I’m sitting alone in my flat. Alone - yet not quite. Not at all, in fact. The thought makes me shudder.
I’ve set myself the task of writing this. I feel I have to, just to get it out, and to – warn others. I’ve got to write this. Starting from when I was so pleased and excited to get my new flat.
I had bought it, you see. No more renting or staying with family, or even couch-hopping when times were really tough. Of course it goes without saying that it came with a mortgage but the very fact I had been able to secure a mortgage was a good sign wasn’t it?
It also goes without saying that the flat in itself wasn’t new, I had got it only because it needed a lot of TLC. But I was prepared and determined to give it that, and I did.
Now I wish I hadn’t.
Anyway, not to get ahead of my story.
Things went so well at first. The big day came when the last possible detail was put in place and I could officially give a housewarming party. It was a roaring success, apart from the very end when my girlfriend Sally got a sudden call about some emergency unfolding at home. She was quite a new girlfriend so there were no immediate plans for us to live together but she would certainly have stayed over on this most auspicious of nights if it hadn’t been for that call. She did begin to, sure, but we hadn’t long been snuggling up together before that damn phone went off. I saw her tearfully out the door - she was tearful, I mean - at about 1am, and hoped the emergency wasn’t too bad. But, aside from my worries over Sally, I couldn’t help feeling a sensation of bliss, my first proper night in the first property I’d ever owned in my life. (Or sort of owned, what with the mortgage and all.)
Fortunately things settled down with Sally’s family and she arranged to come over to spend the night about a week later. I was very happy, of course, and can you imagine what I felt when on the way over some idiot drunk driver totalled her car and left her a nervous, if not a physical, wreck.
Actually, you probably can’t imagine. I felt relieved that she wasn’t physically hurt, but also - how I hate to admit this - I was sort of relieved that she wasn’t coming over to spend the night after all. Or any other night as it turned out. Physically she may have been alright but emotionally she was out of commission, certainly as far as I was concerned. She kept babbling about all these bad things always happening to prevent her staying overnight in my new place.
I told myself off sternly for being relieved for the wrong reasons. I tried to be there for her, and to gently disabuse her of any superstitious notions but it became clear it wasn’t going to work between us. And as time went on I began to wonder if she was right. About my new place.
The next notable thing that happened was lockdown. It hit a few days just before a couple of close friends were due to spend the weekend. I wasn’t that bothered about lockdown myself but everyone else I knew seemed to be. So for quite some time I had plenty of peace and quiet in my lovely new flat.
Time to get to know each other, the thought involuntarily came into my head once, as I stood staring out at the lovely river-view the front windows afforded.
Time to get to know whom?
Ridiculous I thought. There’s no-one else here!
I stood for awhile then shrugged it off. Maybe it was just a subconscious thought popping up about how in times like these, it was a great chance to get re-acquainted with yourself or something. After all, everyone was waxing lyrical about the break from the fast pace of modern life and how wonderful it was that the fishes were coming back into the Venetian canals and everything. Maybe I was getting infected too.
Anyway, lockdown was finally lifted and people started trickling back again to visit and all. Family, friends, the usual deal. True, the two close friends that had planned to stay before lockdown didn’t seem to be so close anymore, at any rate they kept on finding excuses not to show up. However, caught up in a perfect storm of renewed sociability I allowed a female friend to stay over while I was out of town for a few days, and even invite her friends. It all went off swimmingly but about a month later the whole group abruptly broke up and were no longer friends. I don’t know what happened.
Then some family stayed over while I put up on the couch, and again it all went great but a few weeks later they all became ill. They recovered, but that put paid to the chance of them coming over to stay again in a hurry. In fact, I’m pretty sure they felt they had probably caught something in my place. Although they wouldn’t openly quarrel with me over it they probably thought I hadn’t disinfected all the surfaces properly or something.
I started to feel a bit down after this, and although I tried to quell them, Sally’s old fears came back to me. I was not the superstitious type but still ….
Was there something about this flat that seemed to repel people, or make things go wrong for them that even if they stayed over once, they wouldn’t come back? Was it something in me? Something subconscious and all. Maybe I just truly wanted to be king of my castle and not really let anyone else in?
I brooded about this for a while and I became kind of distracted at work, although with the mortgage I had more incentive than ever to keep up. At least I was one of the lucky ones that had managed to keep my old job, working remotely and all. So I tried to snap out of it. I confided in another mate, David. He had been abroad when I had got the flat, and then of course further delayed with all the upheaval but now he had finally been able to return and came over as soon as he could to see the new place. And to see me as well, of course. I told him all my fears. As I expected, he took a sensible view of the matter.
‘Don’t fret about it Jordan,’ he told me. ‘‘Partly it’s coincidence, and - well this whole lockdown business has rattled everyone. That’s all you’re feeling. I’ll stay over tonight’, he added benevolently.
If you do, it’ll be your only time, I heard a voice in my head say.
‘What?’ he demanded sharply, turning to me.
Fuck, had I really said that aloud?
‘What?’ I said in my turn, hoping to throw him off.
Well, he did stay that night, and when nothing seemed to happen for weeks after I sighed with relief. The pattern’s been broken, I thought. No more damn coincidences after this, please God.
Then, one day, during his lunchbreak, he phoned me.
‘Jordan?’ He sounded excited. Of course something had happened, he would’ve just messaged otherwise.
‘Yea, man, what’s up?’
‘I got it.’
A weird feeling came over me.
‘Got what?’ I asked apprehensively.
‘The post.’
‘What post?’
He sighed. ‘What’s with you, dude? The promotion. I told ya I was in the running for it.’
Indeed he had, like any friend would. But I only recalled now, vaguely, him texting me about it a few days back. I had been so focused on the bad things that I feared might happen to him, I had completely forgotten about the good.
‘You got it? For real? Wow brilliant! Congratulations!’ To my own ears I sounded corny and over-enthusiastic. I just hoped it didn’t sound the same way to him.
‘Thanks man.’
‘So – you’re moving to the other end of the country then?’
‘That’s the deal, pretty much.’
‘Hey, why don’t you and Kat come on over tonight to celebrate?’
‘No sorry. I can’t. She’s already got dinner planned.’
‘Oh good’ I said hollowly. ‘How ‘bout tomorrow?’
‘Sorry man, tomorrow’s out too. Gotta million things to organise.’ I should’ve guessed. ‘But we will definitely meet up soon, maybe just not at your place at the moment.’ True enough, it was a bit of a drive for him. ‘Look, gotta get back. I’ll message ya, soon as.’
After the call ended, I sat with my head in my hands for a moment. The way I saw it, David had come to stay over at my flat just once and now he was moving so damn far away. Not as bad as going abroad again (of course there were continuing flight restrictions these days anyhow) but somehow I was convinced he wouldn’t ever come to my flat again. Like all the other people who’d had the temerity to stay over. During the final month before his departure we met just twice in person, once in town and once at his farewell dinner at a mutual friend’s house. Then he was off to the other end of the country as promised. The grim pattern had reasserted itself.
Overreaction, right?
I made an effort to rationalise the situation and decided it was just the responsibility of buying my first property that was weighing me down. Financial responsibility above all. After all I had sunk in a good deal of my money into the project, thrown everything at it. It was affecting me more than I had realised, no doubt. Got to shake myself out of this I thought. Maybe I was getting cabin fever, compounded by the continued effects of working remotely, so I made strict arrangements to take time off work, which I would spend in the loving bosom of my family. Time which would be well spent re-establishing old bonds, after the debacle earlier in the year.
Then on the morning I was due to leave, the plumbing system in the flat – which had worked impeccably up until then – suddenly broke down, nearly flooding me out. Well no, that’s an exaggeration, about being flooded out I mean. But it was just enough of a problem that it meant I had to stay and try to get things fixed. In fact if I had been flooded out that might almost have been better, in a way, because then I would’ve had a real excuse to go stay someplace else for a while. But I wasn’t going to be allowed to do that.
I called my family to tell them my visit had been put on hold.
After that, it was just one thing after another. The boiler broke down next, in such a mysterious fashion that a whole gaggle of experts couldn’t figure it out, each disagreeing vehemently with the others about what it could be. I was kept busy for a few days arranging one damn engineer appointment after another, while my family wondered why I just couldn’t leave it for a while and make my visit. But by now I was seized with horrible visions of the mysterious boiler issue causing the whole flat to blow up while I was not there to keep an eye on things. Finally it seemed to get going again, in rather begrudging fashion, but now I no longer had the energy to visit anywhere. Instead, I slumped on the couch and slept.
And dreamed, of a voice saying over and over: Aren’t you glad you decided to stay? I am.
It was after all this happened that I began to consider the possibility of my flat being haunted or hexed, or something. Sure, I was under strain and my subconscious fears were probably making shit happen, but what if there genuinely was something more to it?
It was a pretty old building, almost eighty years old, but of course I’d already looked into all the background details before buying, and there hadn’t seemed to be anything untoward. Although it had been empty for a space before I took it on, there was no history of any dire deeds or tragedies connected with it that I could find. Nothing amiss in the neighbourhood either. Although, as I said, it had needed some upgrading it hadn’t been in the worst condition when I took it over, and things had gone smoothly - to begin with anyway. Finding that my researches turned up nothing, I abandoned my inquiries – at least for the time.
Well, I made tentative plans to re-arrange the family visit, and almost immediately our part of the world went into another lockdown for the winter. It wasn’t as severe as the first time around but still enough to discourage most personal visits. I passed the winter in a kind of stupor, doing my work online as usual, ordering groceries and spent Christmas largely mouthing at loved ones onscreen.
And now it was another year, and as it rolled towards spring, more restrictions were lifted and in many ways things did seem to get back to ‘normal’, although we had all forgotten what that meant. Anyway, for me personally, I hadn’t had to worry about people inviting themselves to stay over and having to be terrified that something would intervene to prevent them ever coming again. But finally I told myself I just had to get my shit together.
So I made a determined effort to resurrect my social life. I duly paid the family the long-promised visit although I found I had walked into some sort of financial spat between my siblings which made it all very uncomfortable and prompted me to cut my time short. And so I found myself back in my flat far sooner than I’d expected. But never mind, I told myself. I’d start going out regularly too. The result was I met a rather pretty girl in a club who didn’t get too inebriated and who still wanted to see me a couple days later. Her name was Melanie. It seemed a long time since I had been with a girl.
After a few coffee and drink dates, she finally came to my flat one evening. She was sincerely enthusiastic about it all, the rooms, the décor, the view, making me like her all the more. It was a take it or leave it kind of deal, officially it was a dinner date and there were extras if she wanted, but it was entirely up to her.
Hope she takes up the offer, I thought.
Don’t push it.
Shit, that voice again.
That crazy voice, which I hadn’t heard in months. The voice in my head, but this time so loud, so … definite, it was literally like there was someone right there at my shoulder.
I promptly dropped the glass I was holding, it shattered on the coffee table which was messy enough but somehow I contrived to cut my stupid self in the process as well. I don’t know how it could’ve happened, but it did. Like one of the pieces just flew up or something and sliced into my left wrist. Way to go Jordan, I groaned inwardly as Melanie came running in through from where she had been admiring the river view to see my blood dripping pretty liberally onto the hardwood floor. Although not the deadliest of injuries it wasn’t particularly slight, either, and she played nursemaid for a bit before getting me professionally checked out because the bleeding would not stop. It hurt like hell, too. When her fears had been quelled, she said she could stay the night just to help out, but I pointed out that she’d already done a lot for me, and persuaded her to go home. We met a few times more after that but never again at my place, and then gradually lost contact.
Talk about a freak accident. Too damn freaky for my liking.
I didn’t feel much up to going out again after this, and certainly not to try to pick up any other girls. Really I didn’t know what was happening, but looking back it just seemed that there was something - some unseen force – that always conspired to keep me in the flat as much as possible and not let anyone else stay with me.
In fact my nerves became so frayed that I ended up calling in a psychic. Well no, not really. I mean, she wasn’t a self-styled professional psychic as such – she didn’t take any money for her services. She had a perfectly good paying job and as such she didn’t even need a side hustle. I didn’t exactly call her in either. She was the friend of a friend, who brought her round one day after I’d mentioned I sensed something a bit ‘off’ about the flat. I didn’t want go into too much detail but I obviously divulged enough for the pair of them to spring into action.
The psychic was called Stephanie. She was a large, comfortable-looking woman in her thirties, with a nose of a suitable size to sniff out spooks. She proceeded to ask a whole lot of questions about the history of the place first of all then breezed through all the rooms while I trailed after her. I kept on expecting her to stop and tense up and exclaim: There’s something here. I can feel it… Something … ominous …’
But she didn’t. While she’d stood for a good five minutes at the front of the flat exclaiming over the beautiful view, I ventured to ask, ‘ So – do you – sense anything?’
She turned as if I had asked a most unexpected question. ‘Sensed?’ She laughed shortly. ‘My dear, you’re expecting me to ferret out evil spirits for you? I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything of that sort here. I can pretty much promise you that. I would’ve picked up on it immediately. The atmosphere is always – unmistakable.’
I felt rather short-changed, even if I wasn’t paying her anything. ‘Well of course it doesn’t have to be anything as extreme as that,’ I said, ‘but you really don’t feel – anything? I don’t need sage or salt or anything like that?’
She grinned. ‘You’ve been reading up on this stuff.’
I shrugged. ‘I can’t say I believe it, but – well. I’ve just been wondering what the hell’s been going on lately.’
She looked me directly in the eyes. ‘I can say quite honestly I’m not picking up on negative vibes here Jordan. That’s also a credit to you, if you think about it.’ She smiled. ‘That’s worked as a chat-up line a few times.’ She sobered. ‘You know, you haven’t told me exactly what you sense here,’ she suddenly pointed out.
‘Well – to be honest – nothing really, as such. I’m not really psychic.’
‘Everyone is,’ she said reprovingly. ‘It’s part of being human. Not that everyone is human.’ She laughed again. ‘But, yeah, being psychic. It’s not as out there as some people think. It’s just most people choose to ignore that - innate - ability.’
I stared at her for a moment. ‘Well anyway, I can’t say I really sense anything in the atmosphere here, but – sometimes – I don’t know, I kind of hear, or think I hear –‘
She looked at me inquiringly.
‘A voice. I mean, it’s hardly happened at all, really. Once it was – well, just a dream.’
‘What does it say?’
‘I don’t know – some contrary stuff. The opposite of what I think, or what I want to say. Or – shit, I don’t really know. Just in my head, probably.’
She turned away again looking out at the water.
‘I guess I’m just reading too much into things,’ I said finally. ‘I guess it is just me. I appreciate you coming out here, I really do. And that’s reassuring, you know, that you don’t sense anything.’
She turned back to me. ‘I didn’t say that,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘I didn’t say I’m can’t sense anything here. I just said I’m not picking up on anything negative.’ She looked me straight in the eyes once more. ‘I’ll tell you what’s here. Love. Nothing but love here.’ I looked back at her unbelievingly, but she didn’t seem to be joking. She repeated softly, ‘Nothing but love.’ Then she frowned. ‘But maybe that’s the trouble.’
I was really feeling out of my depth now. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Too much love. That’s when it can start becoming a problem.’
I stared at her baffled until her expression changed back again. She smiled, but this time I didn’t find it reassuring.
I didn’t know what to make of it. She’d seemed sincere enough. But if she was just putting it on why, exactly? Or was she picking up stuff from me? But that didn’t explain the love reference either.
After this, I could just feel myself becoming more and more of a recluse. As if to match my mood, a sudden mould problem developed in the spare room so it couldn’t be used. But of course I did have people that genuinely wanted to help, to stay, or to get me to stay with them. But I wouldn’t have anyone to stay now. I pretended to be too busy with work although inside I was seriously wondering if I was cracking up. My injured left wrist hadn’t healed properly either, hurt quite a lot at times. Sometimes, though, when alone in my room, or in bed at night, there was not so much pain as a sense of pressure. Like someone or someone trying to hold my wrist, hold my hand but not quite managing it. And, at the same time I’d hear something uncommonly like breathing, - deep slow breathing – at my side.
I made another effort to rouse myself out of my apathy, to get away from the flat that was starting to feel like a prison. It wasn’t working out as I’d hoped. I made the bold move of putting it on the market. I don’t suppose you’ll be too surprised to learn that no-one showed much interest. There were a few inquiries but not many came to actually view the place. And when one viewer did finally put in an offer, it fell through owing to financial difficulties on their end. I took it off the market after that.
I was feeling so generally listless these days, that I couldn’t concentrate much at work either. In a strange way maybe I was hoping I’d be let go so then I couldn’t keep up the mortgage repayments and so I would lose the flat that way. But this never happened either. Even although I started slacking off so much, I didn’t even get a reprimand. Apparently I was such a valued member of the team that my colleagues all preferred to rally round and show sympathy for whatever issues I was presumably going through. You ask me why I didn’t just resign? Say what you will, it’s hard to do that when you actually kind of like your job and even your co-workers and the money is constantly coming in. We’re most of us just too much conditioned by society I guess. Actually, I did finally muster up the nerve to announce my intention to resign, but on that very morning came word that the boss had suddenly died, of a heart attack or something, and everyone was so upset that I felt I couldn’t add to their troubles. I did make a request to be allowed to come into the office more often, but something always happened to make it more expedient for me to continue just working from home. So once again I just gave in.
Yes, I know you’ll say I should’ve done more to fight this feeling, and the voice, and that strange sensation at my side, all of which were likely manifestations of my own unenviable mental state. I certainly wish that now. Because now has come the point when I literally can’t leave my flat.
I mean, since this morning, the doors and windows won’t open anymore. I’ve tried, and nothing budges. Keys are useless. I can’t even break the glass or shout through the letterbox to the neighbours. I’ve never really seen any neighbours around anyway come to think of it. I even ended up banging on the walls with no appreciable result. And my phone is totally dead – although last night it was still working fine.
And the Voice has taken over.
There’s no-one left to talk to except the Voice.
It sounds so loud now, a sexless kind of voice, monotonous yet with a very strange soft undertone. It seems to echo all around me now.
You’re here for ever. I knew you wouldn’t leave. I knew I could count on you.
And my response, in panic: Who are you? What are you? Why are you here?
I am here because here is what I am.
What is all this fucking crazy shit? Am I just crazy?
You’re not crazy. This isn’t some crazy shit. Please don’t say that, Jordan.
This was the first time the Voice had used my name.
What the fuck is this?
And the reply, unmistakable. I am these four walls that surround you.
Now, once again, it’s that breathy whisper at my shoulder, the pressure at my pulse.
All the love you put into me. No-one else really gave me love in eighty years. All I’m doing is returning it. I want you all to myself, Jordan. Just you.
At last, it has all become clear to me. My joy at first getting this place, my first property, the first real sign that I had made it. I remember now how, carried away by euphoria, standing on the threshold, I had rambled on: ‘I’ll give you everything I got. Nothing can stand in our way. I know we can make it work. You and me together baby!’
And now I can’t get out. No means of communication. As I said, the phone is dead. Can’t call emergency services or call or email anyone else from my laptop either. Bizarrely enough, it’s only this old reddit account that seems to be working and only for the purpose of posting my story, not to actually contact anyone. And that’s the other thing. I can’t post details of my address, so that maybe someone could come to try and rescue me or something, every time I try to type it in nothing comes up. I guess all I’m being allowed to do is get my story out as a warning to others.
So this is my final message. Always be careful what you say. You never know when the walls might be listening. Look what happened to me. I’ve become – in the truest sense of the word – a flatmate.