It was left at his doorstep three weeks ago, in what might’ve been the sketchiest package delivery I’ve ever seen.
I imagine that the pair of lanky, neckbeard-sporting gentlemen nearly fractured their spines in the process of unloading the thing from their van. Ignoring the dolly, they opted to instead distribute its weight amongst themselves. They each clung to a side of the massive box and awkwardly shuffled across my neighbor’s yard.
By the way their knees buckled with each step, I picked the mystery item for a refrigerator. Then again, I’d never known refrigerators to arrive encased in bright pink wrapping paper.
Before I continue, it’s important to note that my neighbor, Chance Wilkins, is mentally handicapped. He hadn’t always been that way, though. His mother, Sally, who owns the house, had shared a bit of information with me regarding his accident.
Years earlier, he had been run off the road by an absent-minded semi driver. He careened into a concrete toll booth at seventy miles per hour, crushing him within an inch of his life. Since the accident, Chance has undergone a dozen surgeries. Everything from reconstructive procedures to an emergency craniectomy as the result of a traumatic brain injury. Though he was able to understand everything that was said to him, he could no longer speak for himself. He would carry a dry erase board with him wherever he went. That way, he could easily and effectively communicate with anybody that he needed to.
Recently, his mother’s health had taken a turn for the worse. Alzheimer’s disease. It was decided that she would be relocated to a nursing home, and that Chance would try his hand at living independently. For the past few months now, that has been the case.
Living alone didn’t become an issue until about a week after Sally’s departure. I’d witnessed many of Chance’s tantrums, but never to the extent that they ultimately got to. My bedroom window is no more than ten feet from his house, so I practically lived there with him. And I could hear fucking everything. Night after night, I’d be awoken by shrill screams, shattering glass, and slamming doors.
Thanks to the anonymity that Reddit offers, I can admit that I’m no angel, and that I wanted to knock on his door and politely ask him to cut the shit. I’ve got a full-time job that requires me to wake up no later than five in the morning and I cannot stand being deprived of my sleep.
However, I was warned by neighbors not to engage him when he gets that way, as it could lead to further issues. And as you can imagine, filing a noise complaint on a handicapped person is never a good look. The truth is, I don’t know what prompted Chance to act out. All that I know is that his tantrums seemed to temporarily cease upon the package’s arrival. I’ve never been one to argue with a good thing, but I was damn curious about whatever the hell was in that box.
A few days later, as I was pulling into my driveway after work, I caught him just before he retreated indoors. My curiosity got the better of me. I cranked down the window of my shitty Ford Focus, and called out to him.
“Mr. Wilkins, the man of the hour!” I shouted.
“How are you doing today, man?”
He turned to face me. He was positively beaming. In all my years on Lloyd Street, and all my years of knowing Chance, I had never seen him smile so sincerely.
I smiled back at him.
“That’s what I like to see! What’s got you so happy, Chance?”
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a marker.
He scrawled away on his dry erase board for a while before turning it in my direction.
I have been missing something for a very long time.
I didn’t know what he meant by this, nor did I have opportunity to inquire further. Without falter in his smile, he waved to me, spun on his heels, and walked inside.
I laughed to myself, as this interaction had turned out to be the most pleasant one I’d ever had with him. After all, a happy Chance leads to bountiful rest.
I slept soundly for the next week or sountil the music began.
I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. My AC is broken. It’s on a timer and only spits out hot air most of the time. Annoyed, I reached over and opened my window.
I only noticed it as I was about to drift off again. From the direction of the Wilkins home, It sounded like somebody was playing a piano.
I looked at the clock.
2:58
Wonderful.
Chance had decided that three in the morning was the ideal time to get musical. I turned red. I was so aggravated that I bolted upright and leapt from the bed to grab my shoes.
As I put my jacket on, I noticed something that I hadn’t before. The Wilkins’ living room light was on.
I walked to the window and peered out, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell he was getting up to in there. Through it, I could see the piano. My window is so close to their home that I could see the keys bouncing up and down on their own. Sally had mentioned owning a piano that reads sheet music, so I ruled any poltergeist activity out of the equation. Chance would have to answer for this himself.
Suddenly, he entered the living room. I noticed his dog walking sheepishly beside him. Its eyes were transfixed on a couch which faced my opposite. Much like my recent interaction with Chance, he looked cheery. He was smiling, even doing his best to dance to the music.
I sighed audibly, I’m sure.
Who would I be to interfere with such joy? Especially to a man who has been denied so much of it. I reassessed.
And then Chance did something that made me freeze.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a marker.
He walked to his dresser, retrieved his dry erase board, and he began writing.
I ducked faster than I knew I could move.
Had I been spotted?
I had that roller coaster feeling in my stomach. The feeling a person gets when they’re caught in a lie.
I slowly inched my way back up the wall and peered out the window once more. Chance’s dry erase board had turned to face me.
I love you
A strange feeling came over me.
Fortunately, Chance’s gaze seemed to focus not on me, but on the couch.
There was somebody in that house with him. I returned my attention to the dog, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Her tail was tucked between her legs, and though she kept her head down, she refused to take her eyes off of the couch for a second. Certainly this person was unfamiliar?
I looked to the driveway, which remained empty. I had been home all weekend and failed to notice anybody other than Chance enter the house.
I took my shoes and jacket off and got back into bed.
As I stared at my ceiling, I thought about how none of this would be so strange if Chance wasn’t such a hermit. I had never seen him socialize with anybody outside of his immediate family. Regardless, he looked happy.
That night, I drifted asleep to the sound of Chance’s laughter, which at the time, reaffirmed that I had made the right decision.
I was awoken again. This time by a crashing noise.
I looked at the clock.
It was four in the morning.
I heard the noise again, louder this time.
An odd, mechanical whirr droned from within.
Chance began yelling unintelligibly.
A chill shot down my spine.
What the fuck is going on?
A definite scraping noise slowly moved from one end of the Wilkins house to another.
I looked out of the window. Not a single light was on in the Wilkins home.
Thud…Thud… Thud…
I tried to collect myself.
Suddenly, the piano began to play itself again. And through the pitch-black darkness, I could make out the silhouette of a thin, very tall lady in Chance’s living room.
She stood perfectly still before the piano.
Though I was in no danger, I could hear my own heartbeat pulsating through my temples.
I couldn’t look away.
And then she moved.
She made a break for the doorway, taking giant bounding steps. She moved as if she had no articulation below the knees. Like a circus clown on stilts. Despite this, she made ground fast, as evident by the pounding of her footsteps, which tore from the living room to the upstairs.
Chance yelled in protest. I’d heard that tone before. It’s the same one he’d use when his mother would drag him out of the house for Church, or cook him something that he didn’t like.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps again.
The pair had walked back downstairs. They both made their way to the couch and sat down.
For thirty minutes I just watched as they sat there in the dark, with the same song playing over and over and over again.
After work that day, I saw Chance alone on his porch smoking a cigarette.
I got straight to business and pulled into his driveway. I thought long and hard about how to approach the situation, and figured it best to calmly talk it out.
Despite my preparations, I ended up spacing on where to begin, so I just went for it.
“Hey, Chance. Long night?” I asked
He made no attempt for the dry erase board.
He just sat there looking defeated.
“Listen, I’m not angry with you.”
Chance looked up at me, his eyes softened.
His lip began to twitch.
“It’s just that I’ve got a job. I need to wake up early and it’s quite difficult to fall asleep while you’re hosting a mosh pit in the dead of night.”
“Can we make a compromise? Let’s say no piano parties after … eleven?”
That got his attention. He reached for his marker and began to write.
11:00 PM is a perfectly reasonable time to ask for some peace and quiet.
I hoped to god that he would agree to my terms.
Suddenly, Chance stopped writing. He paused for a second and looked up at me.
He erased his message and started over.
It only took him a few seconds.
He turned his dry erase board around so that I could read it.
Just take it, please.
I was taken aback.
I don’t know what sort of response I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that one.
“You want me to have your piano?” I asked
Chance nodded quickly, giving me a sort of half-smile.
I laughed. “Chance, I can’t take that from you.”
He made a face and raised his hands as if to say “Why not?”
“Well … I’ve got nowhere to put the thing. And I don’t want to take anything from you! I just came here to talk.” I said.
He began scrawling again.
Then sell it. I just want it gone.
He was putting me in an awkward position. I truly wanted nothing to do with his gift, as it seemed like a white elephant. However, I was starting to believe that the going rate for a self-playing piano may be worth my time.
I paused, thinking it over for a moment.
It seemed like a win-win. If I got the piano out of that house, I might be able to avoid any repeats of the previous night. Plus, some extra money in the bank always feels nice, right?
“It uh.. might take me a few days to get some people around. I can’t move the thing by myself.”
Chance looked almost offended. Quickly, he began writing.
His message was clear.
It’s got wheels. I’m stronger than I look.
The look he gave me was screaming “You’re a dick.”
And with that, we headed inside.
The place was an absolute sty. Sally’s gray wallpaper hung from the wall, shredded to bits.
The once spotless hardwood floor was coated in hundreds of black splotches, which I wasn’t eager to dodge with the piano. There were various sized holes punched through the walls, floors, even the ceiling.
“I like what you’ve done to the place.” I said.
Chance rubbed the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed.
We each grabbed an end of the piano.
“You sure you want to get rid of this, Chance? It looks pretty expensive.”
I reached down and pressed on a random key.
Just when I did, it sounded as if somebody started a car in the other room.
I jumped. Chance flinched.
“What the fuck was that, Chance?”
He shook his head back and forth rapidly.
I heard the same whirring as I did the previous night.
I got louder
“Chance, answer me please. What the hell is going on?”
Something began to move in the other room. Slowly, I heard it inch its way to the door.
Thud
The door flexed slightly inwards, but did not open.
I turned to face the direction of the noise. Ignoring my manners, I slowly began to walk towards it. I can’t explain the terror that I felt as I neared whatever was on the other side of that door. Just as I reached for the knob, Chance grabbed me by the arm.
I looked at him.
A single tear streamed down his face.
He tugged on my arm twice.
I stared back at him. He looked like he’d seen war.
He tugged on my arm again.
I couldn’t tell if he was warning me or pleading.
A slow scratching noise crept from the top of the doorframe to the bottom, chilling me to my core.
I agreed. I let him direct me back to the piano. Both of our hands shook as we guided it from his property to mine.
We exchanged goodbyes in the driveway.
I was about to finish the job myself. But just before I could push it inside, I noticed something. One of the piano’s wheels was coated in the same black substance that covered the Wilkins’ floor.
I decided to spray it with a hose, as I didn’t want to get any closer than I had to.
It was only then that I realized what the substance was.
It was oil.
The rest of the week went smoothly. There was little noise from the Wilkins house, and I was sleeping just fine. It seemed that taking the piano off of Chance’s hands worked out better than I expected it to.
I worked overtime last night. I didn’t get home until nine, and I was absolutely dead.
After a shower, I decided to start off my weekend with a glass of whiskey.
For kicks, I loaded some of the Wilkins sheet music into the piano.
I listened to various songs for about an hour before I came across one that was far more worn than the others.I figured that probably meant that this specific song was a favorite in the Wilkins household. I was correct.
The song was called Lament. It was the same one playing in Chance’s living room the previous week. Right about that time, the whiskey had made its way to my bladder. I slightly turned the music up so that it could follow me to the restroom. I had a little more than I should have, as walking in a straight line had become troublesome.
Something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Through my bathroom window, I could make out the shape of a lady in Chance’s living room. Though she appeared to be staring back at me, I could not make out her face in the darkness. She swayed back and forth at the hips slowly.
As I finished up, I walked to my lightswitch and flipped it off, but I did not leave. I just stood in the bathroom, shrouded in darkness.
What is with this bitch?
I got a sickening feeling as she slowly tilted her body backwards and slammed her face through the glass. I could now hear the noises she was emitting. Every motion she made was matched by a wet, hydraulic screeching.
I stood still as she advanced. Taking long strides, she clumsily made her way across Chance’s yard and into mine. As she approached my house I was able to make out her face.
Only then did I make the connection. The thing standing in my yard was no person. It was a mannequin. An inanimate object.
Despite that, it seemed to be searching for something, for no movement it made was without purpose.
I backed into my hallway. I didn’t know what to do.
Is there a correct person to call in a situation like this?
I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, but it wasn’t there. I must’ve left it on the piano.
The thing’s head slowly buzzed in a semicircle until its eyes were fixed on me. I doubted that it could see me through the darkness, yet it seemed to stare right through me. Just then, it lunged at me, breaking into a sprint. I slammed the bathroom door and held it shut as the mannequin came crashing through my window. I heard it writhing about on the floor before clambering to its feet. It began to beat the door down.
Between strikes, it’d push against the door. I could hear the wood beginning to splinter.
And then it spoke.
“ Treat me like a lady!”
It sounded like it spoke through a synthesizer.
“Turn up the music! Treat me like a lady!”
Everything about the way that it spoke was wrong. When people talk, we do so with infliction.
This thing had no infliction. No tone. No soul.
I began to panic as it pushed harder against the door. I could hear its mechanical parts spinning rapidly each time it applied force. It began to pound again. The door wasn’t going to hold much longer.
As I wondered if I should give up and make a break for the front door, I noticed that the mannequin had stopped applying pressure. Unwilling to risk it, I did not let go.
I could hear it moving on the other side, lowering itself to the ground. I stood still.
My heart sank when it slid something under the door. I ignored it, not letting my focus stray from keeping the door shut. I sat there with a death grip on the door for what seemed like hours, but the mannequin made no further attempts on the door.
I could hear it rise to its feet, and leave through the window.
I was hyperventilating. With my head in my hands, I shifted my focus to the floor.
There before me, was Chance’s dry erase board, bearing only two words.
Please don’t