I really don’t know where else to post this, but i’m looking for advice.
It all started eight months ago, some time after my parents passed away. I left my hometown - a small, bordering rural community, after getting a job application in a more populated, urban city. Sis helped me find a new apartment, not very spacious or luxurious, but the rent was cheap, and honestly, it was just enough for a guy like me.
Mind you that i lived in my old town for pretty much my entire life until that point. My sister left after her graduation, but i got a job at the local pharmacy and stayed to take care of our parents - they were never really healthy people, and i don’t know if they would have managed without one of us taking care of them. So i stayed with them for the years to come, and, once they passed away with less than a week of difference, i just didn’t really know what to do with my life. The grief settled, followed by periods of pure emptiness and the feeling that i was just too old to do or realize anything of importance.
I couldn’t bear living in that town anymore, seeing the same people everyday, going to the same places and feeling like i was trapped in some sort of bubble, isolated from the world outside. So like i said at the beginning, i got a job application and Sis helped me move to a new location.
And honestly, it was like a breath of fresh air. Even if at times i felt like a fish out of water, walking through different streets and seeing new faces at work - meeting new people, was simply worth it. It was like i was finally starting my life, the way it should have been. And i only brought some stuff with me from our old home, into my new place.
Like the fridge. And that’s where it gets complicated.
I brought it with me cause it was a relatively new model, we had bought it less than four or five years before and it was in good condition, never gave us problems and it worked well. That is, until i took it to my new place.
It worked normally for the first few weeks - like a normal fridge, not much mystery in that. Until one night i noticed something strange.
I had just gotten home from work and i was too tired, and frankly lazy to the point where i didn’t want to cook anything of substance. So i took a look at the shelf to see if i could find some instant noodles, but unfortunately there weren’t any. Then i opened the fridge to look for some leftovers or anything really, when i came across a large slice of chocolate cake, wrapped up in plastic.
The thing is, i never bought any chocolate cake. In fact, i didn’t even like it much - too sweet for my tastes. But i had absolutely no idea on how it had gotten there. I tried to remember if it was some sort of gift from the neighbors, or maybe something from work - and i admit i tend to forget about those, but nothing came to mind. And i couldn’t have made it myself. It was like it just appeared out of thin air.
I found it weird, but didn’t gave it much thought. I just assumed it was something i had forgotten about, and ate it the same night, without worries. And i have to say, it was actually pretty good. I didn’t comment with anyone about the strange little incident, and with a week gone by i had pretty much forgotten all about it. Until it happened again.
Same scenario. I had just gotten home from work. And when i opened the fridge, i found a large pizza box - with three large slices of pepperoni pizza in what semeed to be an eight-slice box from a local pizza chain, the same one i always see in my way to work, but i had never eaten there. And after i spent some more time questioning my own memory, i came to the conclusion that something was definitely wrong.
I checked the locks, asked around to know if anyone saw someone entering my apartment, but it was no use. I even called my sister to check if she hadn’t been home when i wasn’t present, but i never gave her a key and she confirmed it wasn’t her. I got so paranoic i didn’t even eat the pizza and just threw it away.
And less than two days after, it happened once again. It was early in the morning when i opened the fridge and there was a large galoon of milk, still fresh, wasn’t even opened. And once again my fear and paranoia came back, i was sure that someone was - and only God knows why - entering my apartment, opening my fridge and leaving completly random food there. I remembered the chocolate cake and figured that might have been going on for weeks, which only stoked my fear.
I had to know. So i didn’t leave home for an entire sunday, locked all the doors and windows and didn’t take my eyes off the kitchen. I triple checked the fridge and i was sure of all the contents inside. I thought about calling the police, but what would i say? And frankly, a part of me just held to the belief that i was somehow forgetting about my own food and there was nothing wrong at all.
So the day passed by and i stayed vigilant. And at night, when i went to check the fridge for the fourth time, fully expecting to see the same food i had memorized, i came across a large fruit bowl that i had never seen before. Sitting in the middle of the fridge, almost as if it the fucking bowl was staring right at me. And then i just assumed i was getting crazy.
I checked every single corner of my apartment - it was too small for someone to hide. But there wasn’t anyone but me. There wasn’t anything behind the fridge either, just a solid, concrete wall. So i went to bed and decided to call my sister the next morning, to see if she knew about any good psychiatrists. I was probably in desperate need of professional help.
But it kept happening. Every day, something different appeared inside the fridge. And it wasn’t an illusion, it was real, edible food. It took me a while to find courage and actually eat it, though. Sometimes i opened the fridge to find leftovers of a dinner i never had, or eggs, or ice cream, and even beer packs. Sometimes it was frozen food like a lasagna, or a drink. And for God’s sake, it happened almost daily to the point where i started getting used to it.
Sometimes i just wasn’t in the mood to cook and went to the fridge to check for anything new. I had eaten enough to know i wasn’t going to get poisoned or die, even by eating some random yakisoba plate. And when the food came in dishes, they stayed with me! To the point where i had new plates and even cups almost every week. And when the food was good, it was always great to know i wouldn’t have to worry about cooking something for myself. So i always went to it with a certain level of expectancy, to either be positively surprised or finding myself having to eat beans from a partially opened can.
After some months, it just became a part of my life. A part that i didn’t tell anyone about. But there was still the question - where did that food come from? For a good while i pondered about HOW it had gotten there, and even though i’m not superstitious, i just accepted that some sort of magic or supernatural entity was ensuring me that i wouldn’t die of starvation any time soon. But the food i found often times semeed to come from someone else, like someone else had prepared, and stored in their own fridge. And after a while, i found the answer.
One night, i opened the fridge to find an entire birthday cake, filled with unlighted candles and a message written in cake pastry: ‘‘Happy Birthday, Kevin!’’
And that’s when i realized, i knew exactly to who that cake belonged to. The neighbors in the upper floor, a small family that i had seen just today making the arrangements for the birthday party of their youngest son, a boy named Kevin. Holy shit, i almost choked to the realization. I know you will probably have a hard time reading this and keeping a straight face, but for some fucking reason my fridge was stealing the food of my neighbors.
And i couldn’t even give it back. What would i say? ‘‘Here’s your birthday cake kid, it just teleported right into my fridge’’. I’m terribly sorry that boy had to go through his birthday without cake, but i had no way of explaining it. People would think i’m the one invading their apartments and stealing food.
So i ate it, with a heavy conscience.
But i also started to pay more attention, and even asking some questions cautiously, and i ended up confirming my theory. The food that appears inside my fridge belongs only to the residents of the building i live in. Stuff that they bought, or made, and just disappears but often they don’t think much about it. And majorly, food that they eat.
And that’s why i decided to post this today. Because tonight i opened the fridge, and i almost had a heart attack. Because i found a severed human arm.
I fell backwards and tried to hold the urge to scream. The long, pale fingers were extended in my direction, and frozen in place. Dirty nails, and lacerations all over it. I just puked, terribly nauseous to even notice if it was the arm of a man or a woman. It wasn’t some kind of toy, and it wasn’t food that was made to look like an arm neither. It was a real, severed human arm.
And i’m trembling while writing this, but i swear to you, there were bite marks in it.
I don’t know what to do. If i called the police, how would i explain this? I’m scared, and can’t think straight. And that arm, it belonged to someone in my building, i’m sure. I can’t bear the thought. For fuck’s sake, i don’t know what to do. Can you give me some advice?