Rotten Eggs

 

            “You grab one end Hank, and I’ll jump up in the truck and grab the other,” said Paul.

            The couch was large, but light for its size. They had no problem lifting it. But the ice on the road made Hank lose his footing.

            “Watch yourself Hank,” said Paul, “It’s a little icy.”

            “Yeah duh,” returned Hank, as he shifted his grip.

            This was Paul’s first apartment. His friends Hank and Larry, whom both still lived at home with their parents, were helping him move. Larry had just come from the apartment, and held the front door for Paul and Hank.

            “Only one flight up, boys,” smiled Larry.

            “Thanks,” replied Hank, “you can take the next heavy load.”

            “No way. You know I have a bad back.”

            “Yeah right.” Hank rolled his eyes and continued through the door.

            The stairway was large, but the couch was bulky. They had some trouble maneuvering it around the first landing, but it fit. Barely. They had to turn the couch on its side, and then it slid through. When they got to Paul’s apartment just at the top, they set the couch down to rest. Larry followed behind, carrying a small box. Larry could see he couldn’t get past the couch.

            “No time to rest boys,” said Larry, “I have to be somewhere by two.”

            “Now where do you have to be at two?” asked Hank in disgust.

            “Anywhere but here. Paul, I can’t believe you picked this old building to live It’s haunted!”

            “Yeah, that’s why it interested me. But you never believed in such things before, Larry.”

            “No and I still don’t. But I’m not taking any chances. I heard there’s an old lady next door who’s a witch. Heard it around town. They say she has lived here for a hundred years.”

            “Ssssh. She might hear you. I seen her down the hall. Just a shadow. But just an old woman. Besides, I heard those stories as well. We have all heard them for years. I bet you she’s just someone’s grandmother.”

            “I think you believe in those stories. I think your scared!”

            Hank chirped in, “Look who’s talking, Mr. Two O’clock!”

………………………………………………

            Paul lay in bed, looking at the fourteen foot ceiling. He could probably build a loft in this efficiency apartment. Since his bedroom was his living room, it would give him more privacy. Privacy. He was the only one living here. How much privacy did he need? Still, the ceiling loomed above him. So high. He felt the need to be in a more enclosed space. Something comfortable. Not so vast.

            He heard tapping across the hardwood floor. No, not in his apartment. It was outside in the hall. Mice. Damn. It must be. He would have to tell the landlord. Pretty soon he’d probably find little turds throughout the cupboard.

            BAM BAM BAM

            There was pounding at the door. Paul sat up bolt upright. “Who’s there?!”

            “It’s Larry and Hank. Let us in!” yelled Larry.

            Paul threw off the covers and ran to the door. “Jesus guys, it’s almost midnight. Keep it down!”

            Larry pushed his way through the door. Hank came behind him carrying a case of beer. Paul could tell they were already hammered.

            “We thought we’d come by and party!” exclaimed Larry.

………………………………………………

            Paul’s head hurt. He had too much to drink the night before. He saw his two friends asleep; Hank on the floor and Larry on the couch.

            Paul had a hard time getting his friends up. Hand finally stood up and stretched, but Larry was fast asleep. Paul shook Larry hard. Damn, he could sleep. But he was more drunk than they were last night.

            Larry finally turned towards Paul and opened his reddened eyes. Paul could see Larry had a large cut on his cheek.

            “Larry, where did you get that cut?” asked Paul.

            “What cut?”

            “The cut on your cheek.”

            Larry got off of the couch, stumbled, and went to the bathroom.

            He came back out, holding his face. “What did I do last night?”

            “Hell if I know,” said Paul, “We were just sitting around and talking.”

            “And drinking and listening to Hendrix. Did we go anywhere?”

            “No.”

            “I must have fallen then.”

            “Yeah, you were pretty hammered.”

………………………………………….

            The three friends decided to get something to eat. Hank and Larry ran ahead down the stairs while Paul locked the apartment door. He turned, and was startle by an old woman by his side. An extremely old woman, who’s presence cast the hall in a shadowy haze.

            Paul started to say “excuse me,” but he got caught in her gaze. She stared at him with hatred in her eyes. He couldn’t move. He felt he was frozen to the spot.

            “Hey Paul, let’s go!”

            Paul snapped out of his hypnotic state and looked down the staircase to his friends. When he looked back, the old woman was gone.

………………………………….

            Paul decided wanted to build the loft. The landlord agreed, as long as Paul would take it down and pay for any damages if he was to vacate the apartment. Which would come out of his deposit if need be.

            Paul didn’t have the funds, but he knew he could hit up his parents. He was no longer a burden (unless getting money for lumber is counted as a burden) and it was near Christmas. Parents always cave around Christmas when their kids request help.

            Paul climbed the stairs this first Saturday of December. He had hesitated every time he approached these stairs since his encounter with the old woman. And he was afraid. Afraid of disturbing her again. Afraid of encountering a her a second time. She never said a thing. Just her glare. Her strange mesmerizing glare. That he wished he had never seen. Or will ever see again.

            He cautiously turned at the stairway landing, and looked up. No one there. As always. He climbed the rest of the stairs to his door. One step at a time. Looking further down the hall as he ascended. Finally, at his door, he breathed a sigh of relief. He turned the key, and heard something behind him. He quickly opened the door and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

            Tap tap tap

            Not tapping on the door, but light tapping on the floor. The mice again. He had heard them many times before. But there was no proof. No turds. No chewed up floor boards. But he heard them. He always heard them. And he could hear them now, outside in the hall.

            Tap tap tap

            Then nothing. He slowly put his ear to the door.

            TAP TAP TAP

            Paul jumped back, and fell onto his bed.

            “Hey, open up, It’s Larry and Hank!”

            Larry was getting plastered again. So was Hank. But Paul was a little more subdued tonight. He kept turning the volume of the stereo down every time Larry turned it up. Paul would also tell his friends to tone it down if either one became too loud when they were talking.

            “What is it with you,” slurred Larry, “You have your own apartment now. You can make all the noise you want!”

            “There are other people living here. I don’t want to upset them,” answered Paul.

            “Who? The old witch down the hall? Come on Paul, you don’t really believe in that shit, do you?” Larry pronounced the word ‘ssshet.’

            “No…but people live here.”

            Larry stood up, trying to catch his balance. “I don’t give a fuck! I can be as loud as I want!” He took a swig of beer and staggered to the door.

Before Paul could stop him, he ran down the hall to the old woman’s apartment. Larry started to pound on the door.

            “Come on out, you old witch, come on out and party!” screamed Larry.

            “Larry, get back in here!” Paul said in a loud whisper at his opened door. He wanted to go and grab Larry, but something held him back. Something called fear.

            “Open up, you old cunt! Let’s party!”

            Tap tap tap

            Paul closed the door. Hank stood up, laughing.

            “What’s he doing, Paul?” Hank swayed back and forth. He pushed past Paul and opened the door. “Larry…where the Hell did you go?”

            Paul looked past Hank. The hallway was empty.

……………………………………………..

            It was Christmas Eve, and Paul was almost done with the loft. Just a few finishing touches left. His bed and dresser was up there, and his couch with two new bean bag chairs was placed und the loft as living space. His friend Hank helped him place things. But Hank hardly came around anymore since Larry disappeared.

            Larry’s disappearance was strange. The police investigated, but found nothing. The apartment next door had been vacated for years. The landlord explained that every time he rented it, things would go wrong. Weird things. And the tenants would leave.

            He didn’t elaborate on any of the happenings except the smell. The smell of rotten eggs. No matter what the landlord would do to clean, the smell always came back.

            But Paul never smelled anything in his apartment. And he didn’t have any reason to venture down the hall. By this time he had convinced himself that the old woman was just a figment of his imagination. Or maybe a ghost. And wasn’t that one of the reasons he came to here to live? His infatuation of the place?

            The more time he spent away from Hank the better he felt anyway. He wasn’t getting drunk every weekend, and the exercise he got from building the loft did him good. He thought about joining a gym.

            After hammering the guard rail on the top of the loft, he continued up the ladder to bed. He was exhausted. And tomorrow he would visit his parents for Christmas.

……………………………………..

            Paul felt something jab his face as he slept. He awoke startled, and turned the on the light on his end table. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Several small figures with wrinkled heads were shimmying down the ladder rails. The last one turned and laughed his wrinkled head off. He had the same face as Larry.

            Then the smell. The smell of rotten eggs.

Written December 24, 2009