THE APARTMENT

Chapter Three - Voices and Faces

Breathing through my mouth, and seeing the condensation, my eyes now scanned the room - trying to determine where the voice came from.

There was nothing. I did not know if I should take this as good news. Even though I was slightly relieved that I did not see anything, my heart kept pounding.

My piqued curiosity now focused outside, as I heard footsteps coming from the living room. My eyes widened, and the goose bumps on my arms appeared. Should I go out there, or should I stay in my room?

After swallowing hard, I slowly got up from bed, quietly opened the bedroom door, and carefully tip-toed towards the living room. So far, the footsteps continued.

Before I reached the living room, I heard the scurrying of little feet. Nerve-chilling silence followed after.

With the moonlight seeping through the windows as my only source of illumination, I scanned our huge living room for anything unusual. My blood froze once my sights landed on the antique upholstered chair. I clearly saw pale fingers wrapped around the back of the chair. Those fingers definitely were not Andy's, since I could audibly hear his snoring.

Stupefied, I stood from that very spot for a few minutes. Half of me wished to find out who - or what - was hiding behind that chair. Half of me wanted to retreat in fright, hide under the thick covers, and close my eyes until I finally fall asleep.

While my heart violently pounded, my feet developed a mind of their own. I walked towards that chair. My eyes were transfixed on those pale fingers, which remained immobile as each step led me closer to it. Upon reaching that spot, I touched those appendage.

After my hand went through those fingers, I then peered to see what was behind the chair. What I saw produced a mixture of shock, fright, and wonder. The moonlight bouncing off against it provided an eerie and mystifying glow. Our eyes deeply gazed at each other.

The spectral owner of those pale fingers was a little boy. He was about five years old with ruddy cheeks, curly brown hair, shapely nose, and reddish lips. The boy was so handsome that he could be easily mistaken for a little girl, especially since his hair was longer than usual.

Even though I was petrified from being face-to-face with a ghost, I could not help but feel both fear and pity. After all, who would not be afraid of seeing a specter in your own living room? However, phantom or no phantom, how could I be fearful of someone - or something - that seemed to be more afraid of me?

Eventually, a faint smile slowly crept from my lips, as I gathered up the courage to break the ice between us. While clenching my fists to contain my fear, I softly asked the specter, "What are you doing back there?"

The ghostly boy lifted up his face at an angle. This time, the moonlight illuminated his tearful eyes. Heart-breaking sadness crept within my being upon seeing his eyes, for they were as blue as sapphire and deeply melancholic.

My own eyes misted, feeling so sorry for the little boy. I just could not stand it when a child cried or gave me puppy dog eyes. After swallowing hard and further softening my tone, I told the specter, "I won't hurt you. I promise."

The boy looked at me with probing and hopeful eyes, wondering and assessing if I was telling him the truth. Moments later, he seemed to relax.

With a warm smile, I told him, "Actually, I'm more afraid of you than you are of me."

"I'm hiding from someone else," the young specter said. Although his lips did not move, I could audibly hear what he was saying.

"I just heard someone call me. Did you call me just now?" I asked him.

"No," he replied.

I slightly frowned. After being deep in thought for a couple of minutes, I confirmed that he was right. The voice I heard inside my bedroom was not his, for it was much deeper. As my forehead crinkled, I then asked, "If it wasn't you, then who was it?"

"I don't know," he responded, as he rose from behind the chair and stepped out into the moonlight. While shoving his hands inside the pockets of his denim overalls, he said, "There are a lot of us here. It must be one of them. They hide better than I do, so you won't see them."

"Oh," I remarked with slight amusement. It took a full minute before I fully comprehended and reacted to his last words. What did he mean when he said there was more of them? Did it mean that there were more ghosts? The fear that slightly diminished within me moments ago quickly returned. "There's more of you? Are you guys playing a game?"

His innocent eyes expressed such panic, as he seemed to sense something that I did not. Repeatedly shaking his head while noticeably quivering, he said, "We're hiding from the bad woman, before she gets us again."

"Bad woman?" I incredulously echoed back his words. "I don't understand..."

"She's coming!" he screamed in a shrill voice. "Hide, before she gets you, too!" The specter then slowly but surely disappeared - leaving me alone in the living room.

Tight-lipped, and with a heaving chest, I once again scanned the room. There was no longer any sign of the unusual. I did not know if I should be relieved that the ghost was gone, or be afraid that something awful just happened to him. I absent-mindedly stood in the middle of the living room and patiently waited in the darkness for his return.

As the minutes passed by, I eventually let out a yawn. Figuring that the ghost would not come back, at least not tonight, I decided to get some sleep. I walked back to my room, still rubbing my hands against my goose-bumped arms. After tucking myself in, I lay on my side and closed my eyes.

A myriad of thoughts were spliced and combined into one garbled movie - reflective of my current state of mind. I saw Dean when he was still alive, memories of New York, the plane trip to California, his death and funeral, the spectral little boy. All of these memories replayed like a broken record, with six words constantly echoing through my brain: "Hide, before she gets you, too!"

Total darkness then enveloped me - leaving me alone, and unable to move or breathe. Something was covering my face and smothering me. While I struggled, I heard the maniacal hag-like shrieking of a woman - as if she was utterly relishing my plight.

Each time I lifted my face, a forceful hand pressed my head down - depriving me from every bit of oxygen I could possibly get. I had no doubt that the hand's owner was a woman, judging by her laughter and the length of her nails. Her hand was large enough to cover the back of my head, her nails long enough to pore themselves against my skin, and her strength strong enough to overpower mine.

The malevolent laughter continued, as the hag rode on my back while I lay face down on my bed.

Aside from the lack of oxygen, I was getting dizzy and sick from the unbearable stench coming from the woman's soaking and slimy garments. The awful odor permeated throughout the entire room. The putrid smell seemed like a combination of stale water, dead animals, and rotten vegetables - making me gag.

My brain kept yelling back for me to wake up from this nightmare. I opened my eyes as wide as I could, but the torture and laughter continued.

I then realized, in horror, that I was awake all this time and that the sinister specter was very real. Although the room was deathly cold, the beads of sweat continuously trailed its way down to my eyes - stinging and burning them. Her nails dug deeper and deeper into my scalp, making me wince in such pain.

The longer the ordeal transpired, the more maniacal her laughter became.

Whoever - or whatever - it was, it would not stop until I was dead.

End Chapter Three

Author's Notes

Hope you liked this chapter. I thank everyone in advance for reading and constructively reviewing this piece.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

Copyright 2003 by Zatken. All rights reserved.