Hole in the Wall

The hardwood floors creaked and groaned under the weight of three people. Ana guessed that this space was used to accommodating only one pair of feet, and the surrounding scene reinforced that assumption. Light gray streaks ran down the white wall paneling in the kitchen. It reminded her of a scene from a gratuitously gory film. 

Over the past three months of tours, the ever-present thought that this was the beginning of a horror story had tumbled around in her head. One floorboard doesn’t match the rest? Someone must’ve hid some demonic talisman there. The bathroom fan makes a strange sound? Must be the feral spirits inhabiting the attic space above. At voicing these gnawing worries, Jack had rewarded her with an amused chuckle. He’d thought she was joking, trying to get a rise out of him. Ana had played it off. Of course, rationally there was no demon waiting to decapitate them, no spirits or resurrected monsters with malevolent intentions. The idea of malicious things unseen was ridiculous, of course. She hadn’t mentioned it since then. 

Stepping out of the kitchen doorway, she noted the slow drip from the sink faucet. Paint peeled off some of the cabinets, and one on the far left side was missing a handle. The countertops were dull and drab, but she was confident that she could spruce things up with a little elbow grease. A rugged tabby cat lay under the dining room table, looking lazily up at the incoming party.

“Thoughts?” the guide asked. Ana looked over at her silently frowning husband, and immediately knew where this was going. 

“Could you give us a minute? Thanks so much.”

Jack looked at the figure of the guide in dismay as she left. Holding his arms up, he gestured around. 

“Really?” He seemed to almost sneer the word. 

“It’s affordable,” Ana said lightly, “and I really think we could make it nice.”

“Honey, this place is trashed. You really think I could live here? There is nothing attractive about this,” he said, once again gesturing around dramatically.

“Okay, okay,” Ana said, giving up instantly. Jack forced a stream of angry air out of his mouth, and turned around and left. The tabby under the dining table laid its head back down in apparent boredom.

Ana knew this place would be a long shot the minute she booked the tour, but she wanted to see it anyway. It’s not like she could’ve gone by herself, only for him to find out later and explode. This way, at least, she could get a good look. At what, she didn’t exactly know. 

Now alone in the room, her gaze returned once more to the stained walls. According to the guide, an elderly woman had lived here before the apartment was listed. Whether the woman had died or whether she just couldn’t afford rent was left out of the guide’s summary. The complex was small and older, but Ana liked the mom-and-pop feel of it. The place did look a bit trashy, as Jack might’ve put it, but not exactly dirty. That’s just how old things look, worn and smooth like rocks on the shoreline. Small sounds began to invade Ana’s observations—the drip of the sink, creaks and groans here and there… and a small empty scratching sound like an echo. At this, the worn look of the place began to seem a tad menacing. This is the horror movie part, she thought. Now that I’m alone, all of the evil spirits are going to come and turn my brain into supernatural mush. The scratching persisted for over a minute. Ana’s skin began to feel as though it wanted to peel itself off her body. Her palms became slick. 

Standing completely still, she cast her gaze around the room, trying to determine where the sound could possibly be coming from and desperately reminding herself that demons don’t exist. She forgot to breathe for several seconds. The sound was sharp but not loud, the kind of noise that can cut through doors and walls. It occurred to Ana that the source of the sound was somewhere else in the apartment, and in being presented with this new mystery, she found that breathing came easier. The floorboards groaned loudly when she stepped, and she was forced to pause every few seconds to hear the sound again before resuming the search. Her journey led her out of the kitchen and dining room, past the small living room—which consisted only of a wooden chair and a fake plant—and deeper into the apartment. 

Ana stopped moving when she came to the bedroom, the only one in the apartment. The scratching wasn’t louder, exactly, but she could hear it more clearly. Her ears pointed her to a spot between the nightstand and the window, towards the fragile-looking and discolored baseboard. Oh I get it, I’m the stupid protagonist that sticks her nose into things she shouldn’t and gets possessed. That’s me right now, turning into a stereotype, she thought. The image of Jack's smirking face surfaced in her head before she could shake it away. The foreboding sense in her gut and her mocking husband didn’t make her any less curious. Well, we’re already here, I guess. Let’s at least finish my death scene. 

Getting on hands and knees, she crawled right up to the baseboard, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Upon closer inspection, Ana saw that a small section had been cut out, like the builders ran out of material and had to improvise to finish the room. Resting her weight on her elbows, she tried to get a good grip on the piece, readying herself for imminent supernatural death. She gave the piece a good tug, and immediately sprang to her feet as she was met with a flurry of movement. Her heart skipped a beat as she tried to make sense of the scene. Seeing little round ears and a gray-brown coat as it scuttled away, a feeling of relief washed over Ana. She didn’t like mice, but a mouse was far better than a poltergeist.

She found herself a little disappointed at not being a horror protagonist as she knelt again to put the piece of baseboard back. Trying to replace the piece from the slot she pulled it from, she almost didn’t notice the hole in the wall. The small rectangle of black space was only just big enough to slide a hand through, a misguided letterbox that had been born in the wrong place. Ana put down the baseboard rectangle, peering into the hole at the bottom of the wall. Classic misdirection, she thought, and now the demons think they can surprise me because I’m not expecting another jumpscare. Reaching for her phone, she turned on the flashlight and cast it into the dark space. Unlike a horror protagonist, she was not about to stick her hand into a hole in the wall without looking first. 

Immediately, the light glanced off something rounded and shiny. A metal tin sat there, Lipton’s Yellow Label Tea. The outside was no longer yellow, and rust had crept in around the bottom of the tin, but the red lettering was exquisitely preserved, Ana saw. This was someone’s hiding place perhaps, or maybe they had just left it there and forgot about it. Ana withdrew her discovery, and upon removing the lid, she saw that this was someone’s treasure box. Studying the contents, she saw that the box consisted of a postcard and several rings and necklaces, real pearls and gold by the looks of it. As she picked it up, she saw that the picture on the postcard was a grand plaza set against a bright orange sunset, with teardrop arches and a towering white obelisk in the center. The penciled-in writing underneath read Oran, Algeria. Turning it over, Ana saw that the message was in French, with Arabic script underneath. It simply read:

Bonjour Miriam, 

Je sais qu’on a pas depart bien, alors je veux dire que tu es la plus belle femme que j’ai vue dans la vie. Mes parents n'aiment pas l'idée, mais je veux te rencontrer à Pittsburgh si tu me le permets. J’ai besoin de te voir avant qu'ils m'envoient en Italie. Je peux pas vivre sans le son de ta voix, sans la touche de ta peau. Si on rencontré pas dans les Etats, et si je reviens pas d’Italie, je veux que tu sais que tu étais la seule fille qui gardait mon coeur. M’oublier pas, pour je vais t’oublier jamais. Je t’adore complètement. 

Nabil

Ana didn’t even try with the Arabic, but she translated the French as best she could. I know that we didn’t leave well, so I want to say now that you are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen. My parents don’t like the idea, but I want to meet you in Pittsburgh if you’ll let me. I need to see you before they send me to Italy. I can’t live without the sound of your voice, without the touch of your skin. If we don’t meet in the U.S., and if I don’t come back from Italy, I want you to know that you were the only girl who had my heart. Don’t forget me, because I will never forget you. I adore you completely. At the bottom of the tin sat another picture, this one of a pretty young woman in a white dress. It seemed to Ana a war picture. On the other side in scrawled writing read Oran, 1938. 

Ana glanced down at the rings in the tin and wondered if Nabil had ever come to Pittsburgh. She was suddenly overcome with a strong sense of guilt at her prying. Instead of a horror movie, she had invaded the remnants of someone’s life, it seemed. The demons were not demons at all, just young lovers that had once reached for each other from across the world. The layers of years lived lingered in the space and sat heavy in the air, and it seemed to be looking down on Ana. The pieces of humanity long-gone, a picture and a postcard from a world that no longer existed. Leftovers. Ana found that her eyes were pouring tears down her cheeks. 

A door opened and closed again. Rising from her spot on the floor, Ana went to the window and saw that Jack was pacing towards the car in the parking lot below. For a brief moment, she feared that he would leave her there, that he would just drive off and make her find her own way home. She stepped back from the window. It no longer mattered whether he left or not—the fact that the scenario was plausible spoke for itself. It occurred to Ana that her husband had never written her a letter, nor a postcard, nor anything else for that matter. Not even a note. Would he remember her forever? Could he live without the sound of her voice? More tears fell. 

Composing herself, she replaced the tea tin within the wall, and covered the hole with the baseboard. Her cheeks were still hot, but there was nothing she could do to fix that now. She walked out of the bedroom, weary and resigned, past the living room and past the dining room, coming to a stop in the kitchen doorway nearest the apartment entrance. The streaks on the wall paneling were no longer ominous, the creaks in the floorboards no longer elicited sweaty palms. The place was frightening due to the lack of life, not because a life had once lived there. Glancing under the dining table, she saw the cat’s tail twitching excitedly. She didn’t bother to investigate the carnage that might’ve occurred there. 

Once through the front door, she faced the apartment guide. 

“Any questions? Like I said earlier, this is one of the most walkable complexes in the area, and the…”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think this is the one for us,” Ana said softly. As the words passed her lips, she realized how ridiculous it sounded now that Jack wasn’t there. There was no ‘us’, just Ana standing before an old apartment, holding its secrets close to her heart. A feeling rose inside her gut, devilishly hopeful.

“I see. Well, no worries, thanks for stopping by!” the guide chirped cheerfully. 

Ana turned towards the exit of the complex. With each step, the feeling continued upwards, finally reaching her throat as she felt herself turn back around. The words felt good as she said them.

“Sorry,” she said, walking to catch up with the guide. 

“How much did you say the rent is?”