Young Writers Society

There was a small apartment in a crowded city that was filled with lots of things. Stacks of books lined both sides of the narrow staircase that led to the lone apartment, and the staircase’s walls were smothered in old photos and cutouts precariously hung from rusted nails and objects that could be used as nails. The door, a pale blue color from the peeling paint, had no number or peephole on it. It was simply a painted panel of wood with hinges and a doorknob.

At some point in the middle of the day, a young woman came tiptoeing up the staircase, trying her best to not trip or step on anything but stair. She was tall and thin, with dark skin and even darker hair that was always behind her ears. Along with the books there was an assortment of potted plants lying around, and she pricked her legs on multiple cacti on her trek up. Upon reaching the door she straightened herself out and knocked. She was instructed to open the door with the skeleton key if no one answered within a reasonable time frame.

Fortunately, the door opened before too long. The renter was an older woman, though probably not much more than the young woman’s mother. She had course dark blonde hair that was pulled back into a loose ponytail and freckled skin that was almost the same color as her hair. She wore plain clothes and no shoes. Smiling, she greeted her guest.

“Hello, can I help you?” Her voice was low and gravelly and her breath, which the woman was close enough to be able to smell, carried a scent of peppermint.

“Uh, hi,” the young woman started, feeling awkward. “I’m the landlord’s daughter, and was told to check up on you because nobody’s seen you out of your apartment for a couple weeks. You are Natalie Hurin, correct?”

The older woman, Natalie, smiled. “Yes, that’s correct. Tell your mother that I am in perfect health, and please thank her for me for her care. I’ve just been very busy with a project, you see, and sometimes the days seem to just float away, and then it’s just me and my painting.” She laughed as if losing days at a time was a normal experience, then looked at me. “So you’re Marie’s daughter then. It’s Josephine, right? Would you like to see the painting? I’m almost done with it.” She open the door wider and walked in, not waiting for an answer. Josephine followed and closed the door behind her. It was blue on the inside too.

Immediately in front of her was the living room, a space that was so crowded with things that it appeared to be a miniature museum to Josie. She was so entranced by all of the statues, masks, vases, books and more that she didn’t hear Natalie call out at first.

“I’m back here!” her voice called out again. Josie had to pull herself away from the scene to walk to the back. Everywhere else was just as occupied, filled with strange artifacts and items. The only clear spot in the entire apartment was the kitchen, where Natalie and an easel toting a painting were. She was leaning against a counter, sipping a steaming beverage from a purple mug and staring at the painting. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” Josie said, meaning it. The painting was a depiction of a supernova. Across the canvas bright colors exploded in the black background of the sky. Josie could see different shades of red, purple, orange, blue and even some green, all blending into one another yet each maintaining a prominent independence. However, upon looking at it more, it seemed that the supernova was missing something, though she wouldn’t be able to say what it was. Now realizing this, the colors seemed to flatten against the canvas, the universe behind stretching thinner until flecks of white canvas peered through the paint.

“As you can see, it’s not quite finished yet.” Natalie continued to sip from her mug. “I just need to find the heart of the painting, and with just a touch more paint let it show in all the colors. This is more than just a painting for me- it’s my own little world on a canvas; my last great work. So, I want it to be perfect. I need it to be.”

Josie took a step closer and gazed at the painting for some time, not saying a word. All of the paint was dry, as if she finished it a week earlier and just now decided to add more. “Have you been thinking about how to finish it for a long time?” She asked absently, her eyes focusing on something across the room. Past the kitchen there was a small wall, making a hallway that veered left. On the floor going into the hallway she could see dust scattered everywhere, like something was dropped. Although she thought it was strange, it was no more out of the ordinary than anything else placed within this apartment.

“I have,” Natalie replied. She seemed distant suddenly, her mind as far away as the supernova she was painting. Josie began to feel awkward just standing there, so she figured it was time for her to leave.

“Well,” she started, glancing at her watch. She’d been here for 43 minutes. How was that possible? It seemed like less than five minutes ago she was walking through the door. “I should probably leave. Thank you for your hospitality, and I hope you finish the painting soon.”

Natalie looked surprised; she was just as unaware of the time passing. They walked to the front door, going by the collections of vases, drums, masks, sculptures, paintings and more. “Right, of course. Have a pleasant day, Josephine. I hope to see you again sometime.”

When Josie left the building she called her mother, informing her that Natalie was just fine and she was on her way to return the keys.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The sun was unusually pale the morning Josie heard the news about Natalie. The day before, a mail carrier walked up those narrow crowded stairs to the peeling blue door to find it slightly ajar. When she pushed open the door, the carrier found the body of Natalie Hurin amid her endless belongings. Josie tried to imagine the woman she saw less than a week before as a corpse; unanimated, still, grey. But she couldn’t. She felt as if she could walk back to Natalie’s apartment and see her there, purple mug in hand, gazing softly at her unfinished painting. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would die from something as common as a heart attack.

Over the next few days, Josie and her mother made arrangements and plans involving the uninhabited apartment. Natalie did not have any family to reach out to, so the responsibility of doing something with her belongings became theirs. They made plans to box it all up the next day and put it in a storage facility temporarily.

Josie spent that evening staring at her laptop. Natalie’s death wasn’t that devastating to her- she had only met her once- but it caused her to think about things she had been avoiding for the past six years. She opened up her email and started to compose one:

Hi Dad,

It’s Josephine. I know it’s been a while. Under normal circumstances I would not be contacting you, but recent events have made me think about you and how you’re doing. One of Mom’s tenants died recently from a heart attack, and she was about the same age as you. I’m not implying that I think you’re going to have a heart attack or anything, but honestly I have no idea how you’re doing, and I just don’t want anything to happen without talking with you at least once in this decade. As for me, I’m doing great. I’m working toward an M.S. in Neurobiology right now. Mom’s well too. Anyway, just let me know how you’re doing, what you’re doing, things like that. This doesn’t mean I want a relationship.

-Josephine

She clicked send and closed the laptop. Now all she could do was wait. Josie turned out the lights in her apartment and slept, but by the time she woke up the next morning, she wasn’t feeling rested at all.

She got to Natalie’s apartment early, struggling to not knock over anything with the empty boxes she was carrying. She opened the door with a key and walked in, setting all the boxes against a wall. The apartment looked exactly as it had the first time she was here. She took out a notepad, intending on taking some sort of inventory before starting. She estimated that her mother would be there in a half hour, which was probably enough time.

A small noise sounded within the apartment. Josie jumped, and looked around. Nothing in her immediate vicinity was moving, so she began to walk to the back. Upon reaching the kitchen, she found the source of the noise.

“Hello Josephine,” Natalie Hurin smiled, her eyes crinkling at the edges. Josie nearly collapsed; she held on to the counter for support. She was too shocked to scream. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here right now.” Natalie laughed, completely unperturbed. Josie backed away as fast as she could, wanting to leave this apartment and never think about it again. But Natalie just followed.

“Get away! You’re supposed to be dead!” She tried to run, but Natalie grabbed her arm. Instinctively, Josie pushed her away as hard as she could, which sent Natalie stumbling back, hitting the wall behind her hard.

“I’ve been “supposed to be dead” for a while now! Even when you last visited!” Natalie cried out.

Josie didn’t think there would ever be a reason for her to stop, but there she was, still, halfway down the stairs. Natalie made it to the front door, looking down at the young, terrified woman. “I need your help,” she pleaded to Josie.

“I’m not really inclined to give it to you,” Josie stated through gritted teeth.

Natalie ignored her, and continued. “It’s the painting. It was the last thing I was working on when I died, and I just couldn’t accept that I was going to die with it unfinished. So somehow I’m still here, I guess like a ghost. The only thought I’ve had since I died has been “finish the painting”. But I can’t. I don’t know why, I just can’t. Nothing is satisfactory. I need your help to finish the painting.”

Josie had calmed down to the point where she wasn’t blindly running away. But she still couldn’t accept what was right in front of her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. Right at that moment her phone beeped. In the heavy silence between her and Natalie, she pulled out her phone. It was an email notification from her dad. She immediately opened it, somehow prioritizing her dad’s reply over the apparent ghost standing at the top of the stairs.

To Whom It May Concern,

I’m on vacation in Hawaii right now with my wife, will be checking emails once I get back.

-Markus

Josie stared at the email. She decided to contact her father for the first time in six years and she got an automated response. Because he was on vacation. In Hawaii. With his wife? There was too much going on; she couldn’t process anything in her head.

“I need to go,” Josie half whispered, starting to move.

“No! Please stay and let me explain,” Natalie didn’t try to stop her this time, though.

“You already did explain, Natalie,” said Josie before leaving the building. The sun was too bright; the streets too loud. Everything was in motion, circling around her too quickly. Though she didn’t think about it, she knew she was heading toward her apartment. Good. There she could close her eyes and let the world move without her for a little while. She didn’t think about what would happen when her mom arrived at Natalie’s apartment, or why she ever decided to communicate with her father. She didn’t think about her classes or her friends or her rent or anything but her feet translating her to her home.

The moment she was inside she collapsed on her bed and closed her eyes, disappearing into dreams she wouldn’t remember.

THE END.

(or is it?)