by K. R. Rowe
Once Allie turned eighteen, they abandoned her, leaving only a note.
“You’re not our problem anymore. God will deal with you.”
Having no other relatives, she’d often imagine her real parents were here among the artists and performers, and all she had to do was find them.
Just outside the restaurant doors, an artist sat behind a table of colorful hand painted cat sculptures. Allie picked one up and held it. The wooden sculpture felt soft and comfortable in her hand. Unexplained warmth surrounded her, as though the colors were floating from the sculpture and wrapping around her. She sighed, wishing her life had always felt this good. She glanced at Phillip and smiled, realizing he’d been watching her.
Maybe this vibrant little feline was a harbinger of good things to come, and maybe Phillip was the color missing from her life. She pushed the thought out of her head when the hostess called their name. Much too soon to be thinking this way. Allie placed the cat on the table and dragged her eyes away from it. Phillip took her hand, replacing the sculpture’s warmth with his own and led her into the restaurant.
“Their steaks are the best in town,” Phillip said, taking a seat and reining in her wandering thoughts.
“I love steak,” Allie said over her rumbling stomach, hoping he wouldn’t hear it.
Despite her size she could out eat most men, and hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself by gobbling her food like a hog. Relieved to be away from her oppressive neighborhood, Allie relaxed and took in the restaurant’s eclectic interior. Mortar blobs oozed from the jagged brick walls. She touched the wall half expecting her finger to sink into wet cement, but it was rock hard. Despite the rough walls, the booths were new with stainless steel tables, giving the room an edgy ambience. The waiter appeared, popping the cork on a bottle of wine and pouring Allie a glass.
Phillip shook his head, declining. “Just water for me, please.” Once the waiter had gone he took a drink, and lowered his voice. “They say this place is haunted.”
A chill rippled down Allie’s spine and she shivered.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess ghost stories aren’t the best choice with everything that’s been going on.”
“Oh I’m fine, just felt a little breeze,” she said, displaying her sweetest smile to put him at ease. “I’d love to hear a good scary story.”
He leaned forward to pull off his jacket. “Here, if you’re cold, you can have my—”
“Oh no, the temperature is perfect, everything’s perfect.”
“Okay, but if you get cold, it’s yours.” He pushed his fingers through his hair and his eyes sparkled as he began his tale. “This was once a knitting mill. Two of the workers hated one another. They pulled mean spiteful pranks on each other—dangerous stuff, until one day, one of the men went too far, and they got into a fight.”
Taking her third sip of wine, she gazed at his lips while he spoke. I wonder if they are as soft as they look.
“During the fight, one of the men shoved the other into the machinery, and he got wrapped up in the yarn.”
Pay attention. Did he just say something about yarn?
“The machine kept running, and the yarn strangled the man to death.”
Allie blinked, his story catching her attention and sinking in. This one would be great to tell Zoe.
Phillip went on. “The second man disappeared before the police could pick him up.”
“Did he get away?”
“No, not really. They found his body back there,” Phillip nodded toward the kitchen area. “Hanging from the rafters.”
“Oh, that gives me the creeps. Was it because he felt guilty for what happened?”
“I’ve heard several stories,” Phillip said. “Some say he was overwhelmed with guilt. Some say he didn’t want to spend his life in jail, and others, well ...”
Allie sat wide eyed, engulfed in the story. “Did the ghost of the other guy kill him?”
Phillip chuckled. “I love the way you think. I haven’t heard that one yet, but that would be a wicked way to die.”
“Yeah! Imagine being killed by a ghost.” Allie finished her wine and dabbed at her lips with her napkin, trying her best to be ladylike. “What was the other reason?”
“Well, some people say that he wasn’t finished, and he hated the other guy so much he wanted to follow him to hell.”
“And keep fighting?”
“Exactly. And some say they’re still going at it in the afterlife.”
“An eternal battle?”
“Yup, but they didn’t make it quite as far as hell. They’re still here. They say their spirits move about through the heating and air ducts,” Phillip went on. “The workers have seen things here. I saw an interview with the cook on one of those ghost hunter shows. He said that he used to come in, open the place and turn on the lights, until something punched him in the face—broke his nose. Now, he says he won’t come anywhere near this place until the owner is here with the lights on.”
Allie shivered again, but this time, it definitely wasn’t a chill.
Phillip glanced around the restaurant. “Will you excuse me for a minute,” he said. “I need to go wash up before dinner gets here.”
“Sure.” A mischievous grin parted her lips. “Go ahead and scare me and then leave me alone in a haunted factory.”
Phillip winked. “It’s all a part of my plan—scare you so you’ll need protection and then I can have my way with you later.”
Allie thought about it for a second. “I think I kind of like that plan.”
“In that case, I might tell you a few more stories when I get back,” Phillip said, chuckling. “I’ll only be a few minutes though.”
“Take your time.” And walk slow, Allie thought, admiring his backside as he stood and walked away. She couldn’t believe her luck. Phillip was good looking, sweet, funny, and interested in her. After he disappeared around the corner, her gaze wandered across the restaurant again and settled on an air vent near the ceiling across the room. Her thoughts strayed to the men who had died here, and she wondered if evil spirits did exist. She’d read about hurt, upset, and just plain mean human spirits, but then there were many who weren’t human at all.
Those were the dangerous ones.
Sensing movement, she focused on the intense black void behind the grate. She watched as a dark smoky mist flowed from the stainless steel louvers, oozing around the aperture’s edges, and down the rough brick wall. The man sitting below the air vent coughed, his face turning red before he went silent and swiveled his head in her direction. Her eyes locked on his every movement. He sat static, face void of any distinguishable features, his flat empty eye sockets staring her way. His mouth unhinged, belching black sprays of mist through his wide grotesque orifice. Allie scooted into the booth’s corner, pressing her back against the wall, searching the room for a route to escape.
Her body shook, and her burning eyes forced her to blink. She rubbed them but when she looked again, things had returned to normal. The man below the vent was holding an intimate conversation with the woman at his table. Others in the restaurant were undisturbed and going about their dinner. She took a deep breath, expecting a rancid stench, but the only odor was of grilling steak.
Her stomach rumbled.
I must be losing my mind.
She wondered if she should mention to Phillip what happened the night before. If she questioned herself, what would he think? She needed another opinion and she hoped it wouldn’t scare him away.
Her mind began to wander when he hadn’t returned, but before her thoughts roamed to his brutal death by poltergeists in the men’s room, he appeared, flashing a perfect smile.
“I thought you’d been stolen by the ghosts,” Allie said, half teasing.
“Sorry, there was a line, but great timing.” He looked up and grinned as their server slid two thick juicy T-bones in front of them.
Allie’s stomach rumbled again, demanding food, and she resisted the urge to hack
off a big chunk of meat and cram it into her mouth. She sat, knife poised above her steak when a flash of movement caught her eye. She looked up and stared over Phillip’s shoulder at the heating and air duct.
He looked over his shoulder and back to Allie. “Is everything okay?”
For the moment, the black behind the grate remained static, and the vent remained only a vent.
“Do you believe in the paranormal?”
* * *
The evanescent night gave way to a glowing apricot horizon. Yellow-orange light painted the eastern sky, glinting from Phillip’s car hood, and watering his eyes. He squinted into the early morning sun. Fatigue slowed his body and lack of sleep scratched behind his swollen lids, but he felt better than he had in a long time. Work wouldn’t wait, and his briefing at eight thirty sharp required his attendance. He needed to get to his place and get changed. He couldn’t go to work in the same clothes he’d worn last night. Glancing down at his phone, he picked it up and thought about calling Allie, but he’d just left her apartment and she would probably think he was some kind of obsessive weirdo. He couldn’t help it; he wanted to hear her voice again.
Checking his reflection in the rearview mirror, he set his jaw in a serious expression, trying to get rid of the goofy smile plastered across his face, but it was almost impossible. It kept coming back.
He hadn’t planned on staying the night, it just happened. Something drew him to her. This feeling engulfed him, unlike anything he’d felt before, not even with Claire. He never thought he would feel anything again, much less something so strong. With Allie, he found comfort and he thought, maybe she could be the one. After dinner, he had stood at her apartment door for what felt like forever, taking in every feature of her gorgeous face.
“Did you know you’re beautiful?” he’d asked.
Unable to stop his words, they fell from his mouth without warning. She smiled and looked away, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. She was close to perfect and he resisted the urge to pull her inside, take her in his arms, and make love to her right there behind the door. Instead, he leaned against the wall and reached into his jacket pocket.
“For you.”
Surprise lit her face, the reflection of the small painted cat sculpture turning her eyes from green to multiple shades of blue, purple, and red. She reached up and pulled him to her, kissing him on the cheek.
“Thank you, it’s beautiful.”
Her soft breathless words sent a tingle rolling into his groin. Leaning forward, he slid his thumb across her cheek, pulled her closer and touched his lips to hers. They were soft and warm, just as he imagined. She accepted his kiss, and her hungry response urged him further. He pressed her against the door, one hand sliding into her hair, pulling her closer, the other wrapping around her waist, pulling her hips against his growing need.
He ached for her.
Breathing her in, he let her sweet scent surround him and replace the musty smell from the hallway carpet. The sound of his hot heavy breath muted all other sounds, except the soft jingle of her door keys. The door latch clicked.
“Would you like to come in?” she whispered between his roving lips.
Deepening the kiss, his response was a growl into her mouth.
They’d made love for hours until the heat in the apartment forced him from her arms to try to repair her air conditioner. His handyman skills were average at best, and he had no luck, the compressor had given out.
“Give it a whack,” she said.
He gave it a hard swift rap, and it rattled and groaned for a few seconds before spewing a stream of burning, oil scented air. With a lot of coaxing, and a promise to come back to bed, he finally convinced her to let him open the window. The curtains billowed in the crisp night air, cooling his naked skin. At first he hadn’t noticed much about her apartment, his focus on her. But now, he had the opportunity to take in his surroundings.
Dark morbid paintings decorated her wall; their black and gray scenes depicting torture, and being trapped in a place one could only interpret as hell. Bludgeoned bodies littered each scene, most of them mutilated or dismembered. Moving to look closer, he noticed the artist’s name.
Allie Kent
He felt her presence beside him. “They’re recreations. The originals were destroyed.”
“What happened?”
“A fire.”
“These are awesome,” he said. “I can only imagine what the originals were like.”
Although curiosity picked at the back of his mind, he decided not to press further. If she wanted to tell him what happened, she would, but in her own time. Something odd caught his attention, and he padded to the small kitchenette sunk into an alcove. The wiring looked strange, and he inspected a two burner electric hot plate sitting atop an old unused wooden stove. His gaze followed a dangling electric cord down the side of the woodstove and settled on the live, uncovered outlet nailed into the wall. He knelt by the stove for a better look.
“Baby, be careful with this,” he said. “I’ll bring up some things to cover it next time I’m here.”
Baby?
The endearment was out before he realized, feeling natural, like they’d been together forever. He cringed, waiting for her to protest, but when he glanced up her smile told him everything he needed to know.
The apartment was even smaller than he first realized. The only other room was the bathroom, and he wondered if it was once a closet, as he saw no storage area in the room other than an old pine chifforobe. Beneath the coffee table, in the middle of the room, large dark stains covered the floor. Something had soaked into the wood, and even though he could tell someone cleaned it, the darkened planks had not been replaced and the stains showed through the polish.
He’d patrolled this area often when he first started the force, and came to know it quite well. This particular apartment building had been abandoned for more than twenty years until a slum lord bought it, installed electricity and plumbing, but did little else. Not bothering to snake the wires through the walls, the underpaid electricians ran wire along the baseboards through conduit.
Annoyed at their disregard for safety, Phillip stood, hitting his head on a naked bulb hanging at the end a frayed electrical cord. Light spun in circles around the room and he grabbed the bulb, before the motion made him nauseous. They’d not even bothered to replace the old woodstove and Phillip wondered how this place had ever passed code. Unfortunately, money talked.
He’d heard rumors about this building; some he thought were just urban legend, but looking around at the place, he wondered if some of it rang true. The place was creepy, and he thought back to the things Allie had told him at the restaurant; moving shadows, a God-awful stench, a crazy old lady, and he wondered if she’d heard the stories. He didn’t have time to think much about it, before the heat of her breasts pressed against his back and her arms circled his waist. His thoughts shifted, abandoning the spirit world, and refocused on warm, soft, earthly pleasures.
The morning had come much too soon and he kissed her goodbye, not wanting to go. He’d lingered, holding her close, hoping the day would pass quickly, so he could see her again. As he left, a strange sensation prickled his skin when he neared the old woman’s door, so he paused and decided to pay her a visit.
Accustomed to knocking to get attention, he went easy this time. She was a little old lady, not the Russian Mafia and he was here as Allie’s friend, not as law enforcement. Letting his knuckles tap against the wood, he rocked from his heels to his toes, trying to wake up and get his blood flowing while he waited for an answer. A yawn escaped and he wanted to lay his forehead against the door and close his eyes. He yawned again, and still no one answered. Maybe he’d knocked too lightly, so he raised his fist and knocked louder.
The door swung open and a young woman with a baby on her hip stood in the doorway. She stared at him, without speaking.
“I’m sorry, it’s early but may I speak with—”
“You have the wrong
apartment.”
Phillip was taken aback. The woman’s response sounded cold and mechanical. Hoping to make her more comfortable, Phillip dug into his pocket and produced his badge. The woman stared at him, her eyes blank, and the baby on her hip didn’t move. Is it real? He looked closer, believing the child to be a doll but he could have sworn he saw the thing blink. Craning his neck, he peered around the woman, seeing nothing but pitch black behind her. A slight draft flowed from inside, carrying a foul odor.
Phillip coughed, clearing the stench from his throat before he spoke again. “I’m looking for an elderly woman—”
“She doesn’t live here.”
He flinched at her blunt interruption. This woman was odd and something about her made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Not often in his police work did he get creeped out—he saw it all. Although her face appeared young, deep lines creased the corners of her eyes. Like a clear mask, her skin appeared smooth on the surface, but underneath, withered from age. Her bright blue eye held his gaze, but a cataract marbled the other with gray.
She’s too young for a cataract. “Okay ma’am. Thank you for your time.”
The door slammed in his face, blasting the rancid stench through his hair. He stood rooted in place for a moment, surprised by the abrupt end to the conversation, imagining the woman behind the door morphing into some crazy, old cackling, hag. He envisioned her peeling off her mask, revealing the true Mrs. Michaels. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his weird thoughts. Shape shifters didn’t exist, but the laughter behind the door added fuel to his already churning imagination. It wasn’t the musical laugh of a young woman, but an old husky, raspy sound.
