I'm sure we've all dealt with them. The shit people who somehow always pass the background or credit check and end up pulling the residence of the neighboring space to yours. Whether it be across the street, next door or above you like mine..
We've all had a bad neighbor or two..
I've had three. Within the year.
That's right, fucking three bad neighbors. All tenants to the same cheap city apartment above my wife and I. For some reason, the turn-over rate on that particular apartment was ridiculous; and the slumlord of a property owner that we paid our low gratuities to, couldn't seem to figure out that bad tenants with quick cash didn't necessarily mean good business.
Not if they damage everything in sight and leave the house a wreck, vacant within three or four months of occupancy.
The last tenants weren't that horrible. Not by comparison to the first ones; being alcoholics with a nag for 4am boxing matches and the second ones taking the royalties for being the Kings and Queens of prescription abuse fueled daytime fighting..
The third tenants were fine. I mean sure their dogs were loud as fuck and their cat once gained entry into our home via shared air duct, but no drugs, no fighting.
Which is why I surprised the day I saw the moving Truck.
I had been out to check the mail in my obnoxious checkered blue robe as I often do when I heard a mechanical hydraulic from around the side of the house.
Confused, I did what any nosey person with to much free time on their hands would do. I investigated.
A cargo truck with it's ramp extended sat idle, pumping it's "ready to go!" Exhaust into the chill of the early November air.
My neighbors door was wide open. Rustling and nervous bangs and thud clattered down from the apartment entrance. The woman, an early twenty's college student stumbled out of the door and very hurriedly tossed a box labelled "dishes" into the truck.
They shattered.
But she didn't give the crash of dishes so much as a glance. And within a second she was in and out of the apartment again; this time with a box labelled "misc." Her hair disheveled and unkempt. The boyfriend appeared soon after with two boxes stacked on top of each other. He too hurried as well, almost slipping on the frost covered stoop. But he managed, staggered them to the truck and tossed them inside.
I pulled my pipe from my robe and watched the scene unfold for a few more minutes and then approached the boyfriend as he put the last of three lamps he'd been juggling on the back lip of the truck.
"Moving huh? Didn't you guys just move in?"
He jumped feverishly, tweeked, on high alert like a deer hearing a gunshot in the distance.
Once he saw it was me, the nosey neighbor. His bones settled slightly.
"Oh, yeah.. work has me um.. relocating. Gotta go. Like now. You know how it is."
I took a drag from my pipe. The November chill accentuating the exhale into a plume between the two of us before rising up and away.
"Isn't it a little.. abrupt?"
The man shifted his feet and scratched the back of his head.
"Yeah.. well.."
Glancing back at the open door of the apartment for a moment, he continued.
"The thing is.. that apartment is.. look there's something wrong in there. Vile.. you should go back in your house and just forget about it."
I cocked an eyebrow. Assuming it had something to do with the landlord's lack of acknowledgement when it came to upkeep.
Which was a pattern. We had a severe leak from above our kitchen for almost the entire run of our lease.
He turned and started walking back to the stoop; where the woman was struggling to self stack an arm full of magazines.
He glanced back to me one more time.
"Consider moving.. it could spread."
I spent the next few days enjoying the absolute pleasure that the solitude of a vacant upstairs provided.
But what did he mean? I assumed the answer was rhetorical. Black mold maybe? The property manager never had the place checked out and with all the water damage these apartments had endured this past year, it wouldn't surprise me. Hell, I had to threaten to put my rent into escrow to get the leak above my kitchen repaired after six months of putting in for the maintenance order.
But I let it go. My wife was pregnant and we'd been looking for a bigger place anyway. We wouldn't be here much longer.
At least thats what I thought.
Turns out, in my city the rental market is wrecked. College students have everything backed up for years. We managed to find one place, really nice even; in a neighboring town but without the luxuries of a vehicle it wouldn't work out. So begrudgingly, I had to resign myself to the reality that we'd be renewing our lease for another cringe worthy year of neglected repairs and shitty neighbors.
One night in May, around 3am. I was just laying down after a long night of political warfare on the local news.
(CHANNEL 4 NEWS ANCHOR ARGUING LOGISTICAL ANALYSIS OF THE PRESIDENTIAL PARDON OF A MAN ACCUSED OF BURNING DOWN THE WHILMSHIRE ASYLUM IN 1995)
I settled into bed next to Willow (my wife) and our dog gypsy. As I laid there, staring at the ceiling with my eyes taking on weight from the day.
I heard it..
A small voice; a whisper really. Quiet but as clear as glass. Just a simple word.
"Goodnight."
You know how sometimes when you're asleep or cleaning and the house is quiet in it's entirety, you sometimes hear someone speak your name? Only to find nobody there? It was one of those except it wasn't disembodied from another room or even in the room with me.
It was right in my ear.
But I swear to God, I felt it's fucking breath on me..
Time progressed relatively peacefully for us with the upstairs vacancy.
But I started getting paranoid.. like eyes were on me the entire time I was in the house.
See, I smoke tobacco out of my pipe. Not the sexiest of addiction story; but an addiction nonetheless.
So I know all about the symptoms of withdrawal. At least to an extent. Usually it consists of the following.
Burning eyes, irritability, lack of sleep, nausea, loss of appetite.
Now the reason I brought this up is because not long after I heard that disembodied voice? I started experiencing the symptoms. But only..
When I was in the house..
Which is fucked because I'm very much in that house alot.
Almost felt like my blood was boiling, all the time even..
I was always angry and belligerent. Like I needed the arguments.
One night Willow was out with her sister after an all day verbal boxing match that I had dragged her into. I was doing up the dishes and gypsy had come into the kitchen and nudged her food bowl. Indicating to me that she was ready for a re-up.
No big deal right?
Wrong..
Irritated I ignored the clacking bowl and continued working at the load of dishes; but then she did it again. I groaned, told her to go lay down and went back to the greasy pot that I couldn't seem to scrub the burn out of.
Gypsy didn't go lay down.
Irritated, Gypsy barked.
I snapped..
I responded..
I beat her to death with the pot I had in my hand. My irritability had evolved. Transcended itself into a full blown uncontrollable rage. If I was myself I would've lost my mind over what I had just done. Taking the life of my best friend. One who I had raised since she was winged from her mother..
But I didn't get a chance to feel anything beyond my rage.
Except.. Joy..
A thrill of excitement jolted through me. I just smashed my pets skull into mush and I was.. happy about it.
And then a voice crept out of the void around me..
"Good.. you've tasted it.."
My head shot up from Gypsy's corpse. I sat the pot down in the pool of blood on the floor and stood. Staring into the bedroom. I was sure the voice originates from the vent above my bed. I wasn't sure the first time but this time? I was pretty fucking positive.
I knew that what ever was happening to me had to do with this.. voice. And to be honest I liked it.
"What have I tasted..?"
"The ecstasy of death."
"Who are you?"
A long silence followed that. In fact, I wasn't answered. Not then; that answer was a revelation that I'd have to figure out later.
The quiet was teeth grinding, but I endured. And finally I was rewarded as the voice emerged from the vent once more.
A sledgehammer that I had in my bedroom closet with alot of other random handyman equipment tumbled unnaturally over the duffel bags of tools and a basket of clothes; landing at my feet.
"Upstairs you will find your resolve."
I cocked and eyebrow, "my resolve for what?"
"For feeding your hunger, and purging this place of that vile woman you so blindly bed with. What a disgusting action; breeding.. life."
He almost gagged saying "life" but I was in a bloodlust, I needed to feed it. This.. thing had me and I was absorbed. I loved it.
"How will I gather my resolve?"
The voice deeply and slowly chuckled.
"By devouring your God."
__
I bashed the lock offthe door with my sledge hammer and entered the upstairs apartment. the entire apartment was covered from wall to wall in a thick, invasive, moss like mold. spores thickened the air.
This thing was no God.. this was some kind of infestation. toxic to my mind. but I couldn't help myself. I fell to my knees and devoured him. I wanted the power and the thrill this stuff promised me. My hunger grew the more I consumed. It was true, I tasted death. I needed more.
I stood and headed back down to my apartment.
__
Now as I wait in my bathroom for Willow to return home. Hammer in hand. The voice screaming its prayers from every direction that only I can here.
and as I look at my purple veiny neck and blackened eyes in the mirror I can't help but wonder if she will taste as good as the dog did.