First I have to start off by saying that I don’t know if I’m maybe just overreacting. There are definitely people out there who have worse neighbours. Hell, I’m sure there are people in my own city that have far worse neighbours.
It all started about two months ago, maybe a bit more, I’m horrible with times and dates. I woke up to see a small little truck in the street in front of my apartment, two men unloading old furniture and boxes.
I watched them for a bit, waiting to see which house they would carry all that stuff into and I was surprised that they went through the door of my apartment complex.
I didn’t know there was an empty flat.
Which wasn’t saying much since I didn’t really pay much attention to anything happening outside my own four walls.
So it wasn’t strange for me not to actually see my new neighbours for the first few weeks.
It was one of my other neighbours who told me about them.
Colin Something-fuck-if-I-know-his-name, living right next to me, always trying to talk my ear off with his grating, nasal voice.
“Oh, have you seen the new neighbours?” I just came home and was fumbling desperately for my keys, a fake smile on my face. “An elderly lady and her husband, the woman is such a darling she gave me cookies and soup after I helped her carry her groceries in.”
I nodded, fumbling for my keys harder, dropping them in the hurry. I really hated Colin, but I also didn’t want him to know that. I always tried to be polite so he wouldn’t piss on my doorstep or do something equally annoying, in revenge.
“And trust me, that soup was marvelous. The best I ever had. When I asked her for a recipe though, she just winked.”
I finally had my keys in my hand and jammed them into the lock, grinning at Colin and muttering about having to really get inside and having no time to talk.
And that was that.
A few days later I actually met the elderly lady myself. She looked like the most grandmotherly person you could imagine. Paperthin, wrinkly skin, white hair in that short kind of cloud all older women seemed to have, a beige skirt and cardigan, stockings and those shiney, black, slip-on shoes.
She was struggling with a large bag, so I rushed over to help her. Not because I’m a nice kind of guy, I just don’t wanna seem like an asshole to people I have to live next (or in this case above) to.
We went up two flights of stairs and trough her front door.
That’s the first weird thing that I noticed.
The flat was small, like my own, two rooms and a little kitchen, but it smelled very much not like mine. There was a sickly sweet odor hanging heavy in the air, making me choke lightly as a stepped in.
I just assumed it was the regular old people smell that somehow found its place in every elderly person’s home.
So I set down the bag, getting a glimpse of some cabbages and carrots inside.
The lady thanked me profusely and wouldn’t let me leave until I accepted a bowl full of soup as a thanks.
So I went home and had the best bowl of soup in my life. Colin had been right, there just was something about the tender meat, even though those bits were few. The rest was cabbage, carrot, potato, all good but not as good as the few scraps of meat that swam in between.
The second strange thing I noticed, happened over the next few weeks. I ran into her often since that first time, she seemed to go grocery shopping every second day or so, probably since she couldnt carry that much at once. I always helped her with the bag, and she always thanked me with a bowl of soup. Sometimes the same as the first time, sometimes potato and chives or peas and beans, but always with a few tiny scraps of delicious meat.
The strange thing wasn’t the soup though. It was that I didn’t see her husband even once. It was as if she lived alone, the flat silent whenever we entered.
I asked her once and she simply said that he usually took a nap around this time.
I guess that makes sense, old people like to take naps, right? It’s just that we often ran into each other at different times of the day, and somehow I still didn’t see her husband.
The third strange thing is the one that’s been bothering me enough that I started to actually wonder about my new neighbours.
Their flat is right below mine, the layout the same. So my bedroom is right above theirs.
It’s been only a few days, but I started to notice the weird smell in my own bedroom. I have no way to prove it, but since it smells exactly like that old lady’s living room, and probably the whole apartment, I assume it’s coming from downstairs. Sweet, nauseating, kind of like when you hurt yourself and the wound gets infected.
It’s all very minor so I didn’t bother to really spend much time thinking about it, but then the fourth strange thing happened and I thought, maybe this is something to share here.
See, I got another bowl of soup, and I’m half sure that my mind or my eyes might have played tricks on me. But I think I saw a little piece of a finger, nail and all, floating in there.
The actually strange thing though is, that I couldn’t stop myself from eating it anyway. The meat is just so tender and juicy, and each bowl has so few scraps of it in it.