An Unordinary Neighbor

Skritch, scratch, Skritch, scratch….

It’s three A.M., and I know I should be sleeping. So why am I laying in bed staring at the popcorn ceiling, eyes wide and no closer to feeling drowsy?

Skritch, scratch, Skritch, scratch….

I sit up suddenly in my bed and listen intently to the noise outside my door. I count the seconds of silence in my head, like you would do after hearing thunder. Five seconds go by, and I don’t hear a thing. I can see the light under the door frame flickering inconsistently. This old apartment building is so worn down I wouldn’t be surprised if there were rats in the walls. Ten seconds, still no irritating scratching sound comes to pass. I sigh deeply to myself and pull the sheet back over my head.

Skritch, scratch, Skritch, scratch….

I throw myself out of bed and make my way towards the door. My bare feet shake the faux wood flood and when the scratching sound stops, I take bigger strides to get to it faster. I snatch the doorknob and forget that I locked it earlier. The chain lock cracks to attention as it keeps the door from swinging all the way open. For half a second I have a small slit between the door and its frame where I can see something scurry into my neighbors’ apartment. All I can make out is a long thick tail before it disappears completely and my neighbors door is slammed shut.

I bang my door while grumbling obscenities to myself and unhook the latch locking it. I throw on a robe over my pajamas and march across the hall over to my neighbors apartment. I bang my clenched fist against the door and the apartment number 1542 falls off. The door opens and I’m greeted by a blond knotted rats nest covered in metal trinkets and ribbons. She pushes her dreadlocks behind her ear greets me.

“How can I help you Sarah,” She asks with a coffee stained grin.

“You can keep your weird pet quiet is what you can do,” I snap back at her. “Can you at least keep it inside your apartment? This is the third time this week I’ve caught it scratching on my door!” I point an irritated finger at the chipped paint on the bottom of my door.

“Oh,” Sarah steps out from her apartment to take a closer look. “Oh deer I’m so terribly sorry about that Sarah.”

I sigh deeply. “I don’t wanna have to call the landlord and file a complaint again Ms. Canary.”

Ms. Canary stops inspecting my door and clasps my hands in hers’. “Please sweetheart, call me Tarara.”

“Tarara,” I say flatly. “Please. Keep. Your. Pet. Away. From. Me,” I pull my hands away from hers’ sharply.

Tarara doesn’t seem to mind my bitter attitude. She’s always so happy go lucky, even for a hippie it’s a bit much. She smiles and waves her hand as if to say it’s no big deal. Then she goes into her apartment to call the landlord to fix my door in the morning. I don’t understand that woman, no one is going to pick up the phone at three in the morning. At least not for me, but I can hear her talking on the phone so someone must be awake.

Tarara left her door open a smudge when she went to make the call. She can be so careless and too trusting sometimes. If she’s not going to shut the door to keep her pet from escaping, she should at least do it for her own safety. I wouldn’t say we live in a particularly dangerous neighborhood but you can never be to careful. Like me, Tarara doesn’t live with anyone else except for her pet. I decide to shut her door before going back to bed, but as my fingers touch the handle I can hear something scratching from inside the apartment.

I’ve never gotten a decent look at whatever strange animal a person like Tarara has. It could be a cat but I also wouldn’t be surprised if it was a rat or some other rodent like pest. I gently push the door open with my fingertips and take a look inside. Immediately, I cover my nose with my hands. An intense wall of smells assault me and it feels like I’m getting a lobotomy with rose petals. Tarara has the largest collection of candles I have ever seen. It’s practically a less organized bath & bodyworks that also has incense.

Wherever the animal is I can’t see or hear it anymore. But then again it’s hard to see anything with tears welling up in my eyes due to the aroma. Tarara gets off the phone and sees me standing outside the door still.

“Oh sweet Sarah I apologize again for the inconvenience. Rexie just seams to like you is all,” Tarara says reassuringly.

“Rexie?” I wipe my eyes. “Your pets name is. Rexie?”

“Well I wouldn’t call him my pet. He’s more of a, companion.” Something with large black leathery wings flies behind Tarara’s head in a blur. “Any who goodnight!” She slams the door in my face before I can get out another word.

Morning comes all too soon. I decided against trying to go to sleep last night. It was already five in the morning by the time I got done yelling at Tarara over her pet, Rexie. Rexie… I wonder if he’s not the only animal in that little apartment. I don’t know any pets that have a long tail and bat-like wings. What if he was some pollution mutated freak show Tarara saved from an evil scientists’ lab.

Get it together Sarah, I think to myself, you can’t think straight without your coffee.

I rub the bags under my eyes and throw five cubes of sugar into my tar colored wake up juice. I do the usual Monday morning routine. Make a cup of coffee and take a picture of it with my feet propped up on the windowsill. Get dressed in my yoga outfit and take a picture of my body in the camel pose. Next, take a nice long bubble bath and take a picture of my toes peeking out of the water. While I’m getting dressed for the day I take a picture of my shoes and post it on my profile with the caption, ‘Gettin my run on!’

I toss my shoes back in the closet and plop back onto my bed. There’s no way I’m going for a run in the morning after the horrible night I had. I feel a little better after getting some work done though. I roll over and check my account, there’s already fifteen notifications on my post.

“Soooo hawt” says I99sixty-nine

“Get those feet nice and stinky! (winky face),” says SexyFutLover010

“Plz let me worship at your feet footgoddess,” says Footworshipslavelover1

There were other comments of similar convictions and at least ten new clients wanting new product from me. It’s not easy living the life of a famous foot model. Most of my day consists of taking pictures of my pretty feet and posting mundane things. It builds my following, but the real money comes from my modeling agency NYC Modeling. I do work for designer shoe companies and lotion commercials. Every now and then I get a little pervert in my messages asking for a naughty foot picture. I turn them away ninety percent of the time, but the ten percent that offer the right price for my work I make time for. It’s not always respectable, but it’s a living.

After working on all of my social media platforms for five hours I decide to take a break. I roll out of bed lazily and go to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. I walk down the hallway leading from my bedroom to the kitchen and don’t notice something strange at first. I do a double take, walking backwards out of my kitchen and stare at my wide open door at the end of the hall. My legs and arms tense and my breathing becomes shaky and uneven. I’m prepared to run at the slightest sign of danger as I go to shut the door. At the entrance of my apartment I step into something cold and slimy that’s soaked through my placemat. When I lift up my foot to take a look, a long gooey web of mucus clings to my toes. Grossed out, I hop away from my goo soaked door mat and push the door open without realizing.

The door swings open and when I glance up I’m staring into Tararas’ open apartment. The windows are blocked with knitted quilts and a single novelty lamp dimly illuminates the dingy living room. A trail of milky slime travels from my apartment to hers’. A rust colored sofa cuts off the trail of slime and I can hear raspy breathing coming from the center of the living space. My body doesn’t know how to react to all these strange things happening. Part of me wants to find out what exactly made the trail and why it came to my apartment. The other part of me wants to lock the door, hide in my bed and pretend this is some sort of weird dream.

My mind is racing and I don’t make a decision fast enough. The thing breathing heavily in the living room slowly starts to stand up. It sways left to right as if it’s not used to standing on two feet. I can see its ribs and spine piercing through the skin, patched with fur in some places, like the body of an anorexic dog. It makes a noise that sounds like a quiet growl.

I slam the door shut and struggle to lock it. I’ve made the decision to hide in my bed for the rest of the day, and pretend that this was all a nightmare.

Knock, Knock, Knock…

My eyes drift open sleepily; I notice that it’s dark outside once again. I must have fallen asleep. I rub my eyes and sit up trying to remember when I got into bed that day. Images of the slime and creepy monster flash through my head and suddenly I’m wide awake.

Knock, Knock, Knock…

I stare at the hallway but I refuse to get out of bed. I want to pretend for the rest of the night that whatever is in that apartment doesn’t exist. I hug my knees to my chest and listen to the steady knocking on the door. It doesn’t pause but continues on and on and I’m convinced that the door has a heartbeat.

“Oye,” says a familiar broken English voice. “Is you home Miss Sarah?”

I get up and silently walk up to the door and peer out the peephole. I see the top of my landlords balding head and let go of a breath I was holding in. I open the door and greet him half heartedly.

“Good morning-or evening. Ha ha…,” I say meekly.

He gives me a disapproving look and points at my door. “Ms. Canary tell me about door.” he waves his hand at the damaged paint and wood. “You pay me now, I fix tomorrow.”

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion and try to process his words. He stands there expectantly, his arms folded across his chest. I look across the hallway at Tararas’ apartment, but the door is closed for once.

“Um…pay, you? I don’t understand,” I fold my arms across my chest defensively.

My landlord rolls his eyes and points his finger at the damage yet again. “You break! You fix! Neighbors complain you make a mess,” he also gestures at the slime on the ground from this morning that clearly goes into Tararas’ apartment.

“I didn’t…I… Ms. Canary was the one who-,” my landlord holds up a hand to cut me off.

“Ms. Canary call me and tell me about damage. You no call me! She want it fix, you need pay,” He holds up his hands and rubs his fingers against his thumb, a gesture that means pay up.

“I…,” I’m so shocked I can’t find the words to defend myself.

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and shakes his head. “You pay to clean. You pay to fix. Three days. After that ninety days you move out!” He slaps his hands together to emphasizes the seriousness of his threat and storms off in a huff.

I’m so mad I can’t believe that little witch would lie to the landlord about me. It’s her damn animal that’s breaking my things and creating a mess. I march over to Tararas’ door and raise my fist to pound on it. My hand stops short from hitting its surface when I remember what I saw in the apartment that morning. A strange creature with a dogs' sunken body, a long bushy tail, and maybe even wings. I listen intently to the sounds on the other side of the door. I can hear pots and pans clanging together. Tarara is probably making herself dinner. But I don’t hear the strange labored breathing from that creature. I can’t allow this fake goody too shoos hippie to get away with lying about me.

I raise my fist a second time and follow through with banging on the door.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I hear the pots and pans halt their scraping and clanging. Footsteps approach the door and the handle turns. I take a deep breath and prepare myself to give that woman a piece of my mind. The door opens and I start to say something, but my words get caught in my throat and I choke.

Standing in the doorway, I see the chest of a sickly dog. It has gorilla like forearms, and slimy frog legs and feet. I’m terrified to look up at it’s face but my eyes are drawn to it with a sick curiosity. It has a feral bear-like snout and a frizzy lions mane. I can’t scream, I can’t speak and soon I can’t even stand. My head starts spinning and everything goes dark.

I wake up in an apartment that isn’t mine. I lift my head but it falls back down onto the itchy carpet underneath me. I can’t move my arms or my legs because I’m bound by rope. I wiggle back and forth like a fly trapped in a spiders web. The room I’m in is only lit by a few small candles. I can hear something breathing in the corner out of reach from the light. I can also hear a quiet humming that’s far away and faint. It gets slightly louder and footsteps tap on the faux wooden floor. Somewhere in the dark a door is opened and more light than I’m prepared for blinds be. All I can see is the silhouette of a tall woman with nappy hair. She shuts the door behind her gently and circles the room, lighting one candle after the other. The room becomes slightly brighter as well as more unbearably repugnant with the various candle scents. One corner of the room remains shrouded in darkness.

I can see the woman clearly now. Tarara kneels down next to my head, smiling that awful fake smile. I struggle harder as she places her hand on my head to play with my hair. The ropes dig into my wrists and I groan in pain.

“Shhhhhh, Shhh. shhh. shhh.” Tarara whispers while holding her hand gently but firmly over my mouth.

I want to scream and cry for help, I know I should. But all I can manage are breathy squeaks that can’t even pass through her fingertips. Tarara stands up and looks down at my helpless body. Suddenly, the monstrous creature I’ve seen so many times before stands up from the dark corner. I struggle and bang my head against the ground as it wobbles to stand next to Tarara. She pets its head lovingly and a pigeon-like coo escapes its toothy jowls.

“You’re such a nosey neighbor Sarah.” Tarara stops petting the monster. “You’re so rude to my Rexie, who just wants to be loved.”

She says the word love as if she’s talking to a cat that rubbed against her leg.

“You know,” She looks at me and then the creature like she has a dirty little secret. “This little guy used to live in your apartment.” She giggles to herself. “He was a very rude neighbor too.”

Tarara turns toward a shelf along the wall. I bang my head against the ground again and try to roll over. I don’t even move an inch before she picks up a long spiky stick and turns to face me again. She smiles and watches me struggle for a bit before taking a few steps forward and stepping on my chest to keep me from moving.

“My little PET!” She spits out the word as if it’s poison. “He needs a friend.” She waves the stick tauntingly in front of my face. “I think you two are a match made in heaven!”

A burst of darkness erupts from the stick and snuffs out what little light was in the room. The most unbearable pain rushes through my body, it feels like every single one of my bones is breaking into a million pieces. I struggle to take in air because it feels like fifty tons of metal is crushing my chest. When I finally do breath in some air it’s forced out immediately. The scream building up inside of me claws its way out of my throat and is released into the room. Whatever power Tarara is using, it’s changing me and my screams are snatched out of the air and forced back into my mouth to chock me with my own unrelenting fear.

I’m not a person anymore.