Short Story Submission

No Place Like Home by Tom B

The dirty front door opened filling the dark apartment with bright yellow light. The fat greasy landlord entered turning on the light followed by the new tenant, David Wilson. The landlord placed the brass door key on a small Formica breakfast bar and scratched his rotund stomach covered with a stained, white vest. He was clearly a gluttoness man, with rough stubble over both chins and thinning hair atop his dome head.

“That’s the only key I have so don’t lose it” he warned David.

David, dressed with a little more dignity carried his brown suitcase into the living room of the small open plan apartment. He was a young man, late 20s, with a short smart haircut and the simple attire of jeans, t-shirt and black jacket.

“I apologise for the mess, I don’t know what the last tenant got up to, but I haven’t had a chance to clean up” the landlord said not a sound of guilt in the tone of his voice.

The entire apartment looked as though it had been around for centuries, close to crumbling. Every wall had a smear, or stain somewhere, the carpet was a dull brown with crumbs and fluff caught in the pile. The kitchen had seen better days, though it would not remember them. Everywhere you looked it was dark, brown and murky, like being inside a rusty cube. However it was cheap and that was all that mattered to David. Strangely when he checked the bathroom he was surprised to find a rose in the dirt. The clear white tiles almost sterile seemed to have been cleaned very recently. Thank goodness he thought, his main concern was a clean bathroom. Some of the toilets he had seen while flat hunting had turned his stomach.

As he stepped back into the main room David reached into his jacket pocket and took out a thick brown envelope and handed it to the landlord.

“First months rent” he said

The landlord snatched the envelope with his large sweaty hand and flipped through the wad of cash inside with his sausage fingers. Then he looked up at David.

“I hope you enjoy your stay at Casa de Larry” the landlord said smiling, revealing his remaining yellow teeth, the others lost either from a fight or a lack of maintenance. He left closing the door behind him.

David stood in the middle of the dimly lit room smiling to himself. It had taken a lot of courage to move away from his family, but if his career was to have any chance of succeeding he needed to come to the city. The excitement was running through his body, his life was going in a new direction.

He placed his suitcase on the rickety wooden bed in the small bedroom, another area that had not seen a mop or duster for a very long time. The floor had no carpet, just the traditional creaky floorboards. There were no curtains, just the shredded net hanging like cobwebs. All in all the room was very sparse. He unzipped the large brown case and started to remove his clothes placing them in the antique drawers of the Victorian dresser behind him.

That night David lay asleep in his new, old bed, the moonlight pierced through the thin net on the window and his room glowed with a subtle blue. The sound of heavy splashing from the bathroom woke him; he sat up alert to the noise. It sounded like a shark attack in a swimming pool. He climbed out slowly from under the itchy covers wearing only his boxers and opened the door. A cool breeze rushed past him, sending a chill down his spine. The ruckus got louder; he approached the bathroom door already ajar a glow of light around the edge. He cautiously reached out his hand. Gently he pushed the door, it slowly creaked open. Her right arm hung out the side of the bath dripping blood from the cut wrist. There in front of him lying in a bath of blood a young woman lay dead, her throat slit. David started to breath heavily. He wasn’t sure what shocked him most the fact this woman was in his bathroom or that she was dead.

“Oh my God!” he whispered to himself

Blood splatters reached up the walls from the dank tub, like a violent Jackson Pollock. Pools of it were spread on the white floor. A large figure then appeared from behind the door dressed in a blood stained butcher’s apron, a blank white mask covered their face. The piercing black eyes stared through makeshift holes like a snowman. A large kitchen knife was gripped firmly in a gloved hand.

David woke with a jump, beads of sweat pouring from his head. He looked around the empty room, the morning sunlight now shining through the net.

He slid out of the bed and wiped the sweat from his head. After leaving the room he looked across at the bathroom door slightly ajar, the light on, but silence all around. Without hesitation he pushed it open to find an empty tub in a clean room. No blood, no body, no figure. He exhaled and laughed at himself. David knew there would be nothing there, but there was something about his dream that felt so real he needed to check. He switched off the light and returned to the bedroom.

David stood in the galley like kitchen with a bowl, spooning in mouthfuls of cereal. He noticed the time on the wall clock, ten past nine.

“Nuts!” he shouted

He slammed the bowl down on the kitchen unit and rushed into the bedroom; he returned with his tattered rucksack and headed over to the door. He grabbed the round handle, turned it and pulled… nothing. The door was locked. He tried to pull again. It still didn’t open.

“Come on, what the hell?” he cried

He searched for the key in his pockets and rucksack, but found nothing. He dropped the bag on the floor and walked over to the retro style phone on a small table next to the dark brown couch. He picked up the receiver and placed it to his ear, no dialling tone.

“Hello...hello?” he called.

He tapped the hang up button, the line was dead. He put the phone down and looked around the room, the window. He walked over and looked out, the fire escape wound its way down to the alley below.

He grabbed the window, the paint peeling off it, and strained to lift, but it was sealed shut. He tried again, but it would not move an inch. He turned around and headed back over to the door. He banged hard trying to catch someone’s attention, but no one replied to his cries for help. He peered through the tiny peephole, those black dots alone on the white stared straight at him, the pale mask that haunted him in his dream, distorted through the lens. He jumped back, his heart pounding. His hands trembled as he leaned against the door once more and brought his eye to the peep hole.. The mask was gone, the corridor empty.

“What the hell’s going on?” he said to himself, the sound of his own voice shaking, doing nothing to alleviate the panic building in his chest.

He looked back at the window, hurried over and picked up a lamp that stood on the small table next to the phone, heavy and weighted. He approached the window and raised the lamp in one hand; he shielded his face with his arm and threw it as hard as he could at the window. There was a dull thud as the lamp bounced off the window and dropped to the gross floor by his feet.

He thought for a moment then reached into his jeans pocket taking out his mobile phone. There was no signal, he walked around the room holding the phone up high, but failed to find one bar. The phone, as usual in this instance, was thrown at the couch in frustration. He ran back into the kitchen and searched through the cupboards high and low, many of them empty apart from the odd mug or crusty plate. In the cupboard under the sink he found a large wrench. He rushed back over to the window and started to hit the pane with the wrench, over and over, shockwaves ran through his hand and arm. The glass would not break. He backed away exhausted and sat down on the couch; he looked at the wrench and noticed dried blood on the end. Disturbed by this he released his grip allowing the tool to fall to the floor.

“This isn’t happening, this is just a joke. It’s not funny though.” He muttered between breaths like a mantra.

David didn’t suffer from claustrophobia, but he was starting to understand how it felt. That feeling you will never leave a room. The walls start to close in. David had to fight back the hysteria.

He looked around the room again; he turned to look at the wall behind him. He stood up and started to bang on the disgusting wall with his fists, crying for help.

His fists soon grew tired from the pummelling. He sat back down on the couch and dropped his head into his aching hands. As each idea failed he became more anxious. He picked up the T.V. remote and flicked on the television, the crackle and fuzzy black and white mess of static. He switched it off.

David stood and walked back over to the kitchen, a small damaged portable radio sat on the breakfast bar. He was desperate for something to soothe his mind. He switched it on, again static, but then the faint sound of a woman calling for help. Her voice was distorted, yet clear. David looked around the room.

“Hello?” he replied

He started to move around the room listening intently; then a shrill screech deafened him like a whistle, penetrating his ear drums. He clasped his hands over his ears to protect them like ear muffs. Then the scream came to a halt and the radio switched itself off. David slowly removed his hands from his head. He was starting to suspect his own sanity.

He walked back over to the couch and sat back down laying his head back and closing his eyes.

“This is not happening” he tried to persuade himself.

Later that night David awoke from a deep sleep, still sitting on the couch. The apartment was near pitch black, apart from the moonlight picking out the edges of objects. He lifted his head grabbing his strained neck in pain. He looked around with tired eyes.

It was a dream, it was just a dream he hoped.

He rose from his seat and slowly made his way over to the door, the sound of the creaking floorboards louder in the night. He was nervous at what he thought would happen. He willed that the door would open. Maybe it was just stuck before, he should approach it gently. He reached out his shaking hand slowly and grabbed the door handle. Closing his eyes, he turned the handle and pulled. His heart sank, the fear running through his body, this door would not open. Locked, sealed, entombed. Would he ever leave this apartment?

He moved his head up to the peep hole and looked through. To his surprise a message was written on the wall opposite his door, in a crude manner. It looked like paint or blood.

Behind You

David, feeling it was meant for him, turned around. His stomach climbed into his mouth. The frightening white face on the mysterious figure stared deep into his eyes. David’s heart almost broke free from his ribcage. Above him a knife was raised. The glistening of the blade blinded him temporarily as it came down full force and sliced through his chest.

David opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the couch, he looked around breathing heavily. He stared at the door, stood up and ran over. He grabbed the handle like he was catching a falling friend and yanked, pulling as hard as he could, his face contorting with strain.

“Come on!” he cried

His hand slipped from the smooth handle and he fell back on the floor. As he gazed up toward the ceiling, he noticed on the wall near him the damp wallpaper had slightly peeled away in one corner. The top left corner of the letter N could be seen drawn on the crumbling plaster underneath. He got back on his feet and looked at the hanging paper. He grabbed it and carefully pulled, the rushing sound as it tore away in one piece, filled the flat. He felt winded when he read what was written on the wall.

NO EXIT

A crackling and scratching pulled his attention away from the wall in front of him to the wall the other side of the room, behind the couch. A small circular patch in the centre of the wall was beginning to rot away rapidly, bits falling. The blackness spread like liquid soaking cloth. Blood started to pour from the cracks trailing down the wall. A rotting hand pushed through, then the arm, followed by a second hand and arm. Bracing the wall, the two arms pulled through the decomposing head of a young woman, her hair long and thinning. She looked up at him, pulling open the large gash across her neck, blood gushing onto the couch. David could only stand and watch in shear terror. The woman pulled her entire naked body through and fell onto the couch then rolled onto the floor. Her figure was covered in bleeding wounds and bruises. She pulled herself across the floor toward him; David stepped backward toward the bathroom door. She tried to scream, but only a gravely cry whined from her throat. David tripped over his own foot and fell onto his back; she pulled herself nearer to him leaving a bloody trail smeared across the carpet. David crawled on his back away from her, not taking his eyes from her. He reached the bathroom, scurried inside and slammed the door shut. He sat by the toilet, pulling up his legs into a foetal position making himself as small a possible.

A few minutes went by, but nothing. David took a deep breath and pulled himself up using the toilet for support and slowly stepped toward the door. He opened it a crack, the creaking was alarming in the dead silence. He peeked out, there was nothing there. He opened the door wide and stepped out, the wall was normal, no blood on the couch or trail on the floor.

“I’m going crazy!” he said to himself

He walked over to the kitchen and turned on the tap. He splashed his face a couple of times with the cool water, and then grabbed a small glass off the unit and filled it. He took large gulps and emptied the glass slamming it down on the unit.

He examined the room again, trying to focus his mind on a way out. He walked over to the window and looked out, people walking past regular as clockwork. He banged on the glass hoping for someone to look up and answer his cry for help, but everyone seemed to ignore him. Could they hear him?

A sudden urge came over him, the feeling of a full bladder. He headed back to the bathroom and lifted the toilet lid. The bulging blue eyes of the bloody decapitated head lodged in the bowl stared up at him. It was looking straight at him into his eyes. He leapt back knocking the lid down. David was at a point where he could no longer tell what was real and what was his imagination. He took a deep breath and re-opened the lid, the toilet bowl was empty. He emptied his bladder and pulled the chain. The toilet gurgled, but did not flush. He pulled the chain again, the same choked up gurgle. He pulled harder the third time, but still just a gurgle. He lifted the lid of the cistern and found a small plastic bag containing a pocket size book inside. He pulled it out and studied the cover of the book through the clear material. The book was titled ‘Diary’. He placed it in the sink and replaced the cistern lid, then flushed the chain. David picked up the bag and took out the book, it had been kept dry. He opened it to the first page; it belonged to a woman, her name was Debra James. He flicked through the word filled pages to find it ended halfway through, two weeks ago. David read the last few days to himself.

“17th March, Just moved into my nice new apartment, I’m finally independent. Laura told me that a serial killer used to live here until he was caught, thanks for that Laura.”

He turned to the next page.

“18th March, Something strange is going on, I tried to leave this morning, but the door is locked. I tried calling for help, but the phone is dead, the windows are sealed and I can’t get anybody’s attention banging on the walls and door.”

Next page.

“19th March, I’m really scared, I don’t know whether I’m going crazy, but I’m suffering from hallucinations. At least I hope that’s what they are”

He turned to the last entry.

“22nd March, I’m starting to believe what Laura said, maybe he’s still around, and he’s locked me in here. I’ve tried to tell myself it’s nothing, but I can’t help thinking…I’m keeping my diary in the toilet in case something happens to me.”

David flicked through to the back of the book and found a crumpled photograph of a woman with a baby smiling at the camera. She was familiar, the woman who crawled from the wall. David dropped the diary and photo and rushed into his bedroom slamming the door shut. He sat on his bed nervous, placing his hands over his mouth in shock.

That night David lay awake in his bed staring up at the ceiling, a chilling draft swept through the room, a child giggling alerted him. He turned his head to look at the door, it creaked open by itself. He watched the beam of light from the hall entering the dark room. The giggling got louder, he stared as a baby crawled along the floor past the door and disappeared as it moved toward the living room.

David sat up in bed and wiped his eyes. He climbed out of bed and tip-toed over to the door trying not to attract attention. He peered out. The baby looked horrendous. Its small body was deformed and battered with black bruises and slices and wore a dirty nappy. It crawled along the scum ridden floor until it reached the wall behind the couch; it then began to climb up the wall like a spider, making its way to where the woman emerged. The wall once again started to rot in another circle, the blackness creeping out. As the baby reached the centre it turned its head 180 degrees to reveal its fragile head split open, blood oozing from its eyeball. It smiled at David as the two degrading arms returned to grab the baby and pull it into the wall. David marched over to the wall and glared at the rotting patch, he reached out to touch it, but the vile arm shot out and grabbed his throat.

David awoke in his bed, the morning sunlight filling his room. His mind raced with theories, was that a dream? Is this a dream? He couldn’t be sure what reality was anymore. He was so close to breaking out in tears. As he left the bedroom he glanced over at the wall, nothing but the damp, worn wallpaper.

David stood in the clean shower washing himself, his eyes sealed shut as he rubbed soap over his face. His body was feeling weak from stress, his mind even worse. As he opened his eyes he noticed the thick red liquid running over his body. He looked at his blood covered hands horrified, he stepped back. The running blood came from the shower head like rain. Panicking he slipped and banged his head on the wall, knocking himself unconscious.

An hour later he awoke and re-established his surroundings, water now running from the shower, not a drop of blood on him. David didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

He glanced up at the wall across from him with blurred vision, carved into it were the words

You have to get out of here

His eyes refocused and he realised they were just random scratches in the wall. He was going crazy he knew it. He pulled himself out of the bath.

It was midday and David was now dressed in a fresh set of clothes. He entered the kitchen and started to rummage through the cupboards and fridge for food, but there was nothing. He hadn’t had the chance to go shopping and there was no pizza left from the take out he had the night he moved in. His stomach rumbled, he held it in starvation. If he didn’t get out soon he would probably die of hunger.

As he glanced over at the door, he noticed a piece of paper lying on the floor in front of it. He approached it and picked it up. It was a party invitation from one of the other tenants, asking him to go to a party this Friday. He banged on the door and shouted for help, hoping the person had only just delivered it and would still be in the corridor.

He looked at the invitation and thought for a moment, an idea. He turned it over to the clear side grabbed a pen off the breakfast bar and scribbled on it

Need help, locked in

He slid it under the door and waited, he paced up and down, hoping someone would see it soon. After a few minutes it started to get to him. He knew it was a long shot, but he’d built his hopes up too high. He grabbed the wrench off the floor and threw it at the wall; it created a dent in the wall. He discovered it was just plaster board, a way through. He approached it and pushed his finger in the hole. The coldness covered the tip of his finger. He removed it to watch the blood running down toward his knuckles. He started grabbing pieces around the hole pulling it away making it bigger. As the light entered, her battered and bruised face stared back at him with dead eyes. The wound across her slender neck was still fresh with congealed blood. David stepped back distressed, he was broken to tears. He felt his stomach ache and then the vomit burn through his throat as it poured onto the carpet.

All of a sudden the door lock started rattling, the jingle of keys outside. David looked over, tense. Not sure what to expect he played it safe and decided to hide round the corner. The door opened, he waited quietly in the silence. Who opened the door? What are they waiting for? His mind raced with questions. Impatient he peered round the corner, the door was wide open, but nobody there. He hesitated for a moment, and then made a run for it. As he was just about to reach freedom a large figure jumped out from behind the breakfast bar, wearing the haunting white mask. The crowbar sent vibrations of pain through his head as he fell to the floor unconscious.

A while later he came round, tied to a dining chair. The light was on in the bathroom and there was the sound of running water in the bath. He could feel the cold trickle of blood running down his face. David tried to break free; his hands felt like they were bound with wire. He shook so violently he toppled the chair to the side. The bump echoed around the room. He lay on the floor, his field of vision now limited to underneath the table. He watched the bathroom entrance as two thick, black booted legs stepped out, the body above the knees hidden by the table top. David panted uncontrollably. A rusty axe dropped down in his view swinging lazily next to the chunky legs.

“Who are you?” he struggled to ask frightened

The legs paced toward him; the swaying axe drawing his attention. Suddenly the table lifted and flew across the room. The white mask looked down at him, the evil in the eyes. The figure removed the disguise, it was the landlord.

“Your worst nightmare” he replied in a sinister tone, smiling

He raised the axe high with both hands, David screamed as it came flying down toward him. His last few moments of breath, then…