Karen

Karen tried not to move. She had been dreaming of being swept off her feet by a handsome dark-haired man in a tuxedo, when the loud screeching of her home alarm tore him from her. That was the least of her worries now, for there was someone in her room! She could hear them talking, clear as day.

“How did that not wake her?” asked a high-pitched voice. “That would have startled an elephant!”

“You're right,” replied a slower gravelly voice, “that usually works like a charm.”

The gravelly voice sounded older and oddly familiar, but Karen was too scared to search her memory for where she had heard it. She tried to pinch herself, hoping this was some kind of nightmare, but couldn't get her fingers to cooperate.

Who breaks into someone's apartment in the middle of the night and chats it up like a normal day at the office, she thought?

Slowly she opened one eye, hoping to see something, but only the dull gray outline of her dresser was visible above the pillow. She dared not move, if these men were this bold, what else were they capable of?

“Who is she?” Asked the younger voice.

“This is Karen,” came the reply.

Karen fought the urge to sit up. How did they know her name!? Was this a sick joke someone was playing on her?

“Before we move on,” continued the voice. “Let’s get a lay of the land and the options we have.”

Options! Thought Karen, what could that mean, are they going to kill me?

She waited, expecting to hear footsteps but there was only silence. A few moments later she heard the voices again, more muffled now and coming from the direction of the kitchen.

It took everything she had just to raise her head. Surveying the room, she found it empty. She slid out of bed, making sure to miss all the squeaking floorboards, and tiptoed into the hallway. Escape was the only thought on her mind now, if she could get to the neighbors, surely one of them would help when her life was on the line.

Her small, 500-square-foot, apartment consisted of a common area that served as the kitchen, dining, and living areas, off this a short hallway banked by large picture windows on one side led to a full bathroom and a single bedroom.

Making her way down the hallway she slipped past the bathroom door. It was dark, the only light coming from the windows that looked out over the twinkling lights of the city some 30 floors below.

“What do you see that can be used?” came the older voice from the kitchen.

“Well,” said the younger voice, trailing off. “Those knives, the grandfather clock, and of course the sink full of dirty dishes,”

“Good, Good,” said the older voice, it seemed like he was acting as some kind of a teacher in whatever sick game they were playing.

“And don’t forget, sometimes the best things are hidden.”

Karen heard the squeaking of a loose floorboard that led to the hallway and rushed back into her bedroom, hiding behind the door.

“Ohhh, nice,” said the student, the voice still coming from the kitchen. “How did you know about that?”

“I’ve been here a few times and taken a few notes,” came the reply. “Now let's continue.”

A moment later there was a dripping sound coming from the faucet in the bathroom.

“That’s good,” said the older voice. “That technique works on most people; we can give it a try.”

Karen cowered behind the bedroom door as her imagination painted a scene of two men forcing her head underwater.

Peaking back into the hallway, she took a chance and quietly made her way past the dark bathroom into the kitchen.

“Do you think it will wake her?” asked the younger voice.

“Are you kidding?” Asked the teacher, “After what she just slept through, we could drive a train through here and she wouldn't wake up.”

Karen crawled behind the small kitchen island and sat, putting her back toward the voices.

Where have I heard that voice? she thought. A face floated through her mind. A middle-aged man with a bushy beard. Then a name, Kevin! From across the hall, room 3001. She remembered the name and room from a complaint form she had filed with the HOA only last month. He had made a habit of walking his dog in the outdoor garden, letting it poop in the flower bed. She had confronted him multiple times and he had been quite rude.

But what was he doing in her apartment now? She hadn’t seen him in weeks.

Karen raised her head enough to look over the island, surveying the dark space in front of her.

The voices were still talking in the bathroom. She turned and looked at the door. The deadbolt was still latched, the chain lock still in place. How had they gotten in?

She sat back down, wanting this nightmare to be over. Across from her on the counter sat a block of kitchen knives. Without thinking she started to reach for one when she heard the voices again.

“Does anyone else live here?” asked the younger voice, it sounded like they were in the hallway again. Karen tucked into a ball, trying to disappear.

The older voice laughed. “With Karen?” he asked. “Even her kids can’t stand her.”

Karen couldn’t process the insult; she was too worried they were going to head back into her bedroom and realize she wasn’t there.

She got onto all fours and crawled to the door, keeping her eyes on the hallway, expecting two shadows to walk around the corner at any moment. Instinct took over, and the next thing she knew she was blinking in the bright lights of the hallway.

She looked right and then left, barely processing a pile of flowers in front of the door across from her. Surely someone was still up at this hour, she thought.

Taking a step toward the neighboring door on her left, she stopped. Mr. Andrews, its occupant, was much younger than she, and the multiple complaints she had filed over his loud music had earned her the nickname “Miss Bitch” with him and his friends. She had thought about confronting him, letting him know she could hear their rude remarks through the paper-thin walls, but she had the inkling that they had wanted her to hear.

She made an about-face and hurried toward the door on her right. Surely Mrs. Johnson would hear her out. As she closed her eyes and pounded on the door, she hoped Mr. Johnson wasn’t home, she could still hear his yells about the “damn contract”. She scoffed even now, if he didn’t want to follow it, he shouldn’t have signed it, she thought as she pounded even harder.

The next thing Karen knew she was in the apartment.

Thank God, she thought, taking a deep breath.

In front of her, an old woman sat on a faded plaid couch. She was watching the news. Images of a young boy with the headline, local boy drowns in Thunder Canyon, ran across the screen. 

“Have you seen the ibuprofen dear?” came a man’s gruff voice from the kitchen. Karen’s heart sank, Mr. Johnson.

“What’s that?” the woman on the couch asked without looking up.

“Ibuprofen,” repeated the man, stepping into the entrance in front of Karen.

“I gave Karen the last two yesterday, something about a headache.” said the woman, still not turning her head.

“She sure is,” mumbled Henry.”

“I heard that,” said the woman, finally turning to look at him.

The couple's eyes met, and Karen watched as smiles spread across both their faces and they started to laugh.

Karen didn’t care, she ran to the couch and fell to her knees. “Ann, please help, there’s someone in my apartment!”.

Ann seemed to ignore her pleas, still locking eyes with Henry.

“Shall I go ask that nice man down the hall, what was his name, Anthony or Andy?”

“Andrew,” corrected Henry, “and yes, if you would. He’s probably still up, thought I heard his violin a while ago.”

Ann got up and walked toward the door, kissing Henry as she passed him.

Karen was angry now, waving her arms and yelling.

“You old fools, someone is trying to kill me!”

There was no response, Ann grabbed a shawl hanging on a coat rack, opened the door, and walked out. Karen followed her, still yelling frantically, but to no avail.

Soon they stood in front of Room 3002.

After a light knock, a short man of about 30 opened the door. His eyes lit up when he saw the old women standing before him.

“Hello Mrs. Johnson, how are you this evening?” he asked warmly.

Mrs. Johnson smiled, “Pretty good for an old lady,” she answered smiling as if she had told a very funny joke.

“Did you hear that racket next door?” Andrew asked. “Nearly gave me a heart attack, broke a string on my violin because of it.” he paused, looked down the hall, and then continued in a quieter voice.

“Figured that old witch would be coming over to yell at me again, maybe file another complaint.”

“Now, now,” chided Mrs. Johnson, the smile not leaving her face. “Watch your language, young man.”

“I’m right here,” screamed Karen, still standing behind Mrs. Johnson. The two turned as if hearing her for the first time.

“Did you hear something?” asked Mrs. Johnson.

“Just this old building," replied Andrew. “You know it’s haunted," he said, winking.

They both laughed.

“What can I do for you tonight?” asked Andrew, continuing to ignore her.

Karen watched as more jokes were made and Andrew retreated into his apartment before reemerging with a bottle of ibuprofen. After a brief hug, the door was shut and Mrs. Johnson once again returned to her room, leaving Karen alone in the hallway.

“What the hell is going on,” she asked, walking back to her door.

She was utterly confused now, certain the men in her apartment were trying to kill her, and unsure why no one seemed to care. Adding salt to the wound, everyone, including the men in her apartment, seemed to think she was a terrible person. 

The memory of an argument she had with her son the day before flashed through her mind.

“Give them a break!” he had yelled, referring to a group of kids requesting permission for a birthday party in the building’s common room.”

“I can’t do that,” she had screamed back. “As the HOA president I have to enforce the rules!”

Her son had just rolled his eyes.

“You know what will happen,” she had said, trying to justify her rejection. “Drugs, beer, and sex!”

“Oh, come off it mother,” he had replied knowing she couldn’t stand being called that. “Their nine and ten-year-olds!”

She had just stared at him.

“You know what,” he finally said, “I can’t stand this, you have never once cared more about me or anyone else than you do for the rules!” With that he had stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

Aside from a slight headache, Karen hadn’t much cared that he stormed off, but as she thought about it now, the memory brought a kind of sadness she hadn’t felt before, and for a moment she wondered if she really was the monster everyone seemed to think she was. Then she remembered the men in her apartment, and the feeling was gone. She had more pressing matters to attend to.

Karen stared at her door for a full 5 minutes, trying to decide what to do. Kevin was an old man, on death's door if she remembered correctly, she felt convinced she could overpower him, it was the younger voice that held her back.

Maybe a son or relative of Kevin, she wondered.

The longer she stood there mulling it over, the more confident she became in herself.

Then, before she quite knew what had happened, she was in her apartment, rushing toward the kitchen knives. She heard the voices still talking in her hallway as she reached for the largest knife.

“Get the hell out of my house!” she screamed, raising her arm above her head.

The men in the hallway froze.

She had been right. The older man was Kevin. She recognized the younger man as well, but from where? Her brain tried to process the face. Then it hit her. The TV, this was the young man from the TV. But that couldn’t be. They said he had drowned. Karen lowered her arm slightly, a puzzled look etched on her face.

“Well look at that Jesse!” said Kevin clapping his hands together. He turned to the boy and patted him on his back.

“Never thought I would see the day,” he continued. “You realize this is probably a record!”

Jesse was grinning from ear to ear. “And to think,” he said, “I got her on my first night!”

“What is going on?” Karen asked angrily, raising the knife, but when her fist was at eye level she realized her hand was empty. She turned to the rack of knives; they were all there. The knife she had grabbed was back in its place. She reached for it again, but to no avail, her hand went right through it as if the knives weren’t even there. She looked at her hand and then again at the knife rack.

“Scared her to death, you did,” said Kevin, as the two launched into another round of howling laughter.

Karen ran at them now, content with gouging eyes and kicking crotches, but neither of them seemed to care, they didn’t even raise their arms in defense.

Karen closed her eyes, swinging wildly, but hit nothing. Opening her eyes again she found she was at the other end of the hallway. When she turned, the two were still standing in the same place, smiling.

Karen paused, trying to understand what had happened.

“I think she’s getting it,” said Jesse.

“It's like you can see the gears turning in her head,” said Kevin.

“What are you….” Karen trailed off as she noticed the light from the window behind the old man and boy. Something wasn’t right. She stared and then gasped. It wasn’t the light, it was the fact that she could see the light through them, the two were transparent as if they were made of smoke.

“Ghosts!” She screamed as she ran for her bedroom. She put out her arms to open the door, but it didn’t move. Instead, she went right through it, as if it wasn’t there.

“What is happening?” she cried, her whole-body trembling as her eyes searched the room, finally settling on her bed.

The unmistakable outline of a body lay under the covers. A new fear gripped Karen. She made her way to the pillow, afraid of what she would find. Staring back at her was a face she knew all too well.

Karen reached out, noticing her own transparent hand for the first time. She wondered how she had died when the words of Mrs. Johnson sprang back to her head. Ibuprofen! Of course, she was allergic. She had asked for something to help her headache after that argument with her son and had taken the pills from Mrs. Johnson without thinking.

A stupid mistake, she thought as she touched the exposed cheek of her own lifeless body in front of her. 

To her surprise, a red hue returned to the place she had touched.

Karen ran her hand along the face and saw the faintest twitch of the eyebrow. Hope filled her, and she reached through the covers for the heart, a moment later the body gasped. Karen nearly cheered, she threw herself on top of the cold body in the bed sinking through the comforter and then darkness.

***

Karen awoke with a gasp. Warm sunlight filled her room. Had it all been a dream? 

She raised her arms and wiggled her fingers, then pinched herself, savoring the prick of pain that reminded her she was alive.

She nearly sang as she jumped out of bed and ran for the hallway, not bothering to change out of her flannel nightgown.

“Kevin, Jesse!” she called out on her way to the front door. “Thank you for the second chance, I won’t waste it.”

She threw open the latches and laughed as she ran to the Johnsons' door, knocking loudly. A moment later Mrs. Johnson opened it, her hair a mess, she had obviously just woken up.

“Oh Mrs. Johnson,” cried Karen, “I have been such an ass, I am so sorry, and just so you know I am deathly allergic to ibuprofen!” Karen twirled Mrs. Johnson in a complete circle and then ran down the hall to room 3002 and knocked.

Andrew opened the door, violin in hand.

His expression turned sour the moment he saw Karen.

She smiled, catching him off guard.

“Hello Andrew,” she said, “Lovely morning, isn't it?”

A puzzled look crossed his face as he tried to decide what she was up to.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch,” she said matter-of-factly. “You and your friends were right, I had my head shoved so far up my own ass, only something drastic could help me see how terrible I have been.”

An embarrassed smile crept onto Andrew's face.

“You heard that, did you?” he asked, his red cheeks growing a shade darker.

“Don’t worry, she replied, “I deserved it, I just hope we can be friends now.”

Andrew just nodded and Karen smiled, walking back to her apartment.