Neighbours
It had been two weeks since the noises began. Every time the clock struck 1:05 in the witching hour, like clockwork, the stomping came alive.
The ceiling cracked from the constant and rhythmic beat.
I’ve spoken to the landlord. He promised to talk some sense into my neighbours, a pair of hippies with dreadlocks and nightmarish tattoos. They moved in two months ago.
The husband, although dressed as if in some cult, seemed like a chill guy the last time we ran into each other in front of the apartment building. The wife? Honestly, all I know about her is limited to what I’ve heard the other neighbours say.
From my humble understanding, both husband and wife lead a yoga studio of some kind downtown and are people of few words.
Things, however, started to go downhill a month ago. While it didn’t happen so often, I would see the husband either exiting the apartment or taking out the trash from time to time.
But I stopped seeing him after that incident. Which incident? Hang tight, I’m getting there.
I was washing the dishes when the pipes became clogged. The plumber I called said the issue was coming from upstairs and that the pipes were connected since this particular apartment was one of those few that hadn’t been renovated back in 2016 due to some legal issues with one of the tenants at the time.
Thankfully, he managed to unclog it but warned that it would probably happen again if I didn’t do anything about it. Not to talk about that foul, pungent smell… You’d think they’d minced someone and drained the remnant through the pipes.
I contacted the landlord. We figured that the best course of action was to inform my new neighbours about the issues with the pipes and politely ask them not to drain oils or other kinds of stuff that could get these old rusty pipes clogged.
Working a 9-5 office job the entire week, however, the only free time I had was on a Saturday afternoon. My sister threw a birthday party for my niece that day and I went over to her house in the early hours to help her out.
I returned home around 7 pm. As soon as I opened the front door, the stench hit me. Literally. It was like a punch to the gut. That grimy, bloody smell.
Honestly, I forgot all about the clogged pipe thing, but when I twisted the tap and the urine-coloured water rose in the sink, I totally lost it.
Three long minutes ticked by before my neighbours answered the door. I didn’t notice it at the time, but the guy kept looking over his shoulder as I told him what was going on. He was very apologetic and promised that he’d speak to his wife about the clogged pipes.
As he was about to close the grating door, I heard something come through from the hallway and tried to sneak a peek. He shut the door close before I could.
It sounded muffled, like someone trying to speak underwater. How do I put this? Like when someone’s mouth is taped shut, but they’re trying to get your attention? Something along those lines…
The pipe issue petered out after that. There was still no sight of either the husband or the wife for several weeks, though. It was like they had both been wiped off the face of the earth.
And just like that, another fortnight flew by.
I got promoted at work and would be able to move out to a nicer neighbourhood by the end of the year. To celebrate my ‘humble upgrade’, I went out with my friends and boyfriend to the local bar.
We were having a great time, and I ended up spending the night over at my boyfriend. I don’t recall how our conversation shifted in this direction, but as we cuddled in bed he told me something that I failed to notice myself.
That entire night we hung out, he said, quote, a weird guy was watching you, end quote. When I asked what he meant by ‘weird’, he described the stalker as having dirty blond dreadlocks, dark makeup under his eyes, and tattoos all over his neck.
But that wasn’t even the scariest part. My boyfriend noticed that the hippie guy was hiding something under his sweatshirt. That was why he asked me to come home with him.
I should’ve told my boyfriend that I knew the guy. I still don’t understand why I didn’t. But that was how far the weirdness ever got. Nothing happened for weeks – nothing remotely creepy, that is.
I figured my neighbour must’ve seen me outside the bar somehow since we lived in a small town, but was too shy to approach and say hello.
It wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened, anyway. While I wouldn’t consider myself an attractive person by any means, I had an appearance that drew people in.
Naturally, my boyfriend stayed over a few times after this incident in case I was stalked by some weirdo. But it didn’t last for long.
He had to be out of town for the next two months due to an infrastructure project he supervised in another state. His team was in charge of the production of a 3D layout over a subway station for commuters between states in the south.
He didn’t give me a return date but said the job should be done in no more than two months since they already had something to work with from a failed project back in 2015.
Then the stomping began. I woke up to it for the first time after a long day at work and was too tired to bother going upstairs.
Maybe I was just too freaked out and didn’t want to. I didn’t know. To be honest, it didn’t matter.
The stomping carried on for two weeks. I would sometimes doze off at work and hear those damn noises in my head. Failing to write my reports on time repeatedly, my boss even asked if something was bothering me.
But it wasn’t like I could tell him about those- those noises! He’d think I’ve lost it or something!
I was going to lose my job at this rate and my dream to move out would end up going down the drain. That was why I decided to speak to my landlord a second time and put an end to this.
The next thing I heard was the news of my landlord passing. I- I couldn’t prove anything! But I just knew that his untimely death had something to do with my neighbours. It just didn’t make sense any other way!
My landlord was perfectly fine when I spoke to him a few days ago. How could he have passed away so suddenly?
As I’m writing these words I’m only sure of one thing: I need to keep a low profile and make it through another month. I can’t stay here anymore.
Sleep doesn’t come to me. I’ve stayed awake for far too many nights. I can’t tell whether it’s day or night anymore. My head spins like a top and it… it feels like I’m slowly losing my mind.
The stomping never ceases. It never goes away. It’s forever there, in the background, tormenting me over and over again.
I wish my boyfriend was here so that I could finally—the door cracked open. Someone approached. Maybe it was Matt. He was the only one with a spare key. It had to be him.
Oh, seems like the stomping’s stopped. How convenient. I’ll go take a look at who—
The End.
