The Apartment

The Apartment

by Carrie O’Keefe

Staring through the darkness of the room out the window waiting to get a glimpse of the night sky through the smog and clouds. Mark sat down his empty glass on the window sill that still had the lingering sent of whiskey. A chill ran through him when he noticed that a window apartment building across from him had flashes of light and went dark. He stared at the now dark window in a trance. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck as he noticed that the apartment was lowly lit. Just enough to where he could make out a figure that looked like a body wrapped up in a blanket or curtain being dragged away.

Mark ducked out of the moonlight that beamed through his window and grabbed his phone.

“9-1-1. What seems to be your emergency?” the operator asked.

Marks voice shook. “I just witnessed a murder across the way.”

“What is the address?”

“It’s on Monroe street. Looks to be about two floors down from mine. It should be the 20thn floor, third apartment from the left. I can meet an officer there.”

“That wont be necessary right now. I have your name and number from the caller ID. Stay close to your phone and an officer will call you back as soon as possible.”

Passing back and forth downing another shot of whiskey Mark ran his fingers through his short brown hair and straightened his tie.

Marks’s phone rang. “This is Mark.”

“This is Lieutenant Dellos. Can I have you look through your window just so that I can make sure we are in the correct apartment.”

“Sure.” Mark walked over to the window and peered down at the Lieutenant waving in the window. “That is the correct one.”

“You sure you seen something down here?”

“I know I did.”

“Can you come over here and give me your statement?”

“Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.” Mark hung up his phone and headed over to the crime scene with an uneasy stomach.

The hallway was not buzzing with cops like Mark had expected. He knocked on the door.

“You must be Mark.” Lieutenant Dellos outstretched his hand. “You see anything weird here?”

Mark stepped into the apartment. He noticed a few smudges from the fingerprint dust on the light switches and door nobs. Nothing else. Not a chair, not a table, not a bed, not even blood. Only a painting of an apartment hanging on the wall. It hung on a wall that shouldn’t have been there because that was the direction that the body had been drug in.

Mark shook his head. “I don’t understand. Where is the blood and why is this wall here? I saw the person drug through here.” Mark took down the painting and started to push on the wall and knock to find hollow spots.

“You want to stick to your story about what you saw? We have no proof that anything happened here.” Lieutenant Dellos asked as he closed his notebook.

“Ya. I know it sounds crazy but I thin I want it to be documented in case anything comes up in the future.”

“What are you doing?” A man demanded.

Mark almost dropped the painting as if he had been pulled out of his trans from staring at it.

“I’m just putting this painting back up.”

“Looks like you like to look at it. Tell you what. It gives me the creeps. You can keep it.” the man said.

“I can’t. I shouldn't even be holding it. It is part of the crime scene.”

“Go ahead. I am the landlord and the cops told me that I could rent this place out because they can't find any evidence that anything happened here. That painting was the last thing left in this place when the last tenant skipped out on me.”

Mark put the painting under his arm, thanked the man, and went home. He hung the painting on his mantle and poured himself a tall glass of whiskey. He settled on the couch for what he knew was going to be a very restless night. The events of the night replayed over and over in his head.

Just before sunrise the scratching noise from the mantle drove Mark nuts. He set a trap for a mouse used peanut butter for the trigger and placed it in the fireplace. He filled his glass once more, grabbed the painting and sat on the floor. Maybe the noise is coming from the painting. He took the painting apart, shook it, scratched it, smelled it, and then put it back into the frame. Convinced it is just a painting, Mark put it back on the mantle. Something had caught his eye. Did the painting change? It seemed to have changed in the fact that it resembled more his apartment now. The scratching had subsided and Mark took a shower to wake himself up a little bit thinking the tiredness was making him see things.

He started a very strong pot of coffee and spun around so quickly at a sound of a crash that he almost lost his balance. The painting was face down on the floor. The hook was secure so there was no rhyme or reason he could find as to why it would have fell. He did notice the closet door in the painting was opened now.

Mark’s eyes bulged opened, eyebrows lifted, and his fingers began to shake. In the closet of the painting was a person wrapped up in cloth like he had seen just hours before. He took the painting, ran down the hall to the garbage shoot, and shoved the painting down. Closing the door of the shoot he braced himself up against the wall. Once he caught his breath he headed back to his apartment.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and walked back through his apartment when he abruptly stopped. Every muscle tightened, eyes glued open, he was paralyzed. He stood there not moved and inch and listened quietly. No scratching or movement of any kind to be heard. He slowly turned to the mantle. There on the wall was that painting not moments ago he had shoved down the garbage shoot.

Mark slowly started the gas fireplace and placed the painting in it. He put the fire guard in front to make sure the painting stayed inside. He watched as the painting burned and listened to the faint screams that came from it. Once it was all ash and Mark was convinced it was all gone not to be seen from again, he got ready to go to work.

Mark grabbed his keys and a flash of light blinded him. It took a minute to figure out what had happened as he looked around he discovered he could not leave his apartment no matter how hard he tried. He heard faint talking and looked to the painting on his mantle. He leaned in close so he could make out what was being said.

“This is the apartment I was talking to you about. The tenant just up and moved out. No one seen him leave or anything. Mark left this painting behind. I’ll let you keep it if you guys are interested in renting the place.”

Both Marks hands went to his head as he screamed. “No”