There's Something in the Walls

by Samuel Brower

  . . .

  David sat in a worn Barcalounger that smelled a little like mold. Alice’s efficiency apartment was the exact same layout as his own, and he was surprised to find that they had placed their furniture in nearly the exact same positions throughout the room. The chair in David’s apartment didn’t have a fold-out foot rest though. His legs were currently stretched out on said foot rest, and Alice sat on a wooden chair with chipped paint in front of him. She worked with a large pair of tweezers to dislodge the splinter—which felt like it must be two inches long—from his foot. It hurt like the dickens, but David still found himself worrying about whether his feet were clean, considering how close they were to Alice’s face. He also had an errant, thankful thought that he’d cut his toenails very recently.

  “This is probably a good time to mention I don’t have health insurance, doc,” David said.

  Alice laughed. “It’s okay, I’m not technically a nurse yet, so I can’t legally charge you.”

  “You’re going to school to be a nurse?”

  Alice looked up at him. “Yeah. I thought that’s why you made the joke.” She motioned around the room at several stacks of books, and upon closer inspection David saw that they had medical sounding titles.

  “That’s awesome,” David said. “I assumed you were an actress, living in this building and all. Plus, you look like an actress.”

  Alice smiled. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. Most of the actresses who live here look vapid and strung out.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you look like just any actress. You look like a specific one, I just can’t think of her name right now for some reason. She was the title character in Rosemary’s Baby.”

  “Mia Farrow?”

  David snapped his fingers and pointed. “That’s her. You look like her.”

  “Okay, that’s definitely a compliment. She’s beautiful. But I think your assessment is a little inaccurate.”

  David wanted to disagree, to tell her she was at least as beautiful as Mia Farrow in her prime, if not more so. It was honestly how he felt, but saying it out loud might seem desperate to Alice, or make her think he was schmoozing.

  “Rosemary’s Baby was one of the first horror movies I ever saw,” he said instead. “And I was twelve or so at the time, so I naturally developed a pretty big crush on Mia Farrow. She’s probably a big part of the reason I became such a big fan of the horror genre. I can’t believe I forgot her name.”

  Alice looked up from his foot again and grinned.

  “The Ambien,” they said in unison, and together they laughed.

  David’s laughter turned quickly into an “Ouch!” as Alice finally pulled the splinter free of his flesh and held it up with wide eyes for him to examine. His earlier guess had been wrong. The splinter wasn’t two inches long, it was at least three, and thick as a nail file.

  “Holy shit,” Alice said, turning the bloody shiv back and forth. “You should frame this thing and hang it up on a wall in the lobby. It’s got to be some sort of Perkins Building record. It looks more like a stake somebody used to kill a vampire.” She moved it a little closer to David’s hand. “You should definitely keep it. Use it as inspiration for your next story in that vampire magazine.”

  David was confused by this statement for a moment. Had he told her about what he did for a living and somehow forgotten? And he was almost certain he wouldn’t have mentioned the fact that he was a regular contributor for Scarlet Dreams, a horror magazine that focused mainly on vampire fiction. He rarely even put those stories in his publishing history on cover letters anymore. His cheesy vampire tales were just a way to make a quick buck, but mostly an embarrassment. David cursed himself each time he submitted a new story for not choosing to write under a pseudonym back when he sent his first story to them off. It was possible, he guessed, between the Ambien’s ever present sludge in the gears of his mind and how nervous he was, that he had talked about all of this. But he had no memory of mentioning it, that was for sure. He stared at Alice as he thought about this and she began to giggle.

  “Tommy,” she said. “He loaned me a couple of issues so I could read your stories back when I first asked him about you.”

  David felt his cheeks go hot. Tommy… Of all the stories David had ever published, of all the contributor copies he’d given his goofy neighbor, of course Tommy would choose Scarlet Dreams to give to the girl David was interested in. And why hadn’t the bastard told David that Alice had asked about him?

  The first story David had sent to the magazine had been something he could be proud of. It was rejected, of course, but the editor had attached a note to the rejection complimenting David’s writing style, and asked that he send more. An additional bit of advice told David that if he truly wanted to be published in Scarlet Dreams, his stories needed more gore, more violence, and most importantly—this part had been typed in all caps—more sex! David had become angry at this, and had sat down at his laptop and churned out the bloodiest, most gratuitously violent and sexual story he could muster. The finished product was something that read like a morbid penthouse letter. He didn’t even bother doing a second draft, and attached the story to a reply to his rejection email with the words “Is this one disgusting enough for you?” written in the header.

  The very next day there was a reply from the magazine waiting in his inbox. He’d opened it and found that the story had been accepted, and there was a request for his bank wire information so they could send his one-hundred-fifty-dollar payment, along with another request that he—and this part was, again, in all caps—send more stories just like this one! David had very nearly sent a request to withdraw the story, but the truth was he really needed the money, so he’d let it ride. That was two years ago, and since then there was rarely an issue of Scarlet Dreams published that didn’t feature one of David’s lurid bloodbaths. He received three hundred bucks a pop for them these days…

  “They were…uh…interesting,” Alice said, averting her eyes as she spoke.

  David took a deep breath, blew it out, made a mental note to brutally murder Tommy later, and said meekly, “Those stories aren’t really something I’m proud of. It started out as a sort of joke after they rejected a story I actually liked and was proud of. They said I was a good writer, but they needed more schlock and awe, so I wrote the most ridiculous, over the top, trashy story I could come up with. I meant it to be just a jab at them, revenge for rejecting me, you know? I had no idea they’d end up publishing it.”

  “And all the stories since then?” Alice asked.

  David rubbed at his neck and chuckled a little, “Well, they pay really well.”

  “Sell out,” Alice said with a grin.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  Alice opened a small first aid kit and took out a few implements, then began to apply a salve to his wound. A moment later she began wrapping his foot in gauze.

  “This really should have been stitched up, but I don’t have the stuff here to do it. I’d recommend you go to a hospital, but if you were serious about not having health insurance…” She looked at him, waiting for him to confirm.

  “I really don’t,” he said.

  She gave a quick nod. “So yeah, as long as you keep the bandaging clean and apply antibiotic ointment regularly until it heals, you should be fine. But you’ll have to buy your own stuff, this is all I have.”

  “Thank you,” David said. “I owe you one.”

  Alice waived a hand through the air. “Don’t mention it. It was good practice.”

  David, in a rare moment of bravery that he would later wonder over, said, “No, really, I owe you one. Why don’t you let me take you to dinner sometime? A proper ‘thank you.’”

  Alice raised an eyebrow. “Like a date?”

  What are you doing? David thought. “Yeah, like a date,” David said.

  Alice bit her bottom lip and seemed to think it over for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I could do that. But on one condition.”

  �
�Name it.”

  “You have to promise not to take me to a pumpkin patch, stake me to the ground, ravage me, then drain me of all my life-blood.”

  David laughed weakly and felt a little embarrassed. She was referring to his story in the Halloween special edition of Scarlet Dreams from the previous October.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “That’s a third date activity, minimum.”

  Alice laughed, the sound of it again bringing a smile to David’s face.

  “Saturday night?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Great!”

  An awkward silence followed, and David didn’t want it to stretch too long and besmirch the supernatural charm he had somehow conjured up in the last few minutes, so he stood up and tested his foot. He could put very little weight on it, but the pain had started to fade. Alice watched him, then raised her eyebrows, a silent question. David took a step, made sure he could walk, then nodded at her. He picked up his laptop bag from where he’d placed it beside the Barcalounger and slung it over his shoulder. Alice, taking the sign that he was leaving, placed her hand on his elbow and helped him to the door. He put his hand on the knob.

  “Wait!” Alice said, then hurried back to where they’d been sitting and grabbed the bloody splinter from where she’d placed it on a piece of gauze. She rushed back to David and handed it to him. “You almost forgot your trophy.”

  David smiled and put the splinter in the pocket of his bath robe. Alice opened the door and David went out into the hall.

  “Do you need me to help you to your door?” she asked.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  Alice nodded, but didn’t close the door. She seemed to not trust that David was, in fact, fine, and wanted to watch him walk down the hall to his door just to be safe. So David went. He limped gingerly by Tommy’s door, reminded himself that he needed to murder the man, and made it to his own door a few seconds later. He looked back towards Alice and found her still watching him. He waived at her, then placed a hand on his doorknob. The building suddenly lurched under him as a small tremor shook the place, followed by long, resounding groan that seemed to come from the very walls of the building itself. It was nowhere near as bad as the actual earthquake had been, but David tried to steady himself and put too much weight on his injured foot, which caused him to fall. Alice was at his side again in a moment.

  “Aftershock?” David asked as she helped him up.

  “Yeah, I think,” Alice said. She looked worried. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I am. Although my pride is probably more injured than my foot at this point, with you needing to help me stand and walk and all. I almost hope we get mugged or something on our date so I can rescue you and reestablish my manliness.”

  Alice laughed, but it was forced and sounded more courteous than genuine. His witty charm had once again faded into the recesses of his subconscious, so it seemed…

  “What was that groaning noise after the tremor?” he asked, to take the attention away from his stupid joke.

  “The pipes?” Alice offered.

  “Maybe. Sounded deeper or something though. I’ve never heard that sound before.”

  “The quake probably bent the plumbing even more out of whack. Our toilets and sinks will sing to us in a rich baritone now.”

  David laughed at Alice’s much better joke, and said, “Just another wonderful feature of Chateau Perkins.” He winced at this, and felt his cheeks heat up.

  “You good?” Alice asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks again.”

  Without warning, Alice leaned in and kissed David on the cheek. Her lips were warm and the sensation sent a tickling flutter into his stomach…and lower.

  Goodnight, David,” she said.

  “Goodnight, Alice.”

  She turned and walked back to her door, gave him a final look, and went in. David stood in the hall a moment, touching the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him, then he went into his apartment and shut the door behind him. He walked to the kitchenette and took in the damage. Shards of his dishware were strewn about everywhere. His cabinets, which were made of cheap pressboard, were in a similar state. David hated to leave the mess, but he needed sleep. If, by the grace of God, his meeting wasn’t cancelled tomorrow, he’d need to be well rested. He walked to his futon, grabbed his cell phone from the bed-top, and checked that the alarm was set for the thousandth time, then lay down. Despite the excitement on multiple fronts from the night, David fell asleep relatively easily, the Ambien still present enough in his system. At some point he was startled awake by another aftershock and subsequently another low, long groan, but other than that he slept soundly until daylight.

  . . .

  David woke the next morning not to the sound of his alarm, but to a familiar pounding on his apartment door.

  “Damn it, Tommy,” he muttered, then rolled out of bed.

  The pain in his foot was only a dull thing now, and David found he could walk easier on it. He grabbed his robe, then his cell phone. He activated the screen and found a text message from his agent. David opened it and read it.

  “Shit…” he said, then expelled a sad breath.

  His big meeting had been cancelled. It would be delayed, his agent said, at least until the damages caused by the earthquake to the producer’s offices had been repaired. David wondered why they couldn’t just meet at a coffee shop or restaurant and started to fear that this producer was having second thoughts and just using the earthquake as an excuse… But, the continuous pounding on his door broke that line of thought. Anger flared through David’s ever-darkening mood, and he went to his door and wrenched it open.

  “What?” David barked.

  Tommy stood in the hall, his fist still raised, staring through his thick glasses and greasy hair. He blanched a little at being spoken to so harshly, and didn’t speak.

  David relented, feeling a little guilty, and said in a softer tone, “Sorry, Tommy. I just woke up. What’s up?”

  That’s all it took for Tommy to return to his never-shutting-up self, and he started motioning frantically for David to follow him. “You gotta’ see this, man.” He began to laugh excitedly. “Weird shit going on in my apartment. I’ve already got a hundred theories, but you have to see it. Hurry. Hurry!”

  Even with the extremely disappointing start to the day, David couldn’t help but find Tommy’s giddiness infectious, and he followed his neighbor into the hall.

  “What are you all worked up about?” David asked through a chuckle.

  “Just come on! It’s the earthquake, I think. It must’ve messed up the foundation, and this morning I found something—”

  They reached Tommy’s door, and David thought of something and interrupted. “Speaking of the earthquake, what are you even doing here? I thought you’d be gone until the city came and inspected, what with the imminent collapse of the building and all.”

  “Well, after you and Alice went in, all the other folks caught your bravery and started to follow. It wasn’t long before I was standing out there alone.”

  “And then you caught some bravery too?”

  “Nope. Just got bored, I guess.” Tommy placed a hand on the knob, grinned, and flung the door open in a grandeur motion and with a smile on his face like he was a magician revealing that the girl inside the box had disappeared.

  David looked inside the apartment. He saw a desk, a chair, the cot Tommy somehow slept on every night, and the stacks, upon stacks, upon stacks of books, newspapers, and manila files—which were all filled with information about alien technology, bigfoot, the Bermuda Triangle, cases of people going missing under mysterious circumstances, and every other bat-shit-crazy thing Tommy seemed to be interested in—that occupied each and every other inch of free space inside. In fact, considering the things Tommy chose to occupy his time, David wondered what on Earth could be inside the apartment that Tommy would consider to be “weird shit.” Save for a few knocked over
stacks of what Tommy called his “archives” that hadn’t been righted since the earthquake, David saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “What?” David asked, after Tommy’s expectant smile had gone on too long.

  “The back wall, man!” Tommy laughed. “Don’t you see it?”

  David looked again, strained his eyes, and thought he saw a small crack in the plaster that he didn’t remember being there before.

  “The crack in the wall?” David asked. “What’s weird about that? You should see the one in my ceiling.”

  “No, no, no,” Tommy said, then rushed into his apartment, stepping nimbly over the stacks of his archives. “C’mon!”

  David reluctantly followed, albeit at a slower pace, with his injured foot making it difficult to walk so deftly amongst the clutter. He eventually joined Tommy by the back wall, and at this closer vantage he thought he spotted what Tommy meant. The crack in the wall was a little wider than he’d thought from the doorway, but that wasn’t all. There was some kind of a viscous black slime smeared around it, and dripping a little here and there.

  David twisted his face in disgust and leaned a little closer. “What the fuck is that, Tommy?”

  “I don’t know!” Tommy laughed. “Don’t get too close though, one of my theories is that it’s black mold. That shit’s dangerous.”

  David considered this, and backed away a little.

  “But the slime isn’t even the weirdest part!” Tommy went on. “And this is where my black mold theory falls short. Watch this!” Tommy moved his hand to a place about six inches above the slimy crack in the wall, made a fist, and pounded just like he had on David’s door only a few minutes ago. Almost immediately, the crack widened, pushing out more of the black goo, and stranger still, something inside the crack seemed to move. It even made a slippery, squelching noise.

  David took another step back and looked at Tommy. Tommy was still grinning, but there was something else in his face now too. It looked like he was slightly afraid.

  Tommy pointed at the crack in the wall. “Black mold definitely doesn’t do that,” he said, then pointed at the adjoining wall a few feet away. “And look. It’s over there too. More slime from the cracks. There’s something in there, David. There’s something in the walls!”