Climbing Up the Walls

There’s someone outside my bathroom. I wasn’t certain at first, I couldn’t hear much of what was happening beyond that door, especially not with the water sloshing and the steady torrent emerging from the faucet. But now that the water was settling down and I laid my head back, eyes closed—I heard movement. Soft breathing. I thought it was mine at first, but the one I was hearing was slower, deliberate. Without moving a muscle so as to not alert him, I let my eyes drift to the bottom of the door, where I could see the shadow of someone standing inches away from the door. Not like it would stop him, it was a flimsy piece of wood that would give in to the smallest kick, not that he needed to anyway, there was no lock on that door. I had one placed on every door three days ago, but the bathroom slipped my mind for some reason. He probably knew all this. So why wasn’t he going for it? What was he waiting for? I stayed where I was, wary that perhaps he was waiting for a move from me, and kept my eyes trained on the handle. If it moved even the slightest inch.. perhaps if I could reach the knife I had laid on the sink.. but it was so far out of reach. And what if he had a gun? I knew he had one, that was certain. I slowly gathered myself. Yes, I would go for the knife, and wait for him to enter to strike him and finally get this whole ordeal over with, he wouldn’t expect it, I’d be quicker, quicker than it would take for him to attack.. but just as I started to stand, the handle started moving.

Three days ago

Delphine came into my room one morning, telling me someone had broken in. I was half asleep, and honestly pissed at her just for waking me up, but her worried expression and fidgeting got to me, and suddenly I was wide awake.

“Where did it happen?” I asked as I followed her downstairs and straight into the basement. She stopped dead in her tracks, in the middle of the basement, looking at no point in particular, if I had to guess, I would even say she was looking at the wall. “Here.”

I looked around, the basement was untouched as it had always been. We used to spend a lot of sleepovers here, with Delphine, but now all that was left were a few scattered toys, a pink bow, some leftover junk from a party.

“I don’t see it,” I turned to face her. “The window’s intact, garage door is still in place, where do you see a break in?”

She still looked at the wall, I thought maybe there was some grime or maybe a fingerprint or something that would hint at a break-in. Nothing. “Delphine?”

“No, someone definitely came in here,” She said abrutply. “Look,” she gestured about. “Don’t you see?”

“What? What is there to see?”

“It’s not something definite, there’s nothing that’s been stolen, you don’t find that strange? Doesn’t it feel off to you? This room changed. I used to love coming down here, all the parties we’ve had down here together, all the late night talks. It was cozy here, but now it’s just..”

She shook her head. “It’s strange, that’s it. There was someone in here and he brought something with him. Whatever it is. And now this place feels off.”

For the first time, she truly looked at me, her eyes were searching something, maybe recognition? But the look on my face must’ve startled her. She blinked.“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying, maybe I’m just tired..”

“Sure, maybe just tired,” I said softly, then I took her hand and guided her back upstairs.

As much as I tried to brush it off, her words troubled me greatly for the rest of the day. I was drumming my fingers against my latop, to the point my colleague demanded I stopped, but something troubled me. Whatever she felt in that basement, I didn’t. There was no intruder. She said it herself, there was no break-in, nothing stolen, no signs of a passage. I sighed. Maybe she had just had a bad dream, and having woken up but not brushed off the remaining filaments of her fantasy, the dream had bled into reality and made her unable to discern one from the other. It happens quite often, nothing abnormal to it, I told myself. I left early from work that day, maybe those reassuring words didn’t truly work as I had imagined.

That night, I wasn’t able to sleep, partly due to what happened, partly due to the sweltering heat. My curtains and windows were wide open, trying to bring in any sort of breeze. The room was dark, but I could make out something slightly darker at the opposite corner of my room. Was it my closet door? I thought I had closed it. Then again, maybe I just left it open? I peeked at it from above the covers, wondering if I should just get up and close it. I tried my best to ignore it, telling myself it was childish to be scared of your own closet, and turned to my side, forcing my eyes closed.

I woke up a while later, it was maybe one in the morning, or two. I laid there for a few minutes, eyes scanning the dark, ears perked up, trying to figure out what had caused me to wake up. I was just about to let my eyes close when I heard it. A faint scraping. It was coming from my window. I laid still, dreading to hear it a second time, I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, maybe someone walking outside my house? Maybe an animal? Or just a car? Or a tree? Lots of things could play tricks on a half asleep mind. But there it was again, a slow scrape. I shivered and laid completely frozen in my bed, unable to get up and check or run away, as I probably should. My mind had pieced things together, quicker than I wanted to. It had quickly figured out that the sound was off to my left. Where my window was. I could only assume there was someone in my garden, but what they were doing, I had no clue. I laid there for hours, listening to the noises of scraping and soft thudding and rustling fabric. By some miracle, when I opened my eyes, the sun was shining through the windows. I got up with a start, throwing my windows open and looking at the garden below. Nothing. No footprints, or clothes, or anything really. Just grass. As I was about to close the window, Delphine burst in through the door.

“You have to believe me now, someone was in the living room last night!”

She was erratic, and I tried my best to calm her down as she practically dragged me downstairs. Our other roommates were already there, lounging on the couch. Manon raised a beer to me while Aglaé told me, sighing exaggeratedly deep, that they already followed her and checked every single room, but that there was nothing.

“Ok no no but listen, come with me, just for a moment, here, look at this,”

She pointed at the basement door. “Yes, there’s no sign of anyone coming in, but that’s because he never really did! He was just standing there, at the entrance of the basement. Look! You can see the spot he was standing on, the wood is slightly discolored under his shoes!”

I looked at the floor, then to the basement door, then back to her.

“Delphine, just wait a moment, don’t interrupt me. I don’t think anyone came in last night, why would they go through all this trouble just to stand there? Plus, the basement door was locked, and so was every other door. There’s nothing to worry about, we’re safe here,”

I took her hand gently, and tried to catch her eyes, but they were fleeting and she pulled her hand away, still obstinately staring at the spot on the floorboards. “Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll come with you into the basement, alright? If there was anyone, we’ll find something.”

She instantly brightened up, and shot off into the basement. I followed reluctantly. Manon mouthed “good luck” just as I disappeared into the darkness.

We spent a while down there. I followed as Delphine investigated every corner, trailed her hand on every surface, at times she would feel a rougher bump in the cement, soft mold, cold tiles, and she’d stare at it, pick at it, inspect it under every angle, what was she looking for? I don’t know. But it was like the entire room had traces of a person who seemingly was never there. I brushed the toys into a corner and sat down next to her. “Delphine,”

She didn’t look up. “Delphine, listen, I know everything.”

Still nothing. “Aglaé told me. It slipped out when she was drunk. Then I saw the group text, and when I confronted her she spilled everything. I know what’s been going on, you don’t have to keep pretending,”

Her movement stilled, “Why’d you brush the toys away?”

“I’m not mad I just— what? what does that have to do with anything?” I frowned. “They were bothering me. Look at them, all yellowed and moldy, half the faces gone, and what use do we have for them anymore? We’re not kids anymore, Delphine,”

She was looking at me strangely now, slightly sideways.

“You know, if you were going to go through all that trouble, you should have just talked with me. I would’ve understood. Friendships aren’t always linear, right? We would’ve been able to work through this. I don’t like that you lied, Delphine, I can get hating me, plotting these things behind my back, but at least have the courage to tell these things to my face, I at least deserve that, for being your friend for so long,”

She stopped scratching at whatever inivisible ridge she had noticed in the plaster. “You wouldn’t have understood,” she said sadly. “You still don’t understand.” Then she was gone.

I didn’t see her for the rest of the day, Aglaé told me she was in her room, but refused to let anyone in. I knew I was partly to blame, but I needed to have that conversation. Sooner or later, she’d have to come face to face with it, and talk about it with me, and then we’d be able to, if not save our friendship, at least bring us some relief.

The night came faster than I anticipated. When I returned to my bedroom, it was only then that I noticed that the closet door was closed. But it was definitely open last night. I was going to storm into Delphine’s room and demand to know why she thought this prank would be funny, but it didn’t make sense... how would she know about it? Was she there? Was she the one under my window?

That night, I had slowly started to drift off when the scraping sound jolted me wide awake. This time I definitely wasn’t dreaming, it was right there, under my window. Emboldened by the day’s events I made my way to the window and stuck my head out. Silence. Then a few seconds later, that sound. Except it was much closer than I expected. I reeled back into my room. It was right there. A few inches below me. It could only mean one thing. I shut the window, drew the blinds, and turned on all the lights in my bedroom as I stood at the opposite of the window, waiting, trembling, for someone to emerge. I waited there for what felt like hours. Then finally, the scratching stopped, and soon after the dawn followed.

When I walked downstairs, everything was quiet. No one was in the living room, and the basement door was thrown wide open. I was about to call out Delphine’s name, but advised myself. She was probably just down there inspecting the plaster again, no need to make her come back upstairs only to try and force me down to investigate with her.

So imagine my surprise when I saw she was already in the kitchen as I walked in.

“Hey, here’s some coffee,” she slid a cup over to me.

“Where’s the others?”

She yawned. “Not here. I think they left for the day. Maybe over at a friend’s house. I didn’t see them last night.”

As I sipped at my coffee, I eyed her from above the mug. She hadn’t mentioned a break-in, maybe she had forgotten about it or realized it was all stupid. I couldn’t resist. “No break in?”

“Well,” she looked around, “it’s everywhere at this point.”

“Oh?”

“He went way further than the basement door, this time. Look. That coffee mug you’re holding? He held it too. That side of the counter? He was leaning against it.” Suddenly inspired, she launched herself out of her chair and walked out into the middle of the living room. “Look, footsteps there. He paced across the entirety of the room, made his way four times to the stairs, I think he wanted to go up there, he might go there tonight. But something stopped him. Instead he went there,” she pointed to the large glass veranda. “Until there,” She gestured to the entrance door. “All throughout this floor, up and down. But the basement was untouched, it feels to me like he’s done with it. I think he’s slowly making his way through the house, floor by floor, until, well, it’s not hard to guess—“

I had been looking at everything she pointed at, every single spot, and yet saw nothing. It all seemed normal, really. But her last words suddenly revolted me. “Alright, alright, let’s have some locks installed, you’re freaking me out. Still, I’ve never heard of someone breaking in and then just, walking around.”

She returned to her seat and carefully sat back down. “Maybe he’s not here for anything in particular.”

There was a twinkle in her eyes, something strange I couldn’t decipher, and I didn’t like it one bit. “What does that mean?”

“I think,” she pushed herself away from the counter. “he knows what he’s doing, and he’s not after something expensive, or anything really. He’s messing up every inch of this house, making it unlivable. Have you been in the basement? It feels like something died in there. Everything has been rummaged through and then replaced back at its exact spot. Every floorboard has bent under his weight, and we just don’t see it because we can’t, but it feels different. He’s making a mess out of every floor in our house, and eventually, C, he’s going to arrive to the upper floor. Where we are, C. Aren’t you worried? Maybe nothing happened here or in the basement because they were empty, save for well, “junk” as you call it. But if everything was taken, inspected, turned over and examined, then the insides pulled out, scissored, sliced, and then knitted back together and stuffed back in and replaced at the exact spot, the dust specks placed at the dropper one by one, is it still the same? If I were to pick you up, peel back your skin and slice you open and inspect your skull, your entrails, unravel them onto the floor, then grazed and felt and plapated, and then to see the contents of your skull, the different filaments, before stuffing it all back in, sewing you back up, place you back in bed. Would you still be the same when you wake up? What if a filament was somehow, misplaced? Slightly to the left, more than usual? You’d still be you, still look at yourself in the mirror and see your face, and your skin would be the same and the eyes and lips that speak your name will be yours, and those thoughts that think you will be yours, but maybe you’d feel that thing in your head, throbbing, and maybe, although it’s just a slight, overlooked detail on my part, you’d begin to feel that alien entity in your brain, maybe think it’s something, or someone, that was placed there. Influencing you in ways you can’t realize. And before you know it you’ll crack open your skull and go searching for it and pull at the strings and unravel the coiled folds and knots, but you’ll pull and stretch and rummage, but you’ll find nothing, because ultimately, that alien force, that uncomfrotable throbbing, that was you, your own brain, and you’ll never know…“

My coffee had grown cold. I couldn’t glance at her, but I knew she was staring at me. She sipped her coffee. I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat.

“Sorry,” she sloshed her coffee around in its mug. “But don’t you ever think about it sometimes? I mean, you throwing those toys out, getting rid of the “mess,” those balloons and toys and glitter, aren’t you, in some way, when you really look at it, acting like the guy who broke in?” She laughed suddenly, loudly. I froze.

Abruptly, she leapt from her chair. “I’m going upstairs, I’ll check on the girls.”

When I made my way back to the room, it was with heavy footsteps and an even heavier head. What the hell was she on? How do you even come up with something like that? Once inside, I collapsed into bed and all the exhaustion of last night crashed on me at once, and I instantly fell asleep.

When I woke up, I knew something was wrong. I was laying on my back, facing the ceiling, and I knew there was something here. There were eyes. On me. Somewhere. I looked at the closet, it was closed. Completely. There was no crack that could allow someone’s eyeball to peek through.

I looked at the window, also shut, and as much as I strained to hear the faintest noise, there were no scratching sounds. But maybe that meant he had finally made his way to the top and— I kept glancing around the room, checking over and over the hot spots, but my heartbeat was gradually slowing down, and I began to feel this sudden fear dissipate.

I slowly sat up in bed, and just as I was about to get up, I saw it. The way my door was positioned, I was able to see straight through the corridor, directly onto the stairs. The stairs spiraled downwards however, so all I could make out was maybe the first three steps down. The rest was covered by the floorboards. And yet to my horror, just barely poking up from the edge, were someone’s eyes, peeking at me.

I could only make the top of his face, up until his eyes. They were fixed on me, watching, waiting, did he think I didn’t see him? Was he waiting to see if I had? And then... Something passed in his eyes, a look, a realization. He was about to leap from the stairs and pounce on me. I knew it. I just did. I shouted for help. The eyes disappeared from behind the steps, but I didn’t move, I couldn’t move until Delphine bursted through the door.

“Hey hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

All I could do was cry in her arms as she held me, until I calmed down enough to explain semi-coherently what had happened. She seemed to take me seriously, although I couldn’t be sure, and told me we had to go right this moment inspect the house. I nodded, but as she started to get up, I pulled her back. “Why did you say what you said?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“What do you mean?”

“That whole thing you said— it was so weird. About the toys not being exactly the same, about something in my brain, and that you’d cut me open or something like that.. you said I was just like the intruder? What does—why, why say that?”

Her brow furrowed.

We examined each corner of the house twice. Places we barely went to were turned over completely. Basement was searched. Locks were investigated. But nothing was out of place, and there was no sight of the man I had seen. Delphine kept repeating she had just arrived and heard me scream, but after insisting for a while, I gave up and pretended to agree with her. At least that stopped her worried looks. She even proposed giving me sleeping pills, but I refused. No, tonight I had to be on my guard, if I took those, he could sneak up on me and slit my throat and I would never feel it.

The night was fast approaching, and we both knew it, although we pretended nothing was wrong.

After checking in on Aglaé and Manon, I returned to my room and saw Delphine waiting for me there. She told me she wanted us to sleep together this night, just to be safe. I agreed. When I said that, she extracted a knife from the folds of her clothes, and placed it on the table next to the door. “Just for safety,” she said.

As we sat on the floor, playing card games and making jokes to lighten the situation, I thought this was the perfect moment.

“You know, Delphine. Well, sorry to bring this up now.. but in case this is the last time I see you again, I just wanted to say, you’ve been a great friend. You’ve always stood by me, and I truly felt like you knew me and I knew you, I can practically read your thoughts and know how you’re feeling or what you’re about to say. We were truly connected, no, honestly!

But I guess that’s what made it so painful to then have this all torn apart and I’m just expected to keep going. You ask me why I threw those toys. The truth is, I used to attach feelings to them before, nostalgia, sure, but then memories of us playing, of playdates, of sleepovers, of you, and that’s what made me keep them. I saw a bit of you in each of them, and they entertained the basement, kept it from falling apart. But then, well, everything was ruined. You know what I’m talking about, do I really need to spell out to you what were in those texts? Those toys became what they once were, pieces of plastic, and I saw them as hindrances to the basement’s airflow, suffocating. What use were they to me, then? So then maybe yes, I’m just like the guy who broke in in that sense. Yes, I know, those aren’t your words, you never said that, alright, alright. But you were right. I came into that basement and threw them out, because they reminded me of you, and that made the basement feel off. I uprooted everything in hopes that the basement would return to what it felt like before, but it never did, a certain warmth had dissipated, maybe it was you, maybe it was us, maybe it was just some sort of reaction between the radiators and the plastic, but well, it was gone, and now the basement feels off, but just dead, not painful anymore, just empty. Is there anything wrong in that?”

“C,” she murmured, and then something else I couldn’t make out, gripping my hand.

I kept going. “You asked me if I’d still be the same if everything was removed from me and then the same parts were put back. I’m not sure. Things from the outside get caught in them, the things from the inside should never see the outside, or the soft tissue will become imbued with dust and grime, affect the tissue, turn it hard and gray, like another being has crawled inside and died and is rotting away and decaying and turning your insides black, until they rupture and you collapse, from the inside out. Maybe I allowed myself to turn inside out, and maybe I came into contact with you, and maybe you are inside of me, and rotting as we speak, and if I could just.. reach in, and pull you out, maybe I’d save you, or me.. or maybe at least this thing I feel--“

Something was about to slip from me, but I held onto it just in time. Delphine was waiting expectantly, staring, but seeing my hesitation, she instead embraced me. “I’m with you through this, don’t worry.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, I don’t think she meant for me to hear it, but I did, but whether it was for me or her, I don’t know.

We stayed a while like this, until dusk was fast approaching. I was hoping we’d fall asleep like this, when she suddenly contorted herself away from my grip. “I’ll be right back, just getting a glass of water,”

“Sure,” I managed a smile. “Don’t wake up the girls though!”

She disappeared from the doorway, and I shuddered looking at the steps as she vanished.

I gazed down at the cards and began counting them. For no reason really. But soon I became engrossed in them, the numbers and faces and colors. I was about to call out for Delphine when I saw the time. Almost midnight. Delphine had been gone for a while.

I crept down the hallway, there was a light from under the doorway where Aglaé and Manon were sleeping. Maybe she was checking in on them? I pushed the door lightly on its hinges. It was dark in the room, but I could make out their two figures in the bed. I had to stop myself from throwing up. Their heads were crushed in, or more accurately, it was like something had tried digging its way from the inside out, straight from inside their skulls. The blood pooled beneath them, with streaks sliding from the bed all the way to the other end of the room. To the balcony. It was covered by a curtain, but I dared not open it. Was the attacker still there? But all the doors were locked and all the rooms checked and we were on the third floor and yet someone had been climbing the walls and maybe they were the closest.. unless, could it be..? I turned around and ran straight to my room.

I shut the door and pressed myself against it. Heaving loudly.

“Are you alright?” Delphine asked, smiling. She was sitting on the bed, looking at me. My heart jumped so hard I physically tried grasping it to keep it from leaping out my chest.

“Yes, yes, I’m- yes, well” but before I could tell her anything, I suddenly knew I couldn’t let her in on the fact that I knew everything. That I saw what she did. She’d just do the same to me.

“Where’s your glass of water?” I asked suddenly. Still smiling, she nodded towards the kitchen and said she finished it and brought it back down. “That was fast,” I said quietly.

“Sure,” she shrugged.

I remained standing, staring, her staring back. Was she anticipating my next move? Was she waiting for me to let anything slip, or maybe begin to panic, for me to attack her?

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked again, her eyes boring into me. Now I was sure of it. She was asking this to test me, whatever I say she’ll be on to me, and I’ve already taken way too long to answer, she’ll know something was up. I looked at her face, only to realize she wasn’t looking exactly at me, but rather right behind me. I turned my head slightly. There, softly glinting on the table, the knife. She was looking straight at it, gauging my reaction, but also the time it would take for her to reach it. Her gaze shifted back to me now. There was a split second of understanding, then she leapt to her feet just as I rushed for it.

I set one foot into the bath, and it was boiling. Exactly the temperature I needed. I think I drifted for a while, and when I came to, I knew whoever this intruder was was right behind the door. I could see his shadow, and his weight pressing against the door almost caused it to open on its own. But the doors were locked. And the window too. And we were on the third floor, no one could climb this high. Plus there had not been a single sound. I got up slowly from the bath, and stepped into something wet. I thought it was water at first, but it was stickier. There was a pool of blood, growing from the other side of the door. I felt myself smile inadvertently. There was no wall-climbing, extremely quiet and practically invisible intruder. It was just, well it had to be, it could only be.. . but if I am here and we were both on the other side moments ago, then this must mean, then it has to be that— but it couldn’t be. And I would never do that, never allow myself to do that. There was an intruder, except it didn’t exist, it had somehow climbed the walls of my being and embedded itself into my very soul, but where to extract such a thing? It had to be me, I was the only one left, the sink was stained with blood, the knife, resting on the sink, slightly bent from the exertion, the number of blows, one after the other, over and over, nearly fifteen, but I would never- I could never- it was all a machination, implanted in my own memories, creating these fake discussions and making me see and hear things that were never there. But she, behind the door, that figure, that was definitely there, but I wasn’t the one responsible, whatever was infecting me, was.

I grabbed the knife and made a large incision into my forehead. The blood started trickling. 

See, it had to have been something put into my brain, as I could feel it kick in and scream at me to stop. I would just have to find it and grab it and squash it against the sink. And then, I’ll be me once more. I made a deeper incision, cutting even closer and closer. It’s not enough, I need to reach the insides, pull out the coils, straighten out the ridges, I’m sure it’s hiding in one of those corners, in one of the folds. I’m rummaging and rummaging, and the blood of it is spilling out and getting into my— its eye, and it’s blinding me, trying to make me stop, but i’m almost there, I have to be if it’s using such desperate means. Its blood is flowing more freely now and the eyes it gave me that I believe are mine and that I see through, yet I know are not mine, that don’t feel like mine-- they’re getting blurry, the room is swaying at an angle, and I collapse backwards. I’m digging and clawing at my flesh, pulling out those strings that are trying to mimic my tendons, let that warm liquid ooze out, which is supposed to imitate blood, but is a poor imitation at that, it feels wrong, I just know it, and these strings that aren’t mine, I pull them out, so firmly embedded in my own being, and only once they’re gone do I get the sudden, intense surge of relief one must gets when they pull out a leech sucking on their very essence. I keep going, but it dawns on me darkly that all this, fake flesh, fake surroundings, they are all due to one single thing, that thing has been poisoning me quietly, twisting what I think is real, the ones I meet, perhaps everything I’ve been seeing, maybe even Delphine, her sudden oddness and meanness, her desire to rupture this friendship, perhaps the basement and the closet and the guy at the top of the stairs, perhaps they were all its creation, and this thing, once more, is distorting what I see, making me unable to find the part of me that’s left in this mass of flesh. I have to remove it, it’s the only way I can save myself, I can dig through it forever, but I won’t find the one part of me that’s left if I don’t—and I reach up with my fingers, position the knife’s tip, and aim for my eyes.