The New Apartment

Steven couldn’t get out of bed. After three days of lying there alone, his bedroom door slammed shut, stirring up a curtain of dust. The noise startled him, although that would hardly be apparent to an observer, as he didn’t budge. The dust slowly spread throughout the room and when it slithered into his ragged throat, he began to hack and squeeze and writhe. Every time he rolled over, his sharp and sore toenails snagged the sheets, undoing a thread. 

Steven moved into the apartment two weeks ago and immediately fell ill. He’d accepted a job in another city and needed to start quickly; he picked an apartment online, signed the lease, and flew in with the couple of bags he could carry on the plane. He planned to get his feet set a bit before flying back home and renting a truck to grab the rest. The first day of his new job, when he woke up, he felt a tingle in his throat and a pressure behind his left eye. All day, while signing new-hire documents, meeting his coworkers, and ingratiating himself to his boss, the pressure built. By the time he got home, his eyeball felt like it was about to explode. When he looked in the mirror, the white part was blood red. He lied down, thinking it must be the stress of the move. 

In the middle of the night, a noise awoke him. Head still pounding, throat on fire, he turned on the lights. Who’s there? His words fluttered throughout the empty apartment until they found their way to a lamp that had somehow crashed onto the floor. Shards of glass were scattered around the room, begging to be stepped on. He hadn’t purchased a broom or vacuum for his new apartment yet, so he just went back to bed.

The morning sun woke him up three minutes before his alarm. A sliver of light shined through the window, directly into his eyes. It felt like they were being pulled backwards into his skull. He turned over in the bed and instinctively checked his phone. Though he’d plugged it in the night before, it held no charge. He sat up and looked out his bedroom door, down the hallway, and remembered the broken glass. Steven tip-toed through his apartment, careful to avoid the little glimmers of violence waiting for him. 

His second day of work started out indistinguishable from the first: documents, review, signing, on-boarding. He’d flown out for this? Left his family behind? The pressure felt unbearable. He could see his boss’ lips moving, could feel the vibrations, could sense he was being looked at, expected to answer, but the world was dull and impossible. His gut squeezed tight, as if he was manually requesting his body breathe. He felt like he was watching himself flounder from a thousand feet and a thousand years away. 

“I need to go home.” The words exited his mouth and he nearly fell over. Steven’s boss stared at him, shocked. A new employee with the gall to act this way on their second day? Steven tried to wait for his boss to oblige his request but after a moment of silence, he turned and left the room. His boss followed “where do you think you’re going? Are you crazy?” Steven couldn’t hear him, the pressure, the pressure. 

Upon walking into his apartment, Steven tossed his briefcase onto the floor, took his shoes, socks, tie, shirt, pants, watch off and made for his bed. On his way, he stepped on the glass he forgot to clean up from the night before. He’d planned to purchase a broom on his way home but forgot to make the stop. Blood poured out from the bottom of his foot as he danced his way to the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the tub, holding a piece of rolled up toilet paper to his foot to stop the pressure, but grimacing as doing so pushed a splinter in deeper. He cried out; between the pressure, the possibility of getting fired, the foot, the glass, he felt lost, angry, and engulfed. 

Sensing the blood had abated, he rinsed his foot under the faucet, and carefully pulled the splinter out with a pair of tweezers. Two gnarly cuts on his foot and he was expected to wear dress shoes the next day? After a brief respite, he waddled to his bed and lied down, hungry but too tired to do anything about it. He still needed to clean the glass, needed to reach out to his boss and apologize for the day’s mishap, explain that he’s normally very reliable. The pressure in his eye kept building until he passed out. 

Hours later, Steven woke up. It was pitch black in the apartment. A maroon puddle marinated into the carpet beneath his foot, which had started bleeding again. His heart pounded in his throat as he felt a tall figure standing over him. He couldn’t see anything but felt the heavy angst of danger compressing his lungs, pushing him into the mattress. It hovered for a moment. And then without a word, the weight vanished and the sun was out, once more, shining directly into his eye. 

Steven rolled over in the bed, with just enough energy to check the time. It was noon. He winced, fully expecting an email from his boss relieving him of the job he moved hundreds of miles for on the first week. His stomach pinched tightly and he realized he’d hardly eaten since getting to the city over the weekend. 

Through the pounding, Steven called a nearby pizza place to order delivery. He just wanted something easy. The phone rang three times before a gruff man answered. 

“Mario’s Pizza, whadaya want?”

“Can I get a large pie, black olives and pepperoni.”

“Pick up or delivery” 

“Delivery” 

“What’s the address?” 

“1229 W Maple” 

The man cut Steven off. “No no no. Absolutely not. We don’t deliver there.” The phone clicked off. Steven double checked the address, wondering if he’d accidentally called a restaurant that was too far away but Mario’s was hardly a 5 minute drive away. His stomach grumbled and he gnawed on his nails. He didn’t have the energy to call another place, so he gave up; he’d just get food later. 

Lying on his bed, Steven felt the pressure in his eye disappear. His body racked back and forth with the waves, was he on a boat? He smelt the bait worms him and his grandfather used. He hated the part where you put the hook through them. He heard a laugh behind him, unmistakably his grandfather’s. Jubilant footsteps marched from the back of the boat to where Steven was, “I caught one!” his grandfather smiled. Steven took a picture of him holding the fish, they measured it, and they delicately cleaned it so they’d be able to eat it later. The grandfather picked the cleaned fish up and chucked it into the ice-filled cooler. The grandpa slammed the cooler shut and Steven’s eyes opened. 

He was still in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He inhaled a cloud of dust and began gasping and coughing. As he turned to his side, hoping that would expel the dust and angry at himself for not leaving water by his bed, he saw a figure, standing in the corner of the room. “GET out.” the figure said. Its voice was a deep rumble that didn’t seem to make sense coming from such a small body. “You are not welcome here.” It lurched forward.

The pressure in Steven’s eye was unbearable and his throat felt like a piece of gum enshrouded by years of dust and dirt. “Can you please get me water?” He asked, in between coughs. The figure stood still. “Please” he asked again, hunched over with his hand facing the ceiling. He coughed again and bellied over, gasping for air, the dust still floating around. 

The figure laughed. “I’m trying to scare you, you know? I don’t want you or anyone else here” Its menacing aura gave way to confusion. Steven picked his head up momentarily, coughed, and said “I get that, I just am tired and thirsty. I’m sorry.” The figure left the room, retrieved a glass from the cabinet, filled it at the sink, and brought it to Steven. “Thanks.” He gulped the water down immediately. “Where are you from?” Steven asked as he lied back down on the bed. 

“Here.” 

“Here the city. Or here the apartment?” 

“Err. both.” 

“That’s cool.” 

The figure moved closer and the pressure in Steven’s eye built again. He pressed his hand against the eye and began to cry. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want me here. I’m going to need to leave soon anyway. I’m probably fired but I can’t check my phone.” The figure tilted its head. “I don’t even know what day it is, my stomach hurts so bad, I tried to order pizza but the guy wouldn’t respond.” As if the water gave his body the energy to feel the full extent of its misery again, Steven rolled over in the bed again, now facing the wall, one hand on his eye and one on his stomach. 

“I can let you charge your phone, at least.” 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” 

The phone beeped and the screen lit up with an image of a charging battery on it. Steven looked at it briefly and decided to sleep while he waited for it to fully charge. 

When he woke up, hours later, the figure was still in the corner of the room. It saw him stir and shuffled over to the edge of the bed but when Steven winced in pain, it moved back to the corner. Steven felt a tiny bit of relief and reached out for his phone, now fully charged. It had been almost two weeks and he hardly remembered any of it. Had he even been to work twice? He didn’t know. His phone had 10 missed calls and hundreds of unread emails. Apparently, he’d been fired 8 days ago. Funny that. 

Steven laughed. He’d zapped through his savings for this job. Had to go through 4 rounds of interviews. He’d dreamed about it for months. He was staring at the ceiling when he noticed the figure wasn’t in the room anymore. It must have left while he was looking at his phone. 

Steven tried to get out of bed but didn’t have the strength to; his legs wouldn’t move. He removed the covers and noticed his legs had shrunk, they looked like his grandpa’s legs when he visited him in hospice as a child. He blinked a few times, unable to grasp what was happening, it’d only been two weeks, is that even possible in two weeks? He shivered and put the covers back on. 

That night, while lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt the pressure build in his eye again and knew the figure was there again. He said “I am planning on leaving. I’m sorry I’m still here. I need to figure out a way to get the strength to stand again but I’m going to leave.” There was no response. He looked to the door and noticed a brochure floating in the air. “This is another pizza spot. You shouldn’t have trouble ordering from this one.” 

Steven dialed the number and while it was ringing, asked, “Would you like anything?” The figure replied, “I cannot eat.” Steven shrugged and placed his order. 

Once he hung up the phone, he realized he didn’t have the strength to get to his wallet or to grab the pizza from the door. He didn’t even know if he had the strength to open a door at this point. He’d hardly left the bed for two weeks. 

“I know this is asking a lot. And I’m sorry to be so much trouble. Would you be able to go in my bag and grab my wallet and get the pizza when the delivery driver arrives?” 

“Won’t that scare the driver away?” The figure replied. 

“Uhhh. Maybe. I don’t know. I can barely think at this point.” 

“I’ll leave the money at the door and ask him to just leave the pizza.” 

“Alright. Again, thank you. I appreciate it.” 

After a moment of silence, Steven added “I know you can’t eat but if you do end up wanting a slice, feel free to grab, it’s all good.” 

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang. The driver called out “I got the money. Pizza box is on the floor.” and left. The figure opened the door, retrieved the box, and made its way to the bedroom. As it approached Steven with the pizza, his eye felt like it was about to explode.

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick, I know you don’t mean to do it.” 

The figure tilted its head, wondering itself whether that was true. 

“It just hurts so bad I can’t help it. I know it’s not polite.”

The figure left the pizza box on the bed and when it backed away, Steven let out a deep sigh of relief. As he ate a folded up slice, he asked where the ghost was from and the ghost explained it was born in that house, had lived there its entire life, and was murdered by a stray bullet in almost exactly the spot Steven was lying. “Sheesh. I’m sorry to hear that, man.” The figure shrugged. “And you’ve been here since then? Just haunting people?” Steven scratched the back of his head with an emaciated arm. 

“Pretty much. This is my house. Why are there other people in it?” 

“I hear that.” 

Steven finished his first slice and folded a second. With a mouth full of pizza, he said “As soon as I get the strength, I promise I’m going to leave. I’m sorry I even came in the first place.” 

“No, I think it’s ok.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

The ghost came closer and Steven braced his eye but the pressure didn’t rise. In fact, he didn’t even notice any pressure there at all. The ghost sat down on the edge of the bed. “I kind of would like a piece, if that’s still ok.” 

“Of course, dude. Take as much as you like.” 

Steven smiled at the ceiling and the two finished the rest of the pie.