Before I begin this story, I want to preface something; I am not insane. Though there will be times when you’ll question the validity of this statement, know that it is true.
I live in the bad part of town. It’s nothing like what you see on TV or in movies: no one robs me at gunpoint or steals from my building or anything like that. There’s just a lot of drug use and prostitution going on. Of course, this doesn’t stop me from being any less paranoid. I’ve always been cautious, according to my parents, but living here makes everything so much worse.
Just last week, as I was watching TV in the dark, I saw something. It scurried from the hallway to the kitchen. I froze, eyes flicking all around to see if something was there or if I was just imagining it. Cautiously, I made my way to the kitchen, inching ever so close before flicking the light switch. Nothing.
I let out a sigh of relief, resting my hand on my chest. Just a trick of the mind. But as I went to close the lights, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Embarrassing, I know. I wasn’t five anymore. I shouldn’t have to keep the light open every night to check for monsters.
But I can’t help it. I’ll just leave it on for now. The rest of the night ended as usual, with me sleeping on the couch while the background noise of news reports and traffic noises filled my apartment.
The next morning, I opened my eyes to something different. The remote for the TV moved. I always put it on the right side of the table, but now it was on the floor. I thought that maybe I just knocked it off while sleeping, but the table was too far for something to happen. That’s when the “paranoia” kicked in, or as I like to call it, survival instincts. I got up, checking for any windows. However, every single one of them was locked. I triple-checked every nook and cranny of the apartment, and finally, I felt safe enough to go back to bed. As soon as I closed the bedroom door, I heard a distant bump, this time coming from the bathroom. More angry than tired at this point, I rush for the pistol I hide under my pillow. It was essential to have something for self-defence in this town. Sure, a firearm was a bit overboard but better safe than sorry.
I pull the safety back and loudly announce to whatever, or whoever, was inside my bathroom. “Alright, come out!” After receiving no reply, I make my way to the bathroom, my grip tightening around the holster. I put my ear against the bathroom door, trying to make out any noise. Aside from the faint sound of water dripping, nothing else was audible. I practically kick the door open and aim. Nothing. I check behind the door, inside the cupboards and behind the shower curtain, but none of my investigations yielded anything. Frustrated, I turn off the faucet to end the noise. Standing in silence, I let out a groan, rubbing my eyes.
This must mean there was an animal inside. If I was lucky, it would just be a rat, but with the quality of the apartment, I wouldn’t be surprised if a bigger animal was inside.
So, I began setting up rat traps all around. It took some time, and while I did have to stay awake past midnight to set these things, I figured they’d pay off. Rats are pretty small creatures so I didn’t need a huge amount of poison, only the regular stuff. Satisfied, I returned to my room, setting the pistol back under my pillow.
The next couple of days were uneventful. I slept through the night without hearing a thing, which should’ve made me feel more secure, but the tension was building inside of me. One question constantly circled my mind; what if there really was something in the apartment?
Two days ago, is when I think I reached my breaking point. I was walking from work, as usual, frequently making glances over my shoulder. It was still a dangerous neighbourhood, after all. Finally, I made it to my apartment building and entered my unit. I immediately switched on the lights, and something jumped out of an open window.
At first, I froze, unsure how to react, before dashing to where the figure had escaped from, my hand clenching around the pistol. I almost fell out as I poked my head through the window, looking for any signs of movement. Everything was dark.
My heart pounding, I pulled myself back into my apartment. After making sure the window was locked, I grabbed my cell phone and called the police. The operator said that they were going to send someone to my house as soon as possible.
I waited, nerves tingling in the pit of my stomach. Minutes that felt like hours passed and, finally, I heard the knocking on the door. I let the two police officers in and hastily explained my situation. They listened, one of them writing something on a notepad.
“You say you locked all the windows? How sure are you of that?”
“It’s true. Every single one of them.”
“Uh-huh,” the one with the notepad mumbled, inspecting the window. “So there’s nothing stolen, no sign of breaking and entering, no signs of forced entry at all? I don’t mean to doubt your honesty, but it really just seems like a case of paranoia.”
“What do you mean?”
He looks down, putting away his pen and paper. “Well, besides the fact you claim the windows are open, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Not to mention, you’re 7 stories off the ground, nobody can jump out and survive.”
I wanted to say more, and provide something that would make them see what I was seeing, but I wasn’t able to produce anything. With a sigh, I nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, but I’ve gotten a little too paranoid about what’s happening. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, you know.”
The one with the notebook looked up and gave me a sympathetic smile. “Not the best neighbourhood. It’s alright, buddy. You stay safe, alright?” He gave me a gentle pat on the shoulders before motioning for his partner, who had remained silent for the entire confrontation, to head out. I narrowed my eyes, the faintest feeling of suspicion growing. As they closed the door behind them, I heard them talk to someone. I couldn’t make out the voice, but I didn’t need to, as a few seconds afterwards, another knock emanated from the door.
Opening it, I was met with my next-door neighbour; her face concerned. “Is everything alright?” She asked.
“Yes,” I told her, “it’s fine. Just a couple of policemen checking the place out.”
Her expression softened. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go back now.”
“Thanks, Angela,” I said, giving her a half-hearted smile before she headed back. Then my smile dissipated. Why did I feel like there was something off about them? First were the police officers, then Angela. Was my paranoia getting the better of me? I wasn’t sure.
***
I awoke later that night due to a faint, but insistent screeching sound. Looking over to where the source of the noise came from, I found myself looking at the smiling face of Angela behind the glass, dragging her jagged nails over it. As soon as she saw me looking, she scampered off on all fours, hanging onto the outside wall like a bug. I barely managed to see Angela enter her unit’s room.
Then, everything connected. The shadow in the kitchen, the bumps in the bathroom and the open window, all of it was Angela, or at least, whatever she became. I considered that maybe I was hallucinating, that it was simply all in my mind, but I knew this wasn’t the case. Angela was real. This was real.
I was far too afraid to go back to sleep now. I paced my apartment, the sounds of scratching emanating from the other side of the wall. Why wouldn’t it stop? It just kept on going and going…
I was tempted to call the police, but my nerves got the best of me. What if they thought I was crazy? Or, worse yet, what if they were like Angela? In fact, just who the hell could I trust? No, I couldn’t call anyone. Not the police, not my friends or family.
I stayed this way for the entirety of the night, waiting in trepidation to find out what was going to happen next. When the time came to get up and start my day, I waited by the door, listening. Soon, I heard the sound I was looking for; Angela opening her door. After her footsteps passed by me, I opened the door and began following her, making sure there was enough distance between us. I followed her to the coffee store she goes to every day, then to the part-time job she worked at, then to the train station, and eventually to the grocery stores.
I watched, waiting for her to step out and show her true self. But she was clever, pretending to be one of us. As much as I wanted to see Angela in her true form, all I was able to do was watch her act normal. For some reason, this frustrated me. She seemed so smug, and it made me angry, but mostly sad that I couldn’t do anything about it, that I couldn’t stop her.
By nighttime, she was heading to a club, according to a phone call she has with someone. Unfortunately, it seemed that she finally noticed me. While walking, she turned around for a moment, noticing my hooded figure. Fear spread across her face and she began walking faster.
I kept the same pace as her until she suddenly took a right into an alleyway. I paused, my hand slowly reaching into my pocket, gripping the firearm. It was time, I decided, for me to end all this.
After a few moments, I entered the alleyway. I expected to see Angela, but what I saw instead was a creature I could only describe as a frail and slender being, its body so thin that it looked like it’s ribs would pop out any moment. The same smiling face I saw on the window greeted me. Worst of all, if was reaching for me.
In one swift motion, I pulled the weapon out and shot. The thing let out a pathetic scream as its life escaped it. As I blinked, however, I realized I wasn’t looking at a creature, but Angela. Just Angela. She was holding a phone in her right hand, which has a concerned voice asking if she was okay, and a tazer in her other hand. The hand that was reaching for me.
A pool of blood began under her. I let out a shaky breath, unable to comprehend what just happened. Before I could ask any questions, a shrill scream alerted me from behind. I spun around and saw an onlooker, already dialling 911. “Shit,” I said, dashing over to the woman and grabbing her arm. She was panicking and trying to remove herself from my grip when I yanked her down and pressed the gun to her temple. “Shut up!”
Once she stopped squirming, I grabbed her phone and smashed it onto the ground before running back to my apartment. This didn’t feel real. It was all happening in slow motion. I ran up the stairs, too high on adrenaline to stop and use the stairs. It was only when I slammed the door to my unit behind me that I found I could breathe.
I slid down, panting. I stared at my feet, feeling numb and exhausted. Everything was such a blur. I still had the gun—the weapon I used to kill Angela… I’m no killer, and I’d never use a weapon to do anything but defend myself. She was attacking me. But the police wouldn’t believe that. In fact, the police were probably just like Angela. Everyone was.
The first thing I thought to do was to write this. I needed to spread this message to everyone. Don’t trust anyone. Not even your spouse or partner. Assume that everyone is out to get you, because the majority is. I don’t have much time left. I hear the police sirens outside the building, as well as the slamming on the door.
As I type this, the creatures are trying to get in, attempting to fool me with visages of humanity. But I can look past it. I may die today, but I won’t leave without a fight.