When she finally got to her apartment, she sighed and pulled down the wall bed. She stopped every few minutes, listening for any noise from above. Convinced she just needed one good night’s sleep, she snuggled under the covers with hope.
Waking in a cold sweat, pillows strewn on the floor, Meghan stared at the ceiling and breathed heavily. It wasn’t the neighbor’s boots this time; it had to be something else waking her. Rolling over to face the window, her ears picked up the sound and strained to hear it again.
Scratching. Long, deliberate scratching like an animal trying to claw its way out of a box. It came from directly above her, scratching the floor as though it wanted to get through to her side.
Meaghan put her hands over her ears. “Please go away, please go away,” she chanted.
When she took her hands away, the sound remained—long scratches, one after the other after the other.
This is ludicrous, she thought, getting up and grabbing a sweater. She turned on the kitchen light and rummaged in the drawer for a flashlight. Grabbing it, she walked to the window and heaved it open. Then she crawled out onto the fire escape and made her way up one flight to the apartment above.
There was no light on and the curtains were drawn. Determined to find out what that noise was, she tugged on the window frame without thinking. It came as a surprise when the frame moved, and fueled by aggravation she kept pushing until the gap was wide enough for her body to fit through. She pulled the curtains gently to one side, then tapped the flashlight on the windowsill to get it to work; she flashed it slowly around the room. With no one home, she impulsively inched herself through the window on her stomach, falling onto the floor head first.
Meaghan froze in her crumpled state, then lifted the flash light and moved it around the room. It was barely furnished, with patchy wallpaper and a thick dust trying to find a home in her nose.
She pushed herself up to her feet and slinked along until she faced an old wardrobe door. Putting her ear to the door, she listened for the scratching—nothing. Trailing her fingers down the softness of the wood to the dirty patina of the lock, she couldn’t believe the key had been left in the lock, almost egging her on to turn it.
She felt like she was invading the owner’s privacy, but if there was something, or even someone, inside, she needed to know.
Holding the flashlight under her arm, her fingers paused on either side of the key. Breathing in, she quickly turned it, hearing the click of the lock before gently pulling the door towards her. It creaked open. Gripping the flashlight as a weapon, she took a step back, fearful of what might fall out. Stillness ensued; there was nothing in the wardrobe. It was empty.
Meaghan chastised herself. How obvious, to just look behind the first door with a key. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for another source of the annoying scratching sound. Suddenly, the elevator doors clanged open and heavy boots hit the hallway floor.
Meaghan heard them stop outside the apartment door, then heard a jangling of keys. Unsure what to do, she scrambled inside the wardrobe, pulling the door closed just in time. The front door opened and the heavy footfalls stomped towards her. Meaghan’s stomach sat in knots as she tried not to make a sound. She could just see back into the room through slight cracks in the tired wood. The wardrobe’s door was falling apart, like most things in this place.
The boots walked around the room before stopping right outside the wardrobe door. Meaghan’s whole body shook with fear as she waited to be discovered. Then the footsteps walked away from her and towards the bathroom. Meaghan used her hands to feel around the floor of the wardrobe, noticing a loose side panel. She wanted to use her flash light to see what was there, but she knew she had to get out right then.
She slowly exhaled, then sucked up as much courage as she needed, pushed open the cupboard door, and darted for the window. Cutting her hand on the rusty metal handrail as she pulled herself back through the window, she scurried down the fire escape as quickly as possible, unable to shake the feeling she’d just avoided something awful.
***
Her aching hand woke her the next morning, flashbacks of the previous evening infiltrating her brain. What was she thinking going up to that apartment? Whoever it was living there obviously never stayed the night. Very strange.
Meaghan spent most of her day shopping and preparing food for the party. She bought way more alcohol than everyone could drink, and used it to make up a huge punch bowl with orange coloring. It looked disgusting and tasted even worse. Perfect, she thought.
As the early evening approached, Meaghan got more exited for her party. She decided to make her way down to the rec room in the basement and add all the finishing touches. Pushing the elevator button, she waited and waited, eventually giving up to walk down the stairs.
Her evil pumpkin theme looked incredible; the beads were hung and she had decorated the walls with cardboard pumpkins showing various sinister grins.
Dressed in her new outfit, she was ready for the fun to begin. She dimmed the lights low and lit candles ready to be placed inside the carved pumpkins each guest had been told to bring.
“Everything looks amazing,” said Zoe when she arrived. “I’ve been carving my pumpkin all day! Does it look like me?” She laughed, holding it up in front of her.
“Not exactly, but nice try!”
“You still seem on edge. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit shaken up by the neighbor again. I’ll fill you in later.” Meaghan moved towards the door to welcome more guests. She was delighted with such a great turnout and loved that all her friends had made a great effort to dress up and join in the fun.
While dancing with Zoe, Meaghan noticed a blue hat slowly moving towards her. Straining her eyes to get a better look, she suddenly recognized it as the blue hat from the elevator. She couldn’t believe he had come to her party.
“No, no, no,” Meghan mumbled as she moved around the room, looking for somewhere to hide.
“Meaghan?”
“Hi, yes. That’s me. Nice to meet you. Do I know you?” Meagan squirmed in her own awkwardness. She felt like her discomfort was so obvious, but after a few cups of punch, she resigned herself to being able to blame it on the booze.
“I’m Alan. I live in the building. I found this bracelet outside my fire escape. It has Meaghan engraved on it, so when I heard your name mentioned outside I figured it must belong to you.” Alan looked Meaghan directly in the eye and smiled sweetly as he handed the bracelet over.
“Wow, thanks. That’s kind of you to go out of your way. I wonder how it got up there. Strange. Anyway, would you like to stay a moment, join in the fun?” Meaghan couldn't believe what her own words. She trembled inside from the realization he may have known she had gotten in to his apartment, and he was fearless in letting her know that he knew. Her mind danced with possibilities, none of them good, and yet she plastered on a fake innocence she could only hope he bought.
“Maybe another time. I have a few things I have to do tonight. Have fun. Oh, and happy birthday.”
Alan tipped his hat then walked out the door. Before she could move, Meaghan felt Zoe grab her arm, startling her. “OMG, who’s the hunk?”
Meaghan looked at Zoe with nothing but disgust. “Zoe, that’s my neighbor, the one making all the noise. I have a bad feeling about him. I’m serious.”
“Oh, I have a bad feeling about him too. A very, very bad, deep, dark sensation… between my legs. If he was my neighbor, he could make all the noise he wanted. Hell, I’d help him make some noise if he let me!”
Zoe danced around in fits of giggles, and Meaghan felt helpless. She realized tonight was not the night she should be worrying about this, and resigned herself to having fun.
***
Meaghan woke with a huge pounding in her head. She still wore all her clothes and had been placed on her sofa in a drunken daze. She couldn't recall much from the night before, aside from realizing that making the punch was a terrible mi
stake. She was all alone, and it was now gone midday. How long did I sleep? she wondered, making her way to the bathroom just in time to throw up half the contents of her stomach. She heard a groan from behind the shower curtain, revealing Ged from work, who had also lost half his stomach all over himself. His Frankenstein costume looked remarkably better now, but he was not a pretty sight. He must have been the person who brought her home. Just as reliable out of work as in the office, she mused.
She left him there and put a pair of large sweatpants and a t-shirt on the side of the tub so he could change when he woke up. Then she headed to the kitchen for a nice strong cup of coffee.
She had no idea where her phone was, and she sat staring into space as her mind fought to regain control.
“Hey,” said Ged, rubbing his head as he stumbled in. “You got more coffee?”
“I sure do,” she said with a giggle. “Thanks for bringing me home last night. I can’t remember a thing. I must have been a real mess.”
“You were pretty bad, but I made the mistake of drinking more of that deadly punch I found in the fridge while watching TV. That stuff is something else. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.”
“Did everyone get home okay?”
“Believe it or not, you were pretty much the last one standing. Your cute friend Zoe left with a guy I didn't recognize, and by the way she was hanging off him, I’m sure they had a good night.”
“A guy? What guy? You knew everyone there.”
“All I can tell you is he had a blue hat on. Other than that, it’s anyone’s guess. Shame though, I kinda like Zoe.”
Meaghan rushed to the bathroom, emptying the rest of her stomach along with the thick black coffee. Her gut told her something was wrong. It was broad daylight and all her senses were going off. Still unable to think straight, she didn't know what to do. Should I just go up and knock?
She decided looking for her phone was a rational start, and she scoured the flat for her belongings. Frantically fingering the four-digit passcode, she was relieved to see no messages. She instantly called Zoe but the phone didn't answer, just rang and rang. At the same time, she heard a buzzing noise above her timed perfectly with the ringing. It sounded like a phone vibrating on the wooden floor. Then she heard the boots.
Meaghan threw up everywhere, right in the middle of the living room. Ged rushed to her side, but she couldn’t stop as fear overtook her body.
***
Mr. Fellows took a quick step back, trying to avoid the splash on his black, shiny brogues. A couple nurses rushed to Meaghan’s side, supporting her body as she hurled in the center of the sterile room.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Fellows. Meaghan is a little unpredictable.”
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked firmly, unimpressed with the vomit now decorating his polished shoes.
“She’s been with us for six months. She lives in an almost vegetative state, but she’s functional. They found her in an apartment building, trussed up in a wardrobe. The neighbor alerted the authorities to strange goings on, and when they finally looked into it, they found her, barely alive. And they never caught the guy who did it. The doctors say she was so traumatized she just shut down. Tests show she’s reliving a memory, over and over. Not necessarily what happened to her, but a sort of story, if you like. It usually ends with her being sick, unfortunately. Poor girl.”
“Hmmm, nothing an increase in medication couldn't fix.”
“That’s not how we do things here Mr. Fellows. There’s still a chance we can bring her back. These things take time.”
“Indeed they do, but time usually involves money, and she won’t be given the same care elsewhere.”
“Is it decided, then? Stonewalls Institute of Psychiatric Medicine will be shut down?”
“Yes, I was hoping to see something here today to persuade me otherwise, but as it stands, my report will support the decision. I’d say it will take around four months to re-home everyone, but their needs will be met.”
Both Nurse Baxter and Mr. Fellows looked over at Meaghan. She looked back at them in a wistful stare as her brain re-set and she snapped back into her never-ending story. Nurse Baxter mourned for the young woman every day, and vowed to help her find the best placement possible.
About Rachael Steele
Rachael is a novice writer and recently found solace in the craft whilst attempting to write chapters for a collaborative fiction novel. Her work was instantly admired for her creativity and research, pushing her to continue to pursue other avenues of writing. Rachael has recently been picked up by a travel website to work as their resident travel writer, and is excited to get stuck in.
Growing up in Australia, and traveling the world as a first class flight attendant, very little surprises her, yet everything fascinates her. You can connect with Rachael on Facebook.
https://www.facebook.com/rachael.gooch1
The Dead Ringers
By Kevin Grover
Old Jefferson shoveled the last bit of dirt over the fresh grave, snorted, and spat. “You’ll be on the graveyard shift,” he said, turning to Zach. “It ain’t a great job. You’ll get tired as the night goes on, but you’ve got to remain alert. Listen out for ‘em.” He took a piece of string that ran down into the grave and tied it to a bell on a stake. “You hear the Dead Ringers, you'll need to act fast.”
“I can handle it, Jeff,” Zach told the older man. He was keen to make an impression, prove his worth. But he could see Jeff didn’t trust him yet, thought he carried the reckless spirit of youth rather than the responsible attitude of the old. It didn’t help that Jeff had been training Zach as his replacement, and after forty years in this graveyard he wasn’t too keen to give it up. Looking around the jagged row of gravestones choked by weeds and chipped by the constant pecking of crows, Zach didn’t understand why Jeff didn’t want to walk away from it. Zach didn’t have a choice: he needed the money. No one else wanted the Graveyard Shift with only the dead as company. It suited someone like Jeff who’d die on his own anyways. By the looks of him, it wouldn’t be long.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jeff continued. “Easy job, listening for the Dead Ringers. But you know how many graves you got here? There’s three hundred at last count. This here makes it three hundred and one.” He spat again on the mound of dirt. “So you’re making your rounds at the dead of night and you hear the jingling of a bell from a Dead Ringer. Now you’re running around, trying to locate where it’s coming from out of over three hundred rotting corpses. And one of them out there is ringing that bell by the string tied to their wrist. As you make your way, tripping over gravestones, another bell starts ringing.”
Zach shuddered. The sun had already sunken low on the horizon, bleeding red across the countryside. The church was a stone tower against the blood sun, sentinel to the dead. And across from the church was the little wooden shack, nestled in among the dead, looking ready to fall at the next gust of wind. That was Jeff’s hut where the old fool put his feet up and slept through the night. Tonight it would be Zach’s hut as he took on the town’s tradition of the Graveyard Shift, a role born from superstition and an unfounded fear of the undead.
“Have the bells ever rung?” Zach asked, staring at a big black crow that settled on a gravestone, pecking at grubs. It chipped away at the brittle stone, looked over at him, and gave a cry, welcoming the coming night. They stared at each other, passing silent words. You stay away from me, old crow, and I won’t bother you. A mist crawled across the ground, swirled around the graves, and Zach resigned himself to a long, cold night.
“When I was a younger man, probably about your age, I first heard the Dead Ringers. I was like you, taking a job on from a man I thought was an old fool. The dead are dead, thought I, they didn’t need a string tied to their wrists to ring a bell as they lay in peace within their coffin. Weren’t gonna suddenly come to life and try to rise. But I’ll never forget the night I heard the Dead Ringers. Every bell in the graveya
rd went and I ain’t ever been so scared as that night.”
Zach stared at Jeff, trying to see the lie in his eyes. Hoping to see a lie. “W-what happened? The dead all woke up at once?” Generations of his family were buried in the graveyard, sleeping right under his feet. His own mother lay there and he shuddered at the thought that she might one day ring a bell just for her son.
Jeff grunted. “I grabbed my gun from the shack, though my hands were shaking real bad. Didn’t think I’d shoot straight if I got a dead ‘un come at me. It was pitch black out there and all I had was a lantern and the light of a full moon to see by. The air was filled by the ringing bells, but I stood firm, stayed at the gate to the graveyard and waited.”
“And?”
“Bells went silent. I guess it was the dead playing with me on my first night. They like to scare the living, play games with them. Stand firm against them, boy. Since then, I never slept on the graveyard shift, always a hand on my gun.” He knelt down by the freshly planted bell, tested for a tight knot, and gave the bell a couple of rings. It clanged through the darkening graveyard, giving a voice to the dead. The crow cried in response, spread its wings, and flew up into a gnarled old tree twisting into the sky. The sun was almost gone, the final light of day clinging to the horizon.
Jeff straightened up, pulled his coat around himself for warmth, and headed for the gate. Zach followed him in silence, wondering what he’d got himself into. Wasn’t like he was smart enough to do anything else. He wasn’t cut out for farming like his dad wanted. He’d laughed when he heard Jefferson was getting too old to watch the dead, joked that he should take it on. The pay was good. You mainly worked from sunset to sunrise, helping tie the strings joining the dead to the bells and digging a grave when needed. The joke turned serious as he thought it over. Grab a few hours’ sleep in the morning and he’d have the day to do what he liked. Even catch a sleep in Jeff’s hut. The dead just wanted to sleep. But as the dark came and the cold set in, Zach had his first second thought.
The Grim Keepers Page 11
