Apartment 14F: An Oriental Ghost Story (Uncut)

by Saunders, C. M.

Jerry sat alone in the tiny living room for a long time, turning things over in his mind. He just couldn't bring himself to go back into the bedroom. Not now. Not knowing what he knew.

  Night would be coming soon. If he thought things were bad now, everything would be intensified by the impending darkness. People often said things seem better in the morning. What was said less often was the the opposite also applied.

  He toyed with the idea of spending the night and possibly the foreseeable future at one of the many hotels in the area. But that was a ridiculous idea. It would also be running away. What would granddad say about that? Leaving the problem for someone else to deal with, like Mr. Chris Rowe had presumably done, was a coward's way out. He had to man up.

  There had to be another solution, and after a while, it came to him. He made a phone call.

  “Yin Tao, I have a small problem.”

  “Jelly! What problem?”

  “It's nothing major. But could you possibly come over and do some translating work for me tonight, if you have time?” Jerry admired the way Yin Tao was always so enthusiastic about everything, and prepared to tackle difficulties head on. He just didn't relish the idea of explaining that he thought his apartment was haunted over the phone.

  “Yes, of course,” came the answer. “I glad to help. I come quick. Help you with small problem.”

  Jerry hoped Yin Tao really did come quick. He had an idea. While he had been feverishly scouring the internet for clues and seeking help from blind old fortune-tellers with a penchant for licking people's hands, he'd failed to consider the more accessible options available to him. Only in the last few minutes did he realize that the answers to all his questions probably lay right under his nose the entire time.

  Sometimes, you can't see the wood for the trees.

  True to his word, less than thirty minutes later Yin Tao arrived at Jerry's apartment having cycled from the home he shared with his parents over in the next district. He'd obviously recovered from that afternoon's mildly traumatic events as the broad smile was back. It was good to see, and Jerry had given up trying to work out what the guy was so perennially happy about. It was an endearing quality, which made it even more regrettable that Yin Tao probably wouldn't be smiling quite so much by the time the night was through.

  “What small problem, Teacher?” he asked, still out of breath from the cycle ride. “Translation?”

  “To be perfectly honest, there's no translating work.”

  “Oh? Jelly lie?”

  “Yes. Kind of,” began Jerry, feeling his face redden. “But I do want you to help me with something.” He then proceeded to tell Yin Tao everything. The unexplained disappearance of Chris Rowe, the awful nightmares, the fleeting visions, the strange noises and smells, the mysterious hair he had found in the washbasin, and finally how it all seemed to fit in with what the blind fortune teller had told him that day.

  To erase any doubts that may have been lingering in his mind, Jerry even showed Yin Tao the nest of hair under the bed, and watched his assistant screw up his face in disgust. Then, he outlined his plan.

  “Sure thing Jelly, glad to be help,” said Yin Tao after Jerry had finished explaining what he wanted him to do.

  The young Chinaman seemed completely unperturbed by it all, as if solving mysteries and laying ghosts to rest was an everyday occurrence for him. The practicality of the Chinese was amazing, and in complete contrast to western culture. They didn't mess about, they just did what was asked of them, what was required in any given situation, and didn't quibble or complain about it one iota. All their lives they were taught never to ask questions or nurture ideals above their station, and least of all second-guess a superior. It was a legacy of a long history of authoritarian dictatorship. Even though times were rapidly changing, some things remained deeply ingrained in them and weren't going to change any time soon.

  It lives under your bed.

  Dead, afraid and alone.

  Under your bed...

  Lin Xiao the friendly lift lady was where she always was. In the lift. She looked happy to see Jerry and Yin Tao, and even happier when she learned that their visit was a social call and they didn't actually need to go anywhere. Evidently, the she didn't get too many visitors. Everyone was going somewhere, everyone had somewhere else to be, and not many had either the time nor the inclination to stay and shoot the breeze for a few minutes with an old woman who spent most of her waking life in a steel box. The sad truth was, social status counted for a lot, and not many people wanted to be seen talking to the lowest of the low.

  If only Jerry had thought of this before. Lin Xiao was the eyes and ears of the building, and by her own admission had been for over twenty years. Hardly anyone noticed her, this submissive latter-day servant. She was practically invisible, yet she knew everything. All day she watched the people come and go, listening to their conversations and noting their movements. Any deviation from the daily routine would be immediately noticeable to her. If someone so much as stayed out half an hour longer than usual, she would know about it. She knew intimate details about the lives of every tenant in the building.

  She knew their secrets.

  Yin Tao had been briefed about what Jerry wanted him to do, and as ever the assistant thrust himself into his newly-assigned role with admirable aplomb. He and the old lift lady talked for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes in that noticeable northern-Chinese burr as they all rode the lift up and down together, over and over again. Jerry's scant knowledge of Mandarin allowed him to understand only small segments of the conversation, and make educated guesses at others, but even combined it was nowhere near enough to build up an accurate picture of what the two people were talking about.

  When the lift stopped to collect a passenger, Lin Xiao would fall silent, only to resume the conversation with renewed vigour when the passenger had disembarked. Evidently, discretion was of the utmost importance. Sometimes, she seemed to get over-excited, and spoke so quickly and animatedly that she spluttered and stammered over her words as tiny flecks of spittle flew out of her mouth. Other times, her face would darken and she would fall into a pensive lull, choosing her words carefully. Occasionally, she looked close to tears and had to take time out to compose herself.

  The old lift lady often threw sideways glances at Jerry, and whenever she did, he tried to gauge her emotion and adjust his facial expression accordingly. A set of raised eyebrows seemed to be conveying, 'It was the strangest thing!' while the next look was loaded with embittered sympathy. Jerry had no idea what his assistant was saying to the woman. He didn't care. He'd simply instructed Yin Tao to pick the woman's brain a little bit on his behalf, ask about the history of the building, the previous tenants, including the missing Chris Rowe, latch onto anything remotely resembling a violent death or mysterious disappearance, and gather as much information about it as he possibly could.

  Especially anything strange that had occurred in relation to apartment 14F.

  Quite obviously, one of Yin Tao's loaded questions had struck gold.

  Jerry was beginning to grow impatient, and was anxious to move things along. For some reason, he felt the clock was against him. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

  But he knew he had to let Yin Tao work his magic. However hospitable and welcoming Chinese people are to foreigners, and however kind and genuine they seem, they will always be more comfortable talking to one of their own. Nobody understood the Chinese like the Chinese did. You could live amongst them your entire life and still not appreciate their cultural subtleties. Plus, it helped if you spoke the language, of course.

  So, Jerry bit his tongue and waited.

  After what seemed like an age Yin Tao finally turned to Jerry and said, “Okay Jelly, Yin Tao think he have what you need. Let's go.” With immaculate timing, the lift stopped on the fourteenth floor and the metal door slid open. Without another word, Yin Tao turned on his heels and headed for Jerry's apartment. Jerry smiled, thanked Lin Xiao
in English, and followed.

  When safely inside, Jerry closed the door and invited his assistant to take a seat on the sofa. Then he went to the refrigerator and retrieved two ice-cold bottles of Tsingdao beer. When he came back he took a position next to Yin Tao, who was perched on the very edge of his seat, frowning and chewing his lip. He looked troubled. Before Jerry could ask the young Chinese man what was wrong, he answered the question for him.

  “Teacher, I so sorry. I never notice before...”

  “You never noticed what?” asked Jerry.

  “This apartment, Jelly. This bad luck apartment. Maybe you shouldn't live here no more. Maybe you should living somewhere else. I can help you find better place. I just know today, when woman in lift tell me. Then I see the numbers on the door.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” asked Jerry, perplexed.

  “It Chinese superstition, Jelly. Some people say superstition is just stories. But not in China. Here is real.”

  “Please, get to the point.”

  “Teacher, your apartment number is fourteen.” Yin Tao stopped and looked at Jerry expectantly.

  “So?”

  “Fourteen is one-four together. Not good. Like in West, you have unlucky thirteen number, yes?”

  Jerry nodded impatiently, “Yes, yes, that's right. Thirteen is considered unlucky where I come from. What of it? Are you telling me that the number fourteen is unlucky in China?”

  “Not exactly, Teacher. Things more complicated in China. Things always more complicated here. In China different number mean many different things. Number eight is a very good number, bring luck! But number one, it is bad. Very bad. It stand for loneliness, and number four...” Yin Tao stopped and again looked directly at Jerry, as if willing him to deduce the meaning of the number so he wouldn't have to break it down for him.

  “What does number four mean Yin Tao?” prompted Jerry.

  “Number four is the number of death.”

  “Oh,” Jerry mumbled as another piece of the jigsaw fell into place.

  “Together, one and four mean loneliness and death.”

  It lives under your bed.

  Dead, afraid and alone.

  Under your bed...

  Jerry didn't lose his temper, or even get flustered very often. But just then the red mist descended, and he was powerless to stop it.

  “Who writes this crap?” he asked no one in particular. But as Yin Tao was the only other living soul in the apartment, he justifiably thought the question was directed at him, and he cocked his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Who write what, Jelly?”

  “Do the Chinese have a number for 'taking the piss?'”

  “Excuse me, Teacher Jelly. Forgive me please, I don't understand. You mean you wanna take a piss? You can go. I wait here.”

  The concern in Yin Tao's voice was enough to bring Jerry back to his senses, and he quickly composed himself. “No, I don't want to take a piss. I just want to know what the hell is going on here, that's all.”

  Yin Tao's face cracked into another of his trademark grins. Almost childlike in his mannerisms, the mere opportunity to help someone else seemed to give him genuine pleasure. “Oh, I know what going on on here. It have nothing to do with writing or pissing. Am I right? That woman in lift, she tell me everything.”

  “Then do share,” replied Jerry, taking a large gulp of beer and sitting back cradling the bottle in his lap.

  “That woman know many things, Jelly. You know she work in this building for many years. She have lot of stories. But I think I have the one you wanted.”

  “Wait,” Jerry interrupted. “Did you ask about Chris Rowe, the foreigner who lived in 14F before me?”

  “Yes, yes. I ask. But the woman, she know not a lot of this man. She saw him, yes. And she think he leave. Maybe to home. But she never see him go. He wasn't friendly to her like you are. Before you come, the landlord take lots of stuff away. Stuff like clothes and books that he leave behind here, in the apartment.”

  “Why did he leave his clothes and books behind? Why not take them with him when he left?”

  “Don't know,” Yin Tao said with a shrug.

  Nothing about that made any sense. As Jerry took another large swallow of beer and pondered this latest riddle, Yin Tao derailed his train of thought.

  “The woman not know much about that, but she know a lot about other story, different story, about apartment 14F. Your apartment.”

  “Go on...”

  “She say that once, about eight year ago, a man and a woman live in 14F. The woman was Chinese, but the man was from Western country. Maybe America. He work here in China, like you. That old lady say that she used to talk to them a lot. The man was very handsome and always bought the girl fresh flowers. He was even learn Chinese for her.”

  Fresh flowers.

  That smell.

  “Jelly? You okay?”

  “Yes. Continue.”

  “And the girl, she was very beautiful, and also very cheerful. She always laughing and joke around. Her name was Fang Liu, but the old lady call her Huopo. How you say? Rickname?

  “Nickname.”

  “Okay. Nickname. Huopo mean happy, lively person.”

  “One day the man from Western country leave. He tell the girl he would back to China to marry her. The girl was very sad that he leave, because she love the man very much. She waited for him long time, but he never come back. This make Fang Liu very sad, and she stop being happy, lively person. She not talk so much. Soon she stop going out, and then she wouldn't leave the apartment of 14F. Your apartment.

  “That old lady in the lift became very worry. She used to take food to girl to eat. But after a while, Fang Liu stopped answering door. The neighbours said they heard her crying at night, and sometimes hear screaming. People were saying that she was turn mad. You know? Crazy mad. They talk about it in lift and lift lady listen.”

  “What happened next?”

  “One day, the crying and screaming stopped and everyone forget about the girl. They think that she move away to start new life, quietly and without telling people here because she embarrassed that man leave her. She lose face because of that. You know, face is important in China. Miangzi.”

  Jerry nodded impatiently. Yes, he knew how important 'face' was in China.

  “Before Western guy leave, he pay landlord few month on rent in advance. Said he would be back to renew contract. But he never come. Three or four month pass, and there still no sign of man coming back. Then landlord wanna to rent apartment to other people. You know, apartments in this city are worth much, especially in good location. He couldn't leave empty very long. Need money.”

  “I see.”

  “So one day, he use key and go into apartment. He couldn't find girl. She not here. But all her things were left and there was bad smell. Really bad. Landlord though because it had been closed up for so long during hot summer. Maybe rat had die in it. He hire cleaner to come. That was lift lady. You talk to her. You know? Lin Xiao. She cleaner, too. For landlord. Cleaner lift lady came to clean apartment and then find girl. She lying under bed. Your bed. And she was dead.”

  It lives under your bed.

  Dead, scared and alone.

  Under your bed...

  Jerry was stunned. “What happened to her?”

  “She die.”

  “I guessed that much, Yin Tao. But how did she die?”

  “Oh. Don't know. She very, very thin. Maybe she starve. Maybe she kill myself. Or maybe she die just because of the sadness. How you say in English... of achy breaky heart?

  “That's awful.” Jerry was beginning to feel sick again.

  Yin Tao grabbed Jerry's arm urgently. “Maybe she still there, Jelly. Under the bed. Maybe she never leave. Maybe that what cause problems for you.”

  “Could be.”

  But still Yin Tao wasn't finished...

  “This was long time ago, Jelly. Just when
Beijing become popular with foreigners. Money was coming to the city, lots of money. You know, apartment blocks like this one very expensive, and there are many of them. When outside people come to Beijing to find place to live, they can go anywhere they want. If people know someone die in this building, someone young and beautiful, maybe they don't wanna live here. How you say... publicity bad?

  “It was not easy to rent this apartment to local people, because of the number of it. I tell you just now the number has four in it, means death in China. Do you remember? And Chinese people very superstitious.”

  “Wait,” interrupted Jerry. “If he knew how superstitious Chinese people are, why did the landlord even buy this apartment?”

  Yin Tao sighed, letting his frustration show for the first time. Jerry wasn't sure if the young Chinaman was frustrated with him, or with not being able to articulate his thoughts as smoothly as he would be able to in his native language. “I think he bought it just to rent to foreigners. They don't know or don't care about the numbers one and four. Like you. You not know. Not care. Maybe the company who own the building sold it to him at cheap price, just to get rid of it. When the news come out about the dead girl, then that company didn't want to lose any face.”

  Jerry rolled his eyes and took a long swallow of beer. How many more times would he have to hear that damned expression?

  Fuck 'face.'

  Fuckface?

  Ha! If the situation wasn't so dire, that would even be funny.

  He was beginning to think that this whole 'saving face' thing was simply a way of avoiding liability and never taking responsibility for your actions. The linguistic equivalent of burying your head in the sand and hoping whatever problem you have magically disappears.

  Either way, Jerry put the final pieces of the jigsaw together himself and finished the story on Yin Tao's behalf.

  “So they brushed the whole thing under the carpet. Maybe threw a bribe or two to the right people to keep it out of the newspapers, cleaned out the room, disposed of the poor girl's body somewhere and nobody even knew about it. Except the old woman in the lift.”

  “Yes, Teacher. This is China. These things happen,” was Yin Tao's matter-of-fact reply.