body. Was I ambitious? Absolutely, and I loved this aggression that sometimes overtook me. After all, it was this wild aggression got me out of poverty.

I continued chopping up the veggies, my teeth gritting and breaths immensely shallow yet quick. I felt like throwing up, on the verge of fainting, but my hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they ruthlessly chopped through everything. Steadily, my eyes started to feel heavy, and my vision darkened until I lost control of my senses and body. My arms moved almost mechanically, but apart from that, I had lost all my senses to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Suddenly, pain exploded in my left wrist, and I collapsed, writhing on the cold floor. Blood pooled around me. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Tears blurred my vision as I succumbed to the darkness, accepting my fate. As far as I could remember, I had never given up, never been held down by adversities of fate and circumstances, but today I had lost, and none greater than to death itself.

Slowly, my eyes closed. I made peace with my circumstances for the first and last time ever. Surely, this was the end...

***

I woke up to a series of rhythmic and incessant beeping. Slowly but surely, against a ceaseless drumming inside my head, I opened my eyes. My head seemed unusually heavy, and my vision unbelievably hazy. My inability to focus forced me to close my eyes again. I took a few deep breaths and just lay there, letting all the events of the previous evening sink in

Slowly, I opened my eyes again. I was in a hospital. A nurse was checking my vitals.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” he said without looking at me.

“How?” I mumbled, still groggy.

“Your fire alarm saved you. You left a pan on the stove. Safe to say your carelessness saved your life,” he said with a wry smile.  “The doctor will tell you the rest”

A doctor soon arrived. “I’m Dr. Marcos. How are you feeling?”.

“Dizzy, drained, confused… too much, apparently,” I replied.

“You’re lucky to even breathe, Mister Evans. Let your body now take its due share of relief. You lost a dangerous amount of blood.”

“Or so I’m told, doctor,” I mumbled as he took a quick glance at my charts.

“It all seems fine to me. I think a few more weeks, and you’ll be fit to go. Meanwhile, you should take a break and just lay back.” He smiled and started to walk away but then, as if recollecting something, turned back and informed me about a visit by some cops. Apparently, they suspected an attempted suicide

I grunted. So much hassle and pain for no reason and fault of mine whatsoever. I felt anger boiling inside me… it was entirely my fault.

Later that evening, a detective visited. Detective Harris introduced himself and asked me to recount the events. As I narrated the bizarre occurrences, his expression grew more serious.

“I need to tell you something, Mister Evans,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t know if you believe me but this apartment has a history.”

“What sort of history?” my ears perked up.

“You see about a decade ago, an elderly couple lived there. They were reportedly going through severe financial and personal issues. One night, they both ended their pitiful existence by slashing their wrists in the kitchen. Their body only discovered a month later, rotten and miserable. Ever since, there have been reports of strange happenings.”

A chill ran down my spine. The scars, the bruises, the nightmares—they all made sense now. I felt a mix of terror and anger. Why hadn’t I known about this before moving in?

“I can’t stay there,” I muttered. “I need to leave.”

Detective Harris nodded. “It’s understandable. We’ll help you find a new place.”

About a month later I returned to the apartment and as I gathered my belongings, a sense of dread lingered. The apartment, once a dream, had turned into a nightmare. Leaving felt like the only escape, yet the mystery of the elderly couple’s haunting presence haunted my thoughts.

I stepped out of the apartment, leaving the keys behind. The door closed with an eerie finality, leaving me with unanswered questions and a deep-seated unease.

-The end.