After idling on the sofa a while longer, he felt himself growing tired and stood up. Closing the blinds to shut out the oncoming night, Ulrich ambled over to the pantry and hoisted out the bag of cat food. He measured out a reasonable portion in an empty mug and carried it out into the hall, dumping it into one of the bowls near the stairwell. He repeated the trip with fresh water and then looked over the edge of the stairs cautiously. He hadn't seen the cat since the night before. “Probably napping somewhere,” he grumbled.
Not wanting to get caught in the hall after dark, Ulrich returned to his room and locked the door. For a while he stood before it, pressing his thumb against the deadbolt and making absolutely certain it held firm. He jostled the door, tested it. As expected, it didn't budge. With that, he sought out one of the novels he'd purchased at Books and More and made his way to the bedroom. Without undressing he kicked off his shoes and laid back on the plush bedclothes, switching on the bedside lamp and starting into the first chapter. In a few hours, once Callum had gone, perhaps he'd do his first round.
Then again, maybe he wouldn't.
Maybe, he thought, he'd just trust the locks to the exterior doors and stay in his room all night. He'd been hired to keep an eye on the place, but maybe just an ear would suffice. If something absolutely required his attention, he'd see to it, but otherwise he didn't care to leave his room till morning.
Flipping one of the brittle, yellow pages, Ulrich gave a long, drawn-out yawn.
***
It was nearing one in the morning when Ulrich awoke, the paperback resting against his face. He coughed, throwing it onto the nightstand, and rose up in bed to survey the room. The yellow glow of the lamp cut into his eyes and his head began to throb afresh. Wiping a trail of drool from his chin he ambled into the kitchen and stretched, taking a mouthful of cold water from the faucet. The building seemed still and silent enough, and he began to entertain the idea that he might, on his fourth night in residency, enjoy a night free of horrors.
The black cat darted out from behind the blinds and sat by the door, bringing a paw to it and mewling quietly. Still too groggy to make his rounds, Ulrich massaged his temples and wandered to the window, shoving aside the blinds and taking in the scene outside. The twilit cityscape was darker than he'd expected. Neon signs lit up several spots brilliantly, like multi-colored forest fires, but the larger, abandoned buildings in the vicinity of Exeter House remained little more than dark shells whose finer details had been wholly effaced by shadow. The tall, empty office building seen most clearly from the window of his apartment was a prime example of this, its many windows alight with a touch of moonlight that did little to elucidate the shadow-clotted depths of the place. Here and there he could make out the lines of the bricks on the exterior, certain windows that had been broken over the years. Mostly, though, it was a shell, a dark titan standing grimly in the night and holding back its true nature.
In scanning the side of the building visible to him, going groggily from floor to floor, Ulrich happened upon something in one of the windows that made him take pause. The clouds in the sky were grey and vaguely turbulent, which spoke of an unrealized but oncoming rain. As the clouds surged past the moon, a faint glow filtered down from above and temporarily entered into the dusty windows of the building, and in one of them Ulrich spied, or thought he spied, something like a human form. He took a step back from his window, a fist absentmindedly closing around the edge of his blinds and crumpling them out of shape. Squinting into the night and feeling the last of his sleepiness banished in an instant, he looked into that window, a story or so below his own, and watched as a shambling humanoid figure crept towards it, a hand outstretched as though it meant to walk straight through the glass.
Ulrich recoiled at the sight, doubting, at first, that he was seeing it at all. The influence of the moon was such that it couldn't be denied, however; his glimpse would last only a moment before the light would get cut of by a fresh knot of clouds, but in the time he was given he made out more of the staggering figure than he cared to. Its skin was dark, seeming slightly mottled, and it wore no clothing. What it did wear, however, was something like a black sheet of plastic over its head. No, it wasn't a sheet; it looked like a tight-fitting black garbage bag, and the impressions of two eyes, a nose and a gaping mouth could be parsed in its matte contours. The head shook rapidly and unsteadily, and it was clear, uncomfortably so, that the mouth was moving beneath the obscuring black bag.
Then the figure was gone, ostensibly drawn back into the world of shadow as the clouds overcame the moon and plunged the visible side of the office building into darkness.
It was just as well. Ulrich had seen enough and retreated from his window with an ache in his gut like he'd just swallowed rocks.
There were many explanations he could've come up with for what he'd just seen through the window, but the safer, saner thing to him was to simply try and forget he'd seen anything at all. Pondering over the queer sight wouldn't help him steel his nerve, after all. The black cat at the door was meowing again to be let out into the hall, more loudly this time, doubtless because it wished to feast on the food he'd left out by the stairs.
From outside, in the hallway, Ulrich heard the loud crunching of cat food, the swish-swish sound of a cat's tongue lapping up water from one of the bowls, and the sound of a paw batting bits of food across the floor.
However, Sparkles was inside the apartment.
Ulrich glared at the door. “Rats getting into your food?” he asked the cat. Easing over towards the door, he opened it just a crack and motioned to the hall. “Go scare them off before they eat it all.”
But the cat didn't budge. It stared back up at him, its yellow eyes seeming to telegraph keen interest.
“What's the matter?” he began to ask the animal when, suddenly, another sound erupted in the hall and gave him pause.
It was a bestial yowling, noisome and thoroughly unpleasant to the ear. He paused in the doorway, not wanting to look out into the hall. He hadn't even started his rounds yet. For that matter, he'd almost decided to skip out on them earlier. Hearing the curious noise issuing from the direction of the concrete stairs Ulrich began to wonder if putting off his duties wasn't the wiser decision. No good would come of investigating this sound; he knew it in his bones.
Sheer, persistent curiosity made him do it, though. With all the calm he could muster, Ulrich took a step forward and entered the hall, turning slowly to face the top of the stairs.
Any hope that the noise had been generated by an enthusiastic rat evaporated at once.
There was something perched near the uppermost step beside the silver bowls the cat used, it was true, but it was no feline, even if it assumed a similar crouched posture and had traces of the food smattered across its broad, dripping lips.
It was a human, probably, but one of completely uncharacteristic cast and appearing profoundly deformed. Two beady eyes stared at him, studied him with animal interest. They were set into a pale, craggy face and overshadowed by a prodigious brow. Three, possibly four clusters of long hair erupted from an otherwise bald head, the locks appearing frayed and knotted. The nose was inordinately large and crooked like a beak, and the lips were sufficiently parted to display the jagged remains of long-rotten teeth. It had no chin to speak of, its face terminating in a sudden stub, and it wore not a stitch, the whole of its lengthy, clumsy, malnourished limbs in view.
With one hand still in the food bowl, the figure's long digits worked through the kibble and knocked a few pieces over the lip of the vessel. It leaned forward on the balls of its feet and leered at the investigator, looking as though it might dart towards him on all fours at any moment.
For Ulrich, it was like being faced with a dangerous wild animal. It was man, or something like one, but its movements were undoubtedly animal-like, and if the hate in its beady gaze was taken at face-value, then it hoped to do him harm. Without hesitating he stepped back into his room and shut the door, leaning against
it and throwing the bolt. “What the hell is that thing? What's going on in this goddamned building?” His head was spinning, his vision spotty. One minute he'd been sleeping in bed, having a perfectly pleasant evening and wondering whether this might be the first quiet night of his tenancy.
The next, he'd been staring down some monstrous thing on the other end of the hall.
Gulping, he summoned up what little courage he had and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Whoever it was crouching out there by the stairs, they didn't look right. They looked ill, possibly disabled. He took a shaky breath. It's a squatter. Could be some homeless guy, maybe a disabled person who's wandered in out of the cold, that's all. There's... there's nothing to be afraid of. Stiffen up, you coward. This is what you were brought on to do, after all. Just go out there and talk to him. Escort him from the premises. Maybe the cops could even help him find shelter for the night.
Through the door, Ulrich heard a sudden clatter. The sound of a large creature galloping down the hall on four limbs broke the silence. Before his courage could fail him again, Ulrich opened the door and looked through the hallway, catching only a hint of movement in his periphery. Whatever it was, it disappeared around the other corner, towards the door that led into the alternate stairwell.
And, though his eyes must've misled him, it appeared to have scurried along the ceiling, rather than the floor.
Glancing back and forth along the hallway, Ulrich saw no trace of the man who'd been there only moments before, but heard a shrill laugh issuing from around the corner. He struggled to catch his breath, closing his door very quietly, so as not to be heard, and walked the length of the hall. The doors to the other rooms were all shut and locked; he tested them as he went. What gained his attention instead were the wet hand and footprints that marked the carpet and walls.
And ceiling.
Chapter 20
He didn't leave the apartment again till the light of day came in through the living room window. That quick jaunt down the hall had been enough for him; nothing short of a building fire could have drawn him back into the hallway.
Ulrich was faced with a pressing question, one that he'd avoided answering in the past only out of practicality. He was staying in Exeter House as a favor to an acquaintance, but also because he had no place of his own. With everything that'd happened, however, he had to wonder whether it was worth it. Surely living out of his car, though less comfortable, would be a wiser alternative? Safer, at least. In this old building he was forced to put up with nightly terrors, to see things that he couldn't explain. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since taking up residency and even during his waking hours he felt a burning fear in the back of his mind.
He paced across the rug, hands behind his back. He'd disappoint Jamieson if he left now. And if he left, it was possible that Callum would call him a drunk and tarnish his reputation. If he left now, he wouldn't be able to defend himself against that vicious lie, wouldn't be able to let Jamieson know about everything that was going on in his building. For God's sake, people were going to be living in it soon, would unknowingly subject themselves to the same nightly torment that he was now dealing with.
But did that really matter to him?
Harlan Ulrich was a lot of things, but he wasn't ordinarily an altruist.
Sticking it out, dealing with the frightful, spectral tenants of Exeter House, wasn't in his best interest, and as he cowered in his living room, he couldn't think of a reason to stay and see things through.
Except for one, that is.
He'd dealt with supernatural phenomena once in his life, back at the Sick House. Spirits had reached out to him, and though frightened, he'd done everything in his power to right wrongs and uncover hidden truths so that the dead might rest peacefully. Maybe that was what the spirits in this building were after. Maybe, in their strange way, they were trying to tell him something. He wished they'd go about it more delicately, that they wouldn't resort to frightening tactics at his door, but couldn't rule out the possibility that the apparitions were attempting to get through to him.
He gulped. Maybe the spirits in this building are just trying to contact someone who will listen... Hell, they can reach out to someone else, instead. Maybe Jamieson will be up for a chat with them when he gets back.
Sighing, Ulrich changed into a fresh set of clothes and straightened his hair. Then, stepping from his room, he surveyed the hall. Nothing was out of place, and the prints left behind by the spectral visitor were long since dry. He studied the carpet, the ceiling, but found them unmarked. The cat idled by the stairs and followed behind him as he began to descend. The investigator had half a mind to return to his room and pack everything up, to leave and never look back.
Instead, he decided to try one thing. Just one thing. His patience with the building was as spent as his nerve, but it occurred to him that he might be able to placate the terrible spirits if only he could learn what it was they were after. Though he had virtually nothing to go off of, he did have one hunch.
Veronica Price, the dead runaway reported in the news.
It was a long shot, but the inhaler he'd found in the building had had her surname on it. Though the connection was flimsy, at best, he'd take it as far as he could. He'd visit the library, go through the last weeks' worth of newspapers and learn everything he could about the murders and the victims who'd been so far identified. If his research could link Veronica to Exeter House more concretely, then he'd be able to move forward with a proper investigation.
There was a distinct possibility, too, that he'd just waste his damn time running this errand.
He paused near the main entrance, peering up the stairs and hesitating.
Why bother? he asked himself. What do you stand to gain?
Sheer curiosity was fuel enough for him. Sitting idle or running from the old building might bring the terror to an end, but it would do nothing to answer the numerous questions bubbling under his lid.
After a few moments, he decided to press on, marching out into the cool morning. Though it might just be a fool's errand, it beat the hell out of hanging around inside all day.
***
The downtown library was a twenty minute walk from Exeter House, and was very nearly empty when he arrived. A kindly librarian wished him a good morning as he stormed in, panting, and directed him to the room which housed their collection of newspapers. Ulrich wasted no time, grabbing up every local paper on the shelf and checking the dates. He had papers going back two weeks, before the story of the murders had even broken. With the stack of papers in hand, he rushed over to the computer area and stationed himself in a corner behind a black desktop computer. If the newspapers didn't give him what he was looking for, he'd take his search online.
Ulrich spread the papers out on his desk by date and quickly singled out all of the articles detailing the murders. It was a relatively simple task, since the story had been front-page material since the day it broke. Arranging them chronologically, he began to skim.
Ten bodies had been found in the Maumee River, washed up on the shore in staggered positions. All of them were found in black, leather bags, which had been weighed down with bricks and rocks. A big storm had apparently dredged the bodies up from the riverbed, and a local expert claimed that the degradation was such that they might've been underwater for up to a month before surfacing. Authorities were unsure whether more would turn up, or who the culprit was. How the victims had died was also uncertain at this time.
Ulrich flipped through the next few papers, finding only variations on the same information. Precious little progress was made in the following several days, with the next big break being the identification of Veronica's body. There was nothing in that article he hadn't already known, but Ulrich read it again, looking at the the photo of the girl afresh and trying to draw some parallel between her and the dreadful specter he'd encountered in the halls of Exeter House.
Unnerved by the reminiscence and annoyed at the lack of new informatio
n, he tossed the old papers aside and began scanning the newest one, dated from just that morning. Reading through the headlines Ulrich was becoming increasingly exasperated and began to consider other avenues of attack on the matter. Perhaps he could get in touch with the bereaved, ask her father whether Veronica was an asthmatic. It would be in poor taste, maybe, but if he could only figure out whether the red inhaler in fact belonged to her, then he could--
Ulrich stopped dead in his reading. A photograph at the bottom of the front page nearly knocked him out of his seat. Leaning over the paper, Ulrich began to read the story more carefully.
Apparently another body had been identified in the last twenty-four hours, this one being a dangerous psychiatric patient who'd escaped from his care facility months ago. The patient, Tobias Perez, was said to harbor violent tendencies, and had attacked a number of facility staff before staging an escape one night in Spring. He hadn't been seen since. Ulrich remembered hearing about an escaped mental patient some months back, but hadn't paid a whole lot of attention to the story at the time.
Studying the photograph of the deceased patient, however, Ulrich was riveted.
The general facial features of this Tobias Perez were nearly point for point those of the terrifying thing he'd seen dashing across the ceiling the night before. Though appearing a good deal less grotesque in the photograph, there was more than just a passing resemblance. The size of the brow, the beady eyes. There could be no doubt; Ulrich had seen Tobias in the hallway, crouching at the top of the stairs.
Glancing around, Ulrich carefully tore the article out of the newspaper and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, leaving the disorderly heap of papers on the desk, he rushed out of the library and hit the streets.
He had to take this to the police.
Chapter 21
He didn't know what he'd say when he got there, if there was any way he could discuss the matter without sounding out of his mind, but he was going to try.
Medicine For The Dead: An Occult Thriller (The Ulrich Files Book 2) Page 11