Apartment 3B

CHAPTER 2

A terrible mistake was made
The weight would break the backs of 10 strong horses tried to save
The castle in the fray
If you knew, that I could take the pain
Inflicted at the battle
With faithful arrows
You might get back in the saddle
But it's a special death you saved.

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Oscar stifled a giggle that threatened to escape his throat. His sleepy eyes were focused on her frozen face. She was drenched in the liquid. He put out a wrinkled old finger and dipped it in the oozing liquid. Without hesitation, the old man placed it in his mouth and licked. It tasted salty. Definitely not ketchup then. 

He circled the woman, frowning. Her eyes were blank, her body cold and stiff. He leaned in and checked her pulse. She wasn't breathing. There were deep scars running all down her arms and legs, some old, some new. The deepest scar was at her neck. Oscar thought he could see the bones that structured so effortlessly. He was still astonished at the beauty of the human bodies. Although he'd grown as one, this apartment had changed him. It'd eaten his soul. And not metaphorically. Literally.

He picked up the woman's floppy arms and dangled them for a moment. She was like a puppet. His own puppet. With another chuckle lurching out of him, he dragged her out of the apartment. Fortunately for him, he knew just where to dump her. There'd been many of these that he'd had to deal with. They all killed themselves in the end. 

With a dull thud, the body fell in the dumpster. Its hands latched onto the edge. Oscar peered at it. Was it alive? He flicked at the fingers and they let go, being swallowed into the darkness. He stood there for a while, contemplating on what to do. He'd have to notify the owners of the apartment - they wouldn't be surprised though. It was normal for deaths to occur in Apartment 3B.

With a quick shake of his head, Oscar wobbled away. 

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It was his first day at the job. The young boy was nervous and regretted taking it up as soon as he came face to face with the miserable yet distinguished owner. 

The owner had scowled at Oscar, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring with disgust. "Sure you're 21, boy?" the man had rasped out deeply. He re-adjusted his black and blue tie - plain. He skimmed Oscar up and down, his frown deepening (if it was possible).

Oscar forced himself to look in the man's eyes. "Yes, sir," he replied as bravely as he could. However, there was still a wobble in his voice as it dipped higher. He couldn't help being intimidated. The man stood at least 6"4, whilst Oscar could barely be past 5"3. 

As he watched, the man stuck out a large, gorilla-like hand. Oscar's put his own miniature hand out and they shook hands awkwardly. Immediately after, the owner wiped his hands on his trousers. 

"My name is Mr. Walker," he said abruptly. His dark eyes followed Oscar's every nervous twitch. "Andrew Walker, but you'll be calling me sir, of course." Mr. Walker bellowed out an ice cold laugh that suited his appearance surprisingly well. 

"Oscar van Mark," the boy responded, before adding on quickly, "sir." 

Mr. Walker turned around and beckoned the boy to follow. He did, feeling like a little mouse as he scurried along. They strolled down a corridor and up the stairs of the building, entering the 3rd floor. Mr. Walker slowed to a stop outside the second apartment. He gestured to it. 

"You'll be cleaning Apartment 3B." He pulled out a set of keys and dropped it in Oscar's hand, before pushing the door open. The apartment looked rather sad to Oscar, the colour on the walls were fading into what seemed a bogey-yellow, the furniture rotting away. There was something red faded in a corner which looked suspiciously like blood. Nevetheless, Oscar walked inside. The door behind him slammed shut, and the lights fizzled out. 

Then the screaming started.

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The police didn't care much about Janet McKenzie's death. 

"It's Apartment 3B, it's bound to of happened," they'd tell each other as they secretly smoked their pipes behind the police station. 

"I ain't surprised 'bout 'er dyin' anyway," one police officer, Officer Millan, drawled as he coughed slightly from the smoke. "She was a handful, she was."

The other police members stared round at him with curious expressions. Finally, a rather large one with a ginger beard, spoke up.

"How'd you know that, Officer Millan?" he questioned rather excitedly. "Did you know her personally?"

Officer Millan snorted slightly, and continued to smoke. They all waited patiently. After a few seconds, he decided to speak. "I knew the lass personally, alright. She was all pally with that gang up north." He let out a deep throated chuckle. "I always suspected the woman, she was a right druggy. Never knew her to be suicidal though." He frowned slightly, before putting the pipe to his lips once again.

A young police officer let out a high pitched laugh. "T-that's what they've been saying right?" he exclaimed breathlessly. "That it's Apartment 3B's work behind all this." His eyes gleamed. "They say that apartment's not right. It's haunted!"

The other police members all laughed at this. "It's just a rumour, Tommo," one said kindly to his co-worker, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't be so gullible." 

Tommo opened his mouth, but the bell drowned out his words and they all headed back inside to work. He muttered darkly, "It's true alright." Throwing a tissue in the bin, he stood up and walked over to the door. A large shadow fell over him, one with an object in its hand.

Tommo turned around, his heart pumping loudly. A smiling man, around his age, was holding a chainsaw. 

Tommo never went inside the door.