I got a job in San Diego not too long after the pandemic settled. It was an exciting time, but I was also anxious about finding a place to live. I didn’t have that much saved up, so I had to find somewhere a bit more lenient to newcomers. I signed up to all kinds of lists and tenant-groups, but most leads were dead in the water. The only places within my price range had a no-pets policy, and I couldn’t bring myself to re-home my cat Marmalade. Poor thing was just a year old, and a complete mama’s girl.
After weeks of searching, I stumbled upon a landlord with a vacant spot. He hadn’t even got the time to list it, all I’d seen was a post about a cheap apartment. I messaged him spontaneously and asked about it. Turns out, the previous tenant had passed away. It was on the fourth floor, not too far off main street, and surprisingly cheap. Cat-friendly too.
He offered me a deal. If I paid for the clean-up crew, the place was mine.
I couldn’t say no.
Once the place was cleaned up, I met up with my new landlord and got the keys handed to me. My new place was on the top floor of this beautiful old building, made somewhere back in the 50’s. Cool stone-tiled floors, spacious ceiling and plenty of sunlight coming in from the body-sized windows. There was a sort of French balcony with a little space to smoke, or a mini-garden. There was a large living room area, a tiny kitchenette, and a cramped little bedroom on the sunny side. It wasn’t much, but I could see myself growing attached to it.
You could tell it was old though. There were all kinds of little quirks. A lock that you had to jiggle, pipes that rumbled a little whenever you took a shower, and you could immediately tell if one of your neighbors were smoking because of the shitty ventilation. It was far from perfect, but for that price, at that location? I couldn’t ask for a better deal.
The one thing that dated it more than anything else, however, was the strange 70’s wallpaper. This intricate floral pattern covered most of the living room, along with the western wall of the bedroom. A dark grey base color, with lines of white. Roses, tulips, sunflowers; all in variations of silver and blue.
It was beautiful, in a sort of primitive art deco kind of way, but you could tell it was old. I promised myself to get it replaced if I were to live there long-term.
It didn’t take long to move in. I didn’t have much in the way of furniture, and I didn’t really have the money to bring in something new. I figured I’d settle for what little I had for the time being, instead focusing on getting used to my new job.
I was working as a full-time consultant for a telecom company, mostly focusing on process management and evaluation. Might not sound that interesting, but you get a lot of wiggle room to really switch things up for the better. Post-pandemic, we were on a routine of a single weekly meeting and the rest could (and would) be done from our home office. It felt kind of dumb to force people to come in once a week just-because, but if I wanted the job, that was the deal.
Marmalade got settled in that place long before I did. She found a sunny spot next to one of the big windows. I set up a cozy basket for her to snuggle into. I, on the other hand, was having trouble sleeping those first few nights. I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling. I’d lose myself in that view, sort of like when you’re looking down into dark waters – you can’t really see where it ends, it is just this perpetual nothing. And you can imagine it continuing forever.
That first week went by in a flash. I had my first meeting and got my first assignment – process assessment at one of the branch offices in Pittsburgh. Long-distance, with an in-person evaluation at the end of a two-month cycle. Nothing I couldn’t handle, but said office had a sort of reputation for being unmanageable. It was the kind of assignment you throw at someone to see if they got the chops for it long-term.
That first day was mostly meet-and-greets, with a tiny after-work at one of the chic downtown bars. It was mostly an excuse to crack a few cold ones on a Monday. My new colleagues were a few decibels louder than I was used to, so I ended up sitting mostly in the background, learning to appreciate a small-label dark pumpkin ale.
The next day, I was in full work-mode. I set up my laptop with a view of my awful wallpaper to make it look a bit more office-like. Marmalade wasn’t moving from her new favorite spot by the window, so there were no fluffy tails in the way of my webcam. I had a long talk with the branch manager, along with a few technicians, to just sort of dip my toe in the water. They were all courteous enough, but I could tell they’d been through the ringer a couple of times. This wasn’t their first assessment, and it wouldn’t be their last.
By the end of the day, I was talking with one of the salesmen – a woman named Deirdre. At that point I’d been in constant zoom calls for over four hours, and my voice was giving out. Deirdre could tell I was exhausted, and we ended up just talking about other things instead. My apartment, my job, my cat. I had to bother Marmalade a bit just to show her off. Deirdre showed off her own feline companion – a three-year-old ragdoll named Popeye.
Ironically, that call ended up being my longest; but it went by the fastest. Deirdre was a gem.
I spent most of my time setting up questionnaires and mapping out the overall structure. I was in daily calls, bouncing e-mails all the way down the supply chain, trying to get a clear picture of the main issues. It was the same old story that I’d heard a hundred times before; management blaming the salesmen, salesmen blaming the warehouse, and the warehouse blaming the technicians. There were little hitches all the way down the road, ranging from dated inventory systems to useless red tape.
After the first few days, I started getting into a routine. Ping-ponging between meetings and excel-spreadsheets, Marmalade and I made that apartment into a proper home. Chinese takeout boxes started lining the kitchenette, and I had a few extra talks with Deirdre just to pass the slow hours.
I started getting used to that place – even the awful wallpaper. I stopped hearing the rumbling pipes after a while, and the cigarette smoke from the neighbor slowly blended into the background smells. I stopped waking from cars passing on the streets below, and my first paycheck went into making the living room look like something that could actually be lived in.
I remember one night when I was working overtime. I got a late e-mail about submitting a progress report, so I had to stay up making a presentation. I found myself by the opinion that this was looking more and more like a management issue. Who the hell sends that kind of e-mail at 4:50pm on a Thursday, expecting it to be done before lunch the next day? Unbelievable.
I was done by about 10pm when I shambled away from my laptop. I picked up a can of cat food for Marmalade and walked over to her favorite window. Only she wasn’t there. Her bed was still there, but Marmalade had moved to another window. Still sleeping soundly, but she’d found a new favorite spot. It felt strange, in a way, like the entire apartment had shifted a little. Looking up at the wallpaper, I could’ve sworn the patterns had moved. It looked identical, just… a bit off. I could’ve sworn it was different – despite looking exactly same.
It was a strange feeling. Everything felt familiar, but that one little twist made it feel like a new room. I was starting to doubt myself. When looking at Marmalade out of her basket, however, it was clear that something was different; in some way.
The next few days, I started to notice this shift in new ways. The walls would look different at night. Where at one point I’d see a sunflower, I’d see a rose the next day. Then again, I wasn’t ever really sure, and I chalked it up to me just not paying attention. Marmalade would move from spot to spot, never really sure what her favorite ever was. One night, she couldn’t settle in at all, instead moving from one window to the next, meowing at me anxiously.
That night as I lay awake, I had my eyes firmly fixed on the wall. I could imagine the patterns moving on their own, the many flowers gently swaying to an invisible wind. It was just that kind of unreal surrealist thought you catch just before you fall asleep, but in that moment I could’ve sworn it was real – living even.
As I closed my eyes, I imagined the dark grey background color to be as deep as an ocean – a darkness stretching into a distant nothing.
The next day, as I was making my morning coffee, I noticed something peculiar. I stepped on a dry blue petal. I couldn’t explain where it came from. I had no flowers in my apartment, and the ventilation was so shit that it could barely rotate air – flower petals were out of the question. Marmalade played with it for a while, and I convinced myself that it was just something I dragged in.
Still, it reminded me of a flower petal from the blue roses on the wallpaper. It made me anxious, but I couldn’t figure out why. What was I even worried about?
I couldn’t let that thought go for the rest of the day. That I was missing something obvious, or maybe that there really was something to my strange paranoia. So at the end of the day, when I talked to Deirdre, I brought it up. I explained that there was just something inherently creepy about living there – like an uncomfortable thought tickling your neck when you’re not looking. Deirdre tried to reassure me, her chuckle coming through my headphones.
“It takes time, love,” she said. “You just got here! Besides, everything looks strange in the dark.”
“Yeah, I just can’t shake the feeling, you know?” I explained. “Like there’s something more to it?”
“Like what?”
I didn’t know what to answer. As I stepped into the living room, I noticed Marmalade rolling on the living room carpet – casually playing with another blue petal. Turning on the lights, I could see more of them. Over a dozen dry blue petals, lining the edge of the wall. Finally, I could tell I wasn’t going crazy. This wasn’t a one-time deal, that was real. Marmalade didn’t seem to mind though.
“I’m gonna have to get back to you,” I told Deirdre. “Something came up”.
As the call ended, I started scooping up the petals by hand. The moment my knees hit the floor, there was a power surge.
It was all so quick. A flash of black. Marmalade hissed, looking straight past me, and I could hear a rustling noise; like a large animal moving through a bush. As quick as it’d come, it went, leaving only a startled cat and my elevated pulse behind. The lights were slapped back on with a click, blinding me. Marmalade retreated to behind the couch while I picked up the rest of the petals.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the many patterns, petals in hand. I could imagine the grey sinking deeper and deeper, showing me something past the obvious. Like one of those images you have to look at cross-eyed to see the truth. I had the same sensation, like I was missing something obvious.
I could imagine hearing things, deep in an imagined forest. I could hear branches snapping. I could imagine the blue flowers swaying in the wind.
And somewhere in all that depthless dark – something roamed.
Something looking for an exit.
At some point, I snapped to attention. There was a loud electronic noise.
An alarm.
It was already morning.
For some alien reason, I’d been stuck there for hours – just staring at the hypnotizing patterns. An entire night’s rest, gone. It wasn’t until I stepped away that I realized just how exhausted I really was. My legs had locked on place, keeling me over straight to the stone-tiled living room floor. Marmalade rushed over, worried about this sudden development.
I spent a few minutes just sitting there, calming myself down. The ringing from my cellphone was going strong, trying to give me enough time to shower before my first morning meeting. And yet, I just sat there, slowly petting my cat. My eyes bobbing in and out of sleep, my body deprived.
Where’d I been all night? What’d I seen?
I barely made it through that day, having a 45-minute nap over lunch. By the time I finished my last interview, I was a shell of my old self, barely conscious. I filled Marmalade’s food and water bowl, and crawled into bed with all my clothes still on.
The moment my eyes closed I could hear something in the distance. In the half-world between sleeping and waking, I heard breaking branches, owls taking flight, and something large approaching. And despite I knowing I was well and truly alone, my body screamed at me to wake – to have one more look, just in case.
I did. I forced my eyes open.
Something sharp scratched against the stone-tiled floor. Something retreating in haste.
A trail of dry petals leading right up to the side of my bed.
After a night of dreamless sleep I woke up to choking on something. It took me almost a full minute to cough up a blue petal; several of which had been sprinkled throughout my bed. I could’ve sworn the wallpaper looked a bit “lighter”, as if several flowers were looking sparse. The whole wall looked a bit… darker.
That morning I’d had enough. I called in sick and brought out my toolbox. I started scraping off the wallpaper, piece by piece, across the entire apartment. I made a day of it, listening to music as Marmalade looked at me curiously. Every illustrated petal and stem dropped to the floor, cut by cut – like trimming a paper garden.
By the end of the day, my wall was laid bare; revealing nothing but black lead-painted concrete underneath.
That night, after a long shower, I went to sleep with wallpaper remains still lining the edge of the room. Finally, I could focus. I could look past the hypnotizing patterns. It was done. Gone. Over.
Except it wasn’t.
As I went to sleep, my eyes drifted to the barren walls. A black, eternal night – now unhindered by what little paper-thin barrier had been erected. Just looking at it gave me that feeling in my stomach, like I was falling forward. Even closing my eyes felt brighter than staring into it. Like it was more than a color; a place.
At some point in the night, I heard this loud yowl. Looking up, I could see Marmalade sitting at the edge of my bed, staring straight at the wall, hissing, and raising her hackles. Looking straight ahead, I saw something.
There, deep in the dark of the bare wall, something moved.
I swooped up Marmalade, who clung to my shoulder like a parrot. I threw on my pants, shirt, and got my bag – I’d had enough. I wasn’t about to stick around to find out the depths of what was either my own insanity, or something unnatural entirely. I didn’t want to know.
As I entered the living room, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Every single wall had turned a midnight black. The windows had fogged up from the inside, blocking the moonlight from peeking in. I ran my hand along the wall, looking for the door.
Something cold bumped against the palm of my hand.
A finger.
I recoiled, almost dropping Marmalade in surprise. I couldn’t see my door. As I looked around, trying to find my bearings, I slowly came to the realization that nothing was quite as it should. The kitchenette was further away. The windows were further apart. The proportions of the room were off, and seemingly shifting every time I blinked. It was as if everything in that darkness was untrue; malleable. Subtly shifting as soon as I looked away.
And so was I.
Looking down at my hands, they’d seem different with every blink of my eye. They could be older, younger, scarred, masculine – it was impossible to tell. It was just diffuse enough for an anxious mind to fill in the blanks, but it felt like more than that. It wasn’t just a fear of the dark; it was the dark changing me.
Finally, I fumbled my way to the front door, and pulled it open.
And there was nothing. Just a solid black nothing.
The apartment was getting darker. Even the windows were turning black. The kitchen sink was running, pushing forth dark, nondescript globs. All of which had this peculiar chemical smell. Ammonia?
Marmalade was freaking out. She clung to me, digging her claws into my shirt, hissing at something in the dark. Whenever I turned around, the room would look different – swallowed further and further by the night.
I could see vague silhouettes. Hands reaching forward. Some small, some impossibly large. I could imagine creatures the size of skyscrapers, towering forward. Impish little beasts nipping at my heels. I curled into a ball on the floor, clutching Marmalade close to my chest. Together we stared down anything and everything creeping closer.
But I was losing. My light was dying.
It was all going dark.
Then I felt a rumble. I’d forgotten my phone was still in my pants. Bringing it out, I had a new message from Deirdre – the little screen lighting up a little bubble around me. I wasn’t even on the floor anymore - I was sitting on a pile of dry grass and blue petals, and I could see the edge of a dead field stretching out around me in all directions. A wind cut through me like cold glass
And there really were things moving out there. Some big, some small, all vague and horrifying; waiting for me to look away long enough to take shape.
“Hey, hon’! I heard you were feeling under the weather, so I just wanted to check in! Get plenty of rest – we’ll talk soon.”
I played it again, and again. I filled my head with her voice, and my eyes with what little light the phone struggled to provide. I could feel Marmalade’s pulse beating against my neck.
Something would brush against me. A light kick against my foot. Footsteps rushing past. I saw nothing, but they were there – hidden in the dark.
“…we’ll talk soon” Deirdre’s message repeated for the tenth time.
“…we’ll talk soon.”
“…we’ll talk soon.”
I don’t know how long I sat there, just waiting for the dark to pass; but nothing came of it. The battery was dying. As it reached the final few percentages of power, there was little left for me to do. The light was shrinking. I couldn’t hear Deirdre’s message anymore. Marmalade was yowling like crazy, hissing and striking at something unseen.
As the screen died, I felt the chill of the world descend on me. In the silence, and I could feel something approaching. Something careful and calculated. I couldn’t see if, but I could feel it – smiling at me. Leering. Eager.
I was panicking. My skin felt like ice, and I couldn’t feel my fingers. I held Marmalade close to me, and in a last-ditch effort, I flung my phone into the dark.
Glass shattered.
I’d thrown it through the window next to the little French balcony.
A beam of morning light broke through.
I turned around to an empty apartment – the layout exactly as I’d remembered it. The kitchenette still running. Torn-down wallpaper lining the edges of the room. Marmalade’s favorite bed still by the window, and the many Chinese takeout boxes still left unattended. Just as it should be.
Except every inch of the room was covered in dry, blue, flower petals.
Needless to stay, I didn’t stick around for long. I moved out to the branch office where Deirdre worked and ended up staying there. We’re still best of friends to this day.
I haven’t been able to talk to a lot of people about what happened that night. I get the sense that whatever lived in that dark space was just waiting for someone to tear down that barrier. That hedge of flowers and patterns. Something waiting to pull me into a dark place, never to return.
Poor Marmalade hasn’t been the same ever since. Her fur has turned a matted orange, and she’s a lot clingier than before. She’s okay though, she’s a happy cat, but it’d be a lie to say she hasn’t changed.
The same can be said about me. It isn’t a single obvious thing, but I feel like there are things about me that aren’t that same. My eyes look darker. My fingers longer. My teeth sharper and whiter. Just enough for me to notice, and remember.
In my new place, I sleep with the lights on. I try not to look too closely at the wallpaper.
Just in case.