The Seance in Apartment 10

by Ambrose Ibsen

  Evelyn turned around, her weeping fingertips grasping at my neck, and began to shake me. No longer was her face the bland, pale mask I'd seen before. The skin had grown dry, coarse and brown, and had settled against her bones like a piece of meat left to sit in the summer sun. Hers was the visage of decomposition, of hideousness and decay, and as she shook me, her shrunken, cadaverous lips cracking to annunciate her screams of “No!”, she began to fall apart at the seams. Her hair tumbled from her rotten scalp in large clumps onto the floor. Her eyes, small and pustulent, rocked in their sockets till they dripped out across her cheeks. Her teeth rattled in her mouth like dice and her tongue, shrunken and black, rasped like sandpaper against her palate.

  When I awoke, I was paralyzed. Through sheer force of will I managed to open my eyes, but when I did I realized, to my sheer terror, that the dream hadn't let go of me yet. I was still in its clutches, and the scenery was as awful as ever.

  I was laying down on bare carpet, staring upward, and just above me, hanging by a clumsy noose that'd been threaded through a heavy-duty screw eye, was a body. It swayed, legs kicking, arms spasming. I knew it was Evelyn before I even got a look at her red face and bugging eyes. She was still dressed in her rough black garb, and her trembling feet dangled so low that her great toe nearly caught my nose as she rocked. I could hear the pull of the rope under tension, listened to the last of her breaths as she succumbed. The wooden chair she'd used sat on the floor, on its side.

  I couldn't move, couldn't react, but I felt absolutely awake just then. I lost control of my heart—felt it ricochet off of my sternum—and of my bladder, too. What felt like warm, real urine seeped down my leg and into the carpet, and what I took to be proper tears streamed down my cheeks.

  It's just a dream, I told myself as the body spun slightly on the cordage. You're going to wake up—really wake up—and you'll see that this is just a nightmare. You're in bed right now, and everything is fine. Evelyn had gone completely slack. Her eyes were left in a permanent bulge, and as she rotated listlessly on the rope, her dead gaze met my own. I stared back into the dead woman's eyes, unable to move, to even blink, and just wept. Her hair was tangled around the rope, and her mouth had fallen open in what looked to me like a final gasp. “No! No! No!” I could still hear her voice, could still feel her screams reverberating off of the studio's walls, despite the almost complete silence.

  At some point, delirious with fright, I snapped out of it.

  I opened my eyes. Really opened them.

  I sucked in a breath so deep that I immediately began to cough and choke.

  There was no body dangling over me. One by one my limbs awoke, like they'd been held down by pure magnetism up to that moment, and I was able to sit up. My lungs felt like they'd been filled with hot sand. The window, at some point in the night, had been closed, and my apartment felt like a sweltering heat trap. I breathed deeply, my hair matted to my face with sweat and the floor beneath me damp with urine.

  That was when it struck me.

  I was sitting on the floor, on the carpet.

  In an empty apartment.

  None of my furniture was there, none of my belongings whatsoever.

  I fought my way into a standing position and batted the mini blinds away from the window, catching a glimpse of the morning sun. Baffled and frightened, I staggered to the kitchen, leaning against the wall the entire way, and found all of my things were gone from there as well. To my right however, the bathroom light was on, and I wasn't two steps into the bathroom when I suddenly went running for the front door and burst out onto the stairwell.

  There were deep grooves in the wood around the medicine cabinet.

  This wasn't my apartment.

  Racing out the door and nearly falling down the stairs, I turned to examine the number on the wall outside.

  I'd woken up in apartment 11.

  All but tumbling down the concrete stairs, I fought my way to the fourth floor, finding the door to my real apartment closed. Pushing my way in and collapsing on my messy futon, I scanned the room from behind bleary eyes and bawled.

  There was no explanation for it. I'd woken up in Evelyn's room, had found my way in there at some point in the night. Despite the pleasant sunlight pouring in, I felt only terror. I couldn't trust myself, my surroundings, and pinched my forearm till it was sore and raw.

  I wasn't dreaming anymore, though.

  I was living the nightmare.

  17

  Even in my terrified state, I knew my options were limited.

  I stood outside the building in the early morning sun, pacing through the dewey grass and fighting to choke down the panic that continuously threatened to send me, running and screaming, down the street.

  There was something happening in the apartment, and the truth was that something had been happening for some time. I'd denied it, covered it up or assured myself that I was the problem. It'd been much easier to write everything off as paranoia caused by a move, but I was too far past that point to try and color the morning's events in such a way.

  I'd never been a sleepwalker, and couldn't understand how I'd ended up in that accursed room without my even knowing it. And then there were the dreams I'd had while laying across the floor of that empty studio; so vivid, so gut-churningly awful and dark that even in the daylight, fully possessed of my senses, I couldn't purge them from my thoughts.

  It was time to go. To end this silly experiment in independence. Someday, certainly, I'd move out on my own. My tenancy at the Lamplight had been a mistake, however. A huge one. I idled outside the main entrance to building 3 for several minutes, hoping to catch sight of another person. The other buildings were as still as five-story mausoleums though, and the people living in the houses across the street had either gone to work already or were still asleep.

  I was alone.

  I needed to go back into the apartment and pack some things. I needed my phone, to change my clothes, to gather up all of my valuables and essentials. But I didn't want to.

  When I'd recovered my things, I could wait outside for a few hours till my dad—or Julia or Annie—came to get me. If necessary I'd just head straight for campus and wait there till a ride materialized.

  Going back inside was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. Entering the commons area and eyeing the stairway door, I hesitated for a long time before soldiering up the flights. I paused at the second-floor landing, considered speaking to Ike, though as I approached his door I thought better of it. That man, kind though he was, couldn't help me. The only way to stop this would be for me to leave. Permanently.

  I wandered into my apartment like a stranger. My eyes darted about the studio as though it were my first time inside, but as seconds passed I recognized that nothing had changed. My futon was still there, an unmade mess. The television and dresser were still there. In the kitchen, next to the sink, was a glass I'd used the day before, still half-full of water.

  Don't freak out, OK? Just take your things and go. You can call dad when you're outside.

  I rifled through my things and sourced a large bag, into which I dumped most of my clothing and anything I deemed valuable. There was no way I could bring the television with me, though perhaps my dad would be willing to come in for it later on. I unearthed my phone, liberating it from the mess of sheets on the futon, and then started backing out of the apartment. Opening the door, I stepped out onto the landing, locked up, and dashed down the stairs to the commons area, where I finally allowed myself a moment to breathe.

  I thumbed my phone on, getting ready to call my dad. I hoped he wasn't busy, that he'd be able to come and get me, and that I'd be able to give some reasonable excuse for my sudden change of heart. This entire apartment thing had been my idea, and I'd constantly reassured him that I liked living here. What the hell could I tell him? The truth, in this case, was simply off-limits. I wasn't even sure that I could articulate the truth myself, if we're being honest. There was simply so much going on in that apartmen
t that a weak excuse would be easier to offer up.

  I was about to dial my father when I noticed I had a deluge of missed calls and texts. Standing just inside the main door, the warm morning wind threatening of another miserably hot day, I scrolled through them all and listened to some voicemails.

  The calls and texts came from Annie and Julia, save for one, whose number was unlisted.

  The two of them, in numerous messages over the course of the night, had said more or less the same thing.

  Cat was no longer in a coma. She'd come around despite all odds and was now conscious. It was great news, though I wasn't in any state of mind to rejoice over it. What struck me as odd was the other tidbit they shared.

  Not only was Cat awake, but she was demanding to see me. To hear Annie tell it, Cat's first words, her first request upon fully regaining consciousness, was to demand to see me.

  And then I listened to the last voicemail, from the private number. Before a single word was spoken on the recording, I heard the din of medical equipment and the beeping of a telemetry monitor. There was some hushed talk in the background, possibly a nurse or visitor, followed by a rattling noise, as of the receiver being brought up to the caller's lips.

  The voice that spoke shortly thereafter was so weak that I nearly didn't recognize it as Cat's. “Tori,” she rasped, “Tori, this is Cat Meyers. I've been trying to reach you. We need to talk. It's about the other night. You know what I'm talking about.” She took a shaky breath. “Please, if you get this, come straight over to the hospital. They might be transferring me, but I've given my parents instructions, and the staff, too, not to turn you away. Please, it's important.” I heard someone muttering in the background. The sound worsened, and Cat's goodbye sounded faint. “Please, Tori. We have to talk.”

  The message ended and I hurriedly deleted it. Keeping it in my voicemail felt somehow dirty to me, and the very sound of Cat's voice, ringing in my ear, gave me the shivers.

  Not a day out of her coma, Cat had wanted to talk to me.

  It's about the séance.

  I stuffed the phone into my pocket and looked up at building 3, at the column of windows above me. “What does she want to tell me?” I thought aloud, taking a step out onto the grounds.

  Whatever it was, she claimed it was of the utmost importance. Probably it was related to the things I'd been seeing throughout the complex, to the dark energies that had so suffused the place since we'd messed around with her Ouija board.

  She wants to talk about what she saw, I thought, recalling the utter terror on her face as she'd collapsed on that rainy night.

  She wants to talk about Evelyn.

  I tightened the strap on my bag and decided to set out for the hospital. It wasn't far by foot, and even though I knew Cat had nothing pleasant to share, my instinct was that this was something I needed to hear. A much-needed piece of the puzzle. No matter what she told me, I assured myself I was through with the Lamplight complex, with apartment 10. I wasn't going to live there anymore and subject myself to torment. When I'd seen Cat and she'd said her piece, I'd call up my dad and leave the complex for good.

  What have you got for me, Cat? I wondered as I walked along. The morning was warm, but it was still cool enough out for me to make the trek without much difficulty. I beat pavement, crossed Main and Wooster and was approaching the glass front doors of the Moorlake Health Center in just under an hour.

  I don't think I'll ever get used to the smell of hospitals. The smell is a weird combination of antiseptic spray and human suffering, and it seeps into everything. You can smell it the minute you walk in the door, even in places as picturesque as the lobby. It's just a different kind of air.

  The elevator spit me out on the ninth floor, and I followed the signs to the Neuro ICU, where Annie had told me to meet Cat. I wasn't sure what bed she was in or if the staff would let me visit her, but I walked down the well-lit hall all the same, pausing in front of two imposing doors. There was a sign on the wall instructing visitors to hit a button to be buzzed inside, and up above an ancient-looking security camera blinked at me. I tapped the white button and waited. A few moments later, there was a loud click and the door opened outward, giving me a stronger dose of that off-putting hospital smell.

  There must have been about fifteen patient rooms within the Neuro ICU, all of them fronted by large, glass doors. The nurse's station was positioned in the middle, making the whole place look more like a maximum security prison than a hospital ward. The lights were kept low and windows were all shuttered, making it hard to tell whether it was day or night. I walked through the doorway nervously and approached the desk, greeting the attendant. “Hi,” I said, “I'm here to visit someone.”

  The woman was courting the latter half of middle age and wore a semi-permanent frown. Her hair was dyed blonde and cut short, and her ruby red lipstick stood out in the gloom. The perfume she wore, a sweet, flowery thing, clashed awfully with the surrounding smells and made my stomach roil.

  That wasn't the only reason my stomach chose to act up, though. I was nervous. I'd been called to the hospital by Cat herself and didn't know what to expect. With everything that'd happened to her, was Cat even of sound mind? My morning had been packed with stress that I hadn't fully recovered from, and walking into this place was only freaking me out further. There wasn't much choice, though; if Cat had something for me, some information that would help me piece together the nightmarish goings-on at the Lamplight complex, then I needed to listen up.

  The clerk scrolled through a list of names on her screen. “Who is it you're here to visit?” she asked softly.

  “Cat Meyers,” I replied, looking around at the glass-fronted rooms. I tried not to shudder as I saw people with tubes protruding from their mouths and throats; people with messes of wires affixed to their heads; patients strapped down to their beds by their wrists and ankles. The ICU wasn't a pretty place. What state would Cat be in?

  “She's in bed 12,” replied the woman at the desk. She rotated in her chair and pointed towards the rear of the nursing unit.

  I thanked her and got moving, minding the numbers posted on the outside of every door until I reached the twelfth. Sucking in a deep breath, I gripped the strap of my bag and took a step inside. The glass door to this room had been blocked partially by a curtain so that I couldn't look in. I rapped on the glass gingerly and called out. “Hi, C-cat? It's me. It's Tori.”

  There was silence.

  Pushing through my hesitation, I stepped past the curtain and into the room.

  Cat was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring right at me.

  I doubled back, spooked. “Jesus, Cat...” I fought to grin. “You scared me.”

  Though she'd been through a great deal, Cat looked surprisingly good. She had a large, white dressing on her head where she'd evidently been operated on, and some of her hair had been shaved away, too. Her skinny frame was draped in a white hospital gown and she sat near the foot of the bed, feet dangling over the floor. Her eyes were as big and sharp as ever, and as I entered she hit me at once with what I took to be sternness. “I've been waiting for you, Tori.”

  “Yes, I'm sorry I couldn't make it over sooner,” I replied. “I, uh... I didn't get all of the messages till this morning.”

  Cat looked behind me, over my shoulder. I followed her gaze, but saw nothing of note. “Close the door,” she uttered. “We need to have a talk, in private.”

  I did as I was told and slid the glass door closed. I pulled the curtain completely closed as well, for added privacy. “So, what's this about?” I asked, making my way over to one of the guest chairs in the corner. I dropped my bag onto the floor and had a seat.

  “You know what it's about,” she replied.

  And she was right.

  “Listen,” I began, “after that séance, I've been having a hell of a time back at the apartment. I've been seeing things, hearing things... losing track of time. And then last night, I--”

  Cat raised one hand t
o hush me. “You need to listen to me, Tori. Listen very closely.” She tugged on the collar of her gown and leaned forward. “That night, when we were playing with the board, we made contact with something.”

  I nodded. “Y-yeah, I remember.”

  She licked her lips, eyes narrowing. “It wasn't your mother, Tori.”

  “I know.”

  “I saw what it was,” continued Cat. She began wringing her hands in her lap, her thin white fingers reddening. “I saw it. Or, rather, it revealed itself to me.”

  “You saw Evelyn,” I squeaked. “I've seen her, too.”

  Cat looked at me like I was dumb, cocking her head to the side. “Who's Evelyn?”

  “The woman. The woman in black, with... with the...” I cleared my throat. The air in the room was painfully dry. I felt like I needed a drink of water. “You didn't see Evelyn?”

  Cat shook her head. “What I saw,” she replied, “wasn't even human.”

  I tensed in my chair, the plastic seat groaning as I leaned to one side. “W-well, what did you see, then?”

  Cat reached out and smoothed the covers on her bed with a shaky hand. It took her a minute to get started, and more than once she could be seen to wince in her retelling. “It was raining, and the lights were out. There was some point, before everything came to a halt, that I sensed something in the room with us. But it wasn't a good feeling. Quite the opposite. I... I felt something dark. Something unkind.” She bit her lip. “That's not accurate. It was more than all of that. It was like... like the devil himself had walked into the room with us.”

  I nodded.

  “And I think that this thing, whatever it is, has been there for a while now. It isn't the sort of presence that exists in this world by accident. An energy of this kind has to be brought here. It has to be invited into our sphere, do you understand what I mean? And once it crosses over, it tends to stick around in this world of ours. It won't go away, because in this world, it has a chance at living. It clings to people, crawls into them like an insect, latches onto their spirit.”