The Squatter in Southside Sunrise

For a week, I thought I’d been crying in my sleep. Every morning I awoke with a tear stained face and a damp pillow. On the fourth day, the leak revealed itself like a dripping wound. I found a trickle of water bouncing on my pillow and called Douglas, my scrimping landlord who attempted to be his own handyman. At the cost of sleeping on the couch for a night, he patched up the ceiling as best as he could with cardboard and drywall.

Another week flew by and the ceiling took on a shape. A belly formed above my bed where water had sunk in. No doubt gathered from toilets and showers from the upper floors. It would burst at any moment and Douglass had yet to see the problem. 

“Unless the pipes break again, then let me know. I’ve got other shit to deal with.”

Lo and behold, the dam broke the next day. I came back from the grocery store to find the ceiling bleeding heavily. My bed and comforter were soaked in dirty water and my strewn books showed no hope for recovery. I wondered if I would’ve drowned had the ceiling burst at night instead. The Southside Sunrise apartments are not a good place to die in.

When Douglas finally turned off the pipes, the water stopped gushing. Still, a leak prevailed and I was offered a bucket for the time being. 

“If I were you, I’d keep the door closed for most of the day. The rats might find a way out. Plus the smell, ugh” he grimaced. “This job might take a while. You got anyone that could take you in?”

I didn’t have any close friends and I couldn’t afford to stay at a motel close enough to the supermarket I worked at. Moving back in with my parents was out of the question. They’ll disown me once they find out I got kicked out of school. They’ll probably shut the door on their daughter anyway. Wouldn’t want to spend money on another mouth to feed. 

The couch had sufficed for long enough anyways. 

Every night I listened to the steady drip and drop of water coming from the room, a repetitive sound ricocheting between my ears, ringing into oblivion. A sudden splash interrupted the cycle. Then the steady pattern of droplets returned, reminding me of a leaky faucet. 

The next morning, I found a drowned rat. As it turns out, the rats found another way to leave the confining walls. I hastily emptied the bucket out the window and into the alley. The ceiling was barely coming around. Old plaster and rusty pipes filled the cavity, seeming so unnatural in the space of my ceiling. The open wound stayed for longer than I anticipated. 

After a week, I had grown accustomed to the pitch blackness of my windowless living room/kitchen. I dozed off on the couch until another splash brought me back. The pillow swallowed my pained groans as the thought of emptying the bucket of rats consumed me. It became a chore or more like an unpleasant ritual I picked up every other day. Sometimes I’d empty out a vermin-free bucket of grime. Other times, the alley would receive another set of the drowned. 

Splat!

“Damn it,” I mumbled. The repetitive drip and drop became nostalgic. 

Ever since I moved in, I felt the apartment shrink and tighten its chokehold on me. Even more so in the cramped living room with a kitchen just one step away. I hear the trickle of water every now and then. Or the occasional drop of a rodent. The smell only came through if the door opened. Taking my landlord’s advice, the door was kept closed for the time being as my refusal to upkeep the rat routine grew exponentially. For every time I believed the ceiling was nearly fixed, I spent another night on the couch.

While trying to cross over to the realm of dreams, my face curled into my pillow with disgust. The padding failed to cover my senses from that awful stench that has unfortunately grown familiar.  

Great, now the smell was in my dreams. That’s it then. I could never escape this hellhole. I missed sleeping in my own room. I missed my old ass bed. And all my books, goddammit, tainted with toilet water… I’ll never find closure. 

I hated this fucking place. I kept telling myself it was only temporary, but how long was temporary going to be?

Splat!

The foul smell faded in and out. Oh my god, it smelled like old vomit. The water drops returned. The floor suddenly creaked.

A white light pierced across my eyelids. My face instinctively scrunched up and I turned to face the back of the couch. Glasses clinked against each other and bags of fruit nestled around. The sound of a milk carton scraping against its side prolonged slowly. Another pause and I heard the delicate scraping of the carton return. 

I held my breath tightly inside my lungs as I felt time suspended. My heartbeat pulsated between my ears. It seemed so loud that I was scared they might hear it. A hot tear escaped from my eye and soaked the pillow. Another rolled down across the bridge of my nose. 

Had I not noticed the scarcity of food before? How the amount of milk seem to drain little by little each day? Did I lose count of one more misplaced apple? Had it always been me who lost the twist tie for the bread?

Bare feet padded around the room, creaking the wooden floors beneath them as they would under my own feet. A heavy presence leaned over me. A breath ran down the side of my face. A fist formed underneath my pillow. My eyelids remained closed, keeping the pretense of a gentle sleep. The stranger gripped the back of the sofa, scratching her nails against the ragged linen. 

 I felt a cold and bony touch across my cheek. A brush of hair fell over me, like a tuft of dust and fur. It took every fiber of my being not to move. Any sudden movement would probably be my last.

Carmen?

I managed to steel myself away from swatting her hand. I thought she’d dismiss herself if I waited long enough. A long nail gently rubbed against my skin as a knuckle passed by. 

Her hand traveled down my throat. 

If I die tonight, I’ll never get to live in a penthouse. Or move to a cottage in the woods or a nice house by the seaside. I wish I got more than a taste of life in a dorm. I’ll never get to prove to my parents how successful I became without their money. 

Oh god, I’ll never get to see my parents again. 

How long had she been living in my walls?

The hand tightened and I felt her palm press up against my neck. She wasn’t letting up. I shrieked and grabbed her wrist. I managed to turn around and met a woman with a face full of panic mirroring my own. My legs thrashed until the blanket fell. My skin caught a cold draft and gave me the sign that I was free to move. But the woman had her hold on me, refusing to let go of my neck. I screamed unintelligibly in her face, unable to overhear her pleading words. 

Please, stay with me!

My body somehow managed to roll off the couch and in turn, the woman released her grip. Before she could grab me again, I dashed to the front door with speed I never knew I had. The door heaved open and the repulsive odor escaped with me. Everything shrouded in darkness brightened instantly as my eyes adjusted to the fluorescent corridor lights. My breaths hollowed out as I booked it to my landlord’s place. Black spots faded in and out of my vision, making me bump my hip against the corner I turned. I stumbled around with shaky legs and a heart on the verge of collapsing. 

But I never looked back.

The next hour was hectic. Cops beat against the floor with heavy boots and rainwater rolling off their backs. After huddling at Douglas’ place for a while, I went off to see the real damage. I leaned out from the corner and Douglass spotted me. He urged me to remain back but I was adamant. 

“Maybe if you fixed the hole sooner there wouldn’t be anyone up there!” I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Come on, Carmen. I didn’t know this would happen.” If only he didn’t sound like he was sorry for himself. Surely, the Southside Sunrise will end up down the drain. 

A pool of police swarmed out of my apartment. One of them approached me as he tucked away a flashlight. His features hid underneath the shadow of his cap. 

“Can you tell me how she looked?” he started briskly.

“No,” I said. “It was dark as shit. She had long hair and I know that because it brushed up against my fucking face.”

He grunted. “Did you hear any noises? Anything that might have given her away?

“Obviously I can’t tell the difference between a rat making a noise or a squatter.” I probably shouldn’t be snarling, but I was on the verge of drowning in my own hysteria. 

“She knew my name,” I said suddenly. 

Carmen?

As if she was calling out to me. As if she expected me to recognize her as a familiar face.

“Well, we took a look inside the ceiling and there was no sign of life up there. Usually, these dwellers would have some kind of set-up, like a nest or a stash of food. Don’t worry, she was probably loitering around here temporarily.”

Let me stay, please!

No, she wasn’t. But my throat clogged up and my words stopped short. They left empty handed and I returned to a gaping mouth in my ceiling within my haunted apartment. 

 Ms. Morgan from across the hall kindly offered me her couch. It was a vintage thing of beige and perfectly low for an hunched old woman like her. My knees jutted outwards when I sat down. I decided to stay up for the rest of the night, dreading the darkness calling out my name again. 

“It must’ve been terrifying. A person living inside your walls… always watching you…” Her attempts to comfort me were trivial, but she was making tea for me. I couldn’t just tell her to shut up. “Once that ceiling is fixed, you’ll be safe, Carmen.”

Of course, I’d have to move back in again. There was no other choice. No escape. Even if I get the chance to move someplace better, the rats will follow. The water will endlessly drip and drop wherever I am. The darkness will flood with the sound of my name. Every tap and every creak will taunt me. The question will suffocate me for the rest of my life: are the noises inside the walls crawling rodents, or is someone trying to get their hands on me?