“I know this isn’t the best street in town, but this is getting ridiculous.”
…Is what Dex would have said if there was anyone around to complain to.
The broken streetlight wouldn’t have been a problem if his apartment was on the other side of the dingy building. Hell, if he was just a floor or two higher he could have made peace with it. But the only stupid window in his stupid 2nd floor studio apartment just had to face the stupid flickering streetlight. It was maddening.
Even with his new blinds the dull light still peaked through the cracks, sickly yellow lines appearing over his bed on and off…and on…and off…
…and on…
and—
Dex slammed his fists into the covers repeatedly, teeth clenched in frustration. To someone else, the easy solution would have been to sleep with his head under the blanket. Perhaps even rearrange the space. But as a working, taxpaying citizen, why should he have to change his routine because of some asshole’s oversight? Oh, no. He was getting this problem set right.
It wasn’t long before he was sat cross legged on the couch in his “living room” (which he separated from the “bedroom” with a big curtain), trying to get a hold of the landlord. He knew for a fact Mike was up, who isn’t at 10pm? But both of his calls rang for what felt like an eternity before going to voicemail. Of course.
Dex tried his luck with 311, arguing with the automated voice that sent him in circles. Trying to fill out the online form that presented itself as a very helpful white screen. In the end he was right back where he started: in bed with his mind reeling over those same yellow lines.
On…and off…
And on….
Off…
It vaguely reminded him of the days he spent at his cousins’ house. When the sun set each of them would grab flashlights and take turns running next door to Grandma’s, shining their flashlights in each other’s windows trying to make out what was being said in Morse code. Dex was always the best at it, using it as his opportunity to spell out the bad words he would be scolded at for using in the house. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation taking control, but soon enough Dex was holding a notepad and pen. There’s no harm in a memory refresh.
His first attempt was nothing but random letters, a testament to how long it’s been since he tried decoding. It was for fun after all. But that fun had morphed into nervous surprise when there was actually something that came from his trivial activity.
BOILER ROOM
Dex smiled at his so-called findings, less out of amusement and more so to trick his mind into feeling something other than fear. “But what was there to be afraid of?” He reasoned. If anything, this was a coincidence. It’s been ten years since those Morse nights in the country. The margin of error was pretty wide.
Right?
It must have been some sick curiosity, that streetlight must have driven him mad. Or the edible he took last night was still in his system. But he kept putting letters down, watching the blinks from the streetlight with uncanny focus, as if it were a necessity. Dex couldn’t tell whether he spent ten minutes or an hour on this little puzzle. He pushed the ink into the paper with such force that some letters had small holes in them. But the final message had him stop everything he was doing. All thoughts were directed at his handiwork.
FINDMEINTHEBOILERROOM
FIND ME IN THE BOILER ROOM
Hell. No.
Dex dialed the only person he could trust with a swiftness. Whether this was real or just some dumbass prank, he was not watching this unfold alone.
“You do know it’s almost 11, right? Why are you hitting my line? On a Tuesday night?”
The voice was irritated, yet alert enough to assume whoever was on the other line wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.
“Vic, get over here now, for real. This is freaky.”
Vic sighed.
“I got things to do tomorrow. I need my sleep.”
“By ‘things’ you mean joining a Teams meeting for half an hour and spending the rest of the day with your PlayStation and a blunt?”
“Don’t criticize me.”
Dex rolled his eyes, a gesture he hoped Vic could feel telepathically. “Just get over here. You’re three blocks away.”
The only reply was a grunt before the call disconnected. Meaning they would be there shortly.
Dex sat on the arm of his couch that wasn’t falling apart as he waited, holding the notepad to his chest as if he were afraid to look at it. Knowing that Vic was on the way was the only thought giving him peace of mind. If he went down, he had someone going down with him. Of course, Dex could have chosen to ignore what had happened and went to bed. But in his mind, he was already at the point of no return.
Dex opened the door at the first knock, letting out a sigh of relief upon seeing his ride or die. He was using this term quite literally tonight.
“Okay, what?” Vic said as they stood with their arms crossed in the doorway, though seeing Dex so panicked made them drop the bulk of their attitude.
“Dude, dude, I swear on my life that the streetlight that keeps flickering is Morse code.” He shoved the notepad into his friend’s face, waiting for them to take it.
They did, eventually, after stifling a yawn.
“Find me in the…” Vic scratched behind their ear. “Man I told you, you ate too much of that brownie. Your weed tolerance is terrible.”
Dex groaned, pulling Vic through the doorframe before closing it. “I’m so serious! This is the most serious I’ve been all year. What if there’s actually something in the boiler room?”
Vic ran their hand over their face. “Alright, let’s say there is. We’re supposed to go down there and die by the hands of this boiler room ghost? That’s, like, the worst way to go out.”
“Vic, if we don’t check I’m going to go insane.”
“Who is ‘we’? Also, some might say you already have.”
Dex put his palms together, doing his best to look sad and defeated, which frankly didn’t take much. “Look, I’ll owe you big time. I’ll get you that one game you’ve been wanting, or take you out to that new hibachi spot downtown. Please just…two minutes and we leave.”
Vic stood in silence for a minute before huffing an annoyed sigh.
“Two minutes. And if I die I’ll never forgive you.”
“Deal.”
With a reluctance, Vic trailed behind the man who they were sure was leading them to their demise as they made their way to the boiler room. It was a separate door outside; the night air was temperate so it wasn’t much of an issue. Dex kicked away some dead brush as they rounded the corner to the back of the building.
The door was rusted, but surprisingly unlocked. Vic cringed as it screeched open with a little elbow grease. Dex flicked on a lone light switch that sat on the ugly plastered walls. A singular dull bulb stuttered to life at the bottom of the grimy steps.
“…Yeah, we’re cooked.” Vic whispered, feet firmly in place as they watched Dex lean in for a closer look. He seemed almost in a trance, eyes transfixed on the hanging bulb that flickered on and off…and on…and off…
…and on…
and…
“It’s the same pattern,” Dex finally said, coming back into himself.
Vic bristled. “I won’t lie man, you’re scaring me.”
“Come on, we got to at least see what’s down there.”
Before Vic could respond, Dex was descending into the darkness, the echoing of his footsteps bouncing off the walls. They cursed under their breath before following suit.
…
The boiler room smelled like wet metal. The sounds of methodical clanks and compounding heat were the only ones that filled the air. Dex mouthed something that his companion could not understand as he moved further in. Nothing seemed particularly amiss, other than the grime. And the more time Vic spent in there, the more they wanted to leave.
“One more minute,” they said quietly, hands fidgeting in their pockets. “There’s nothing in here.”
But it didn’t seem like Dex heard them. He went further in, further until the smell of wet metal turned into dried blood. Further, until he saw a pile of crates caked in dust. Further, as he opened one after the other until the pungent smell of rot hit him in the face so hard he could feel bile rising in his throat. It was a little girl, or what seemed to be the grotesque remains of one, her flesh hanging loosely off its frame in sickening pale green masses. Her scalp was decorated in bald patches. Her yellow sundress dirtied and covered in blood and dried vomit. The only in tact part of her small form were her eyes, dim and clouded over, observing the man who discovered her with lifeless judgement.
The sound of Vic’s voice was muffled and far away.
“…ex…..on….out of here!”
Dex screamed at the touch of Vic’s hand on his shoulder.
“Dex, let’s go! We’re wasting our—“
Vic gagged. “Oh my god…”
The two of them stood in horrified silence, unsure of how to proceed. Until the most foul odor graced their senses. Vic’s eyes watered, but it was nothing compared to the sight thereafter. The child’s festering lips opened, a piece of the skin falling off as she stretched her mouth into a smile. A roach crawled out, taking residence between her dwindling locks of hair.
“You…found…me…”
The light went out.
“We’re in this together, but I’m not sure I can trust you,” he confessed under his breath.
Only silence followed the admission as his words echoed across the dank cavern walls.
The creature he spoke to watched the man from the shadows, black pupiless eyes unmoving as its skinny head cocked to the side in a wordless question. Bone on bone rubbed together to make a grating sound alongside the gesture, as if the noise was a suitable alternative.
“Don’t look at me like that,” the man responded, voice raspier than intended. “Saving my ass from that rock collapse isn’t an invitation to be friends, acquaintances even. Just…help me get out of here, okay?”
A beat, quieter than anything that would exist above ground. The creature blinked. Wet, rotting flesh meeting. It made the sallow-faced explorer gag.
“Fine. If you get me back to the surface, whatever you need or, whatever you’re looking for. I’ll help you get it. Do we, uh, do we have a deal?”
Another jarring silence had the explorer worried, before that grotesque mouth which had never spoken a word curled upwards in a nauseating attempt at what looked like a smile. Decaying bone peeked out of its mouth like broken wood chips. A horrifying sight to anyone else, but one of hope to the man so desperate to once again see sunlight.
No handshake was necessary; a curt nod and the gathering of supplies worked just as well.
“Alright then. Let’s get going.”
The sound of voices Bitter in the cold silence Telling me my fate
The mirrors covered Long drapes black like the midnight I don’t love myself
Feeling of empty Tears flowing with frustration I will take the raft
A foreign smile A body flowing with change A new beginning
Reborn through darkness Butterfly leaving cocoon I can now see light
The room was pitch black, cold and empty. I stood idly looking through the window at the deep sky which mirrored the shadowy space. Heavy rain thumped loudly on the panes almost mockingly. Not even the moon wanted to shed its dusky brightness that night. I couldn’t blame it; I wasn’t deserving.
Tired of my sight being restricted by the darkness, I turned around and clicked on the antique lamp on the nightstand. With that, I could finally see the layout of the room; everything sitting neatly in place. The bed gingerly made. The bookshelf filled with titles and authors I couldn’t pronounce. The collection of old figurines tidy and without a speck of dirt or debris. If one hadn’t known the circumstances, they may have believed no one had been in this room for weeks.
But they would have been right. Andre disappeared without a trace 2 weeks ago.
I should’ve listened to him. He tried to tell us there was a strange presence he felt constantly, watching him from afar. In the school courtyard, at the park, whenever he went out with his friends, even when we were together as a family. But I called him paranoid. Laughed in his face. Made fun of him. I’m a horrible person.
Auntie and I went to the local authorities when he hadn’t come home for two days straight. I was worried the first night, because he never stayed out late without calling, but she squeezed my hand and said he was fine. “𝐻𝑒’𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝐴𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑎, 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡,“ she had remarked. “𝐼 𝑏𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑢𝑝.“
She was crying the evening after.
When we arrived at the station, it was late into the night. Rain doused our coats and our clothes at record speed. And we quickly hurried inside when a large bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree. The round faced officer with the horrible combover at the front desk greeted us with unmasked displeasure. Hours we spent trying Andre’s phone and attempting to file a police report. But they kept insisting they never met an Andre before, even though the Chief had babysat him and myself almost every day here when we were children. They finally caved in and sent it out when Auntie burst into tears.
My thoughts were involuntarily interrupted when another bolt of lightning similar in intensity to the one at the police station struck our apple tree in the yard. Admittedly scared, I ran out of the room and into the kitchen nearby. Auntie was seated silently at the shabby kitchen table. I half-expected Andre to be sat next to her working on a school assignment. But she was all alone, gingerly sewing a hole in one of her sweaters.
Auntie turned around and greeted me, baring a genuine toothy smile.
“What are you still doing up, Amaya? It’s late. Isn’t your orientation tomorrow morning?”
I smiled back weakly and nodded my head, pushing my braids out of my face.
“Yeah, it is. I just wanted to see if you heard any updates on Andre.”
Auntie’s smile disappeared and was replaced with a look of confusion. The dim kitchen light flickered ominously and cast strange shadows on her wrinkled face.
“Amaya....who’s Andre?”
Her response knocked the breath out of me. I stammered nonsensically, trying to process her words.
“Auntie, what are you talking about!? My brother, your nephew Andre! We went to the police station and filed a report! You’ve cried every day over him since then!”
I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t comprehend how she forgot. Her memory was better than mine. Tears welled up in the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill onto my cheeks.
Auntie laid her holed sweater on the table next to her sewing machine and stared up at me blankly, eyes full of concern.
“I’m really sorry baby, but I have no idea who that is.”
