by Simon Rosser
Amber entered the apartment and switched the hall light on. She stood there for a while listening for any additional sounds. Apart from the occasional creak from the central heating pipes, there was nothing.
Margaret’s corridor walls were adorned with oil paintings of London street scenes, and a few still life paintings of bowls of fruit. There was one painting, half way along the corridor, of an attractive young woman, wearing a blue blouse. It bore no resemblance to the old lady Amber knew, but she guessed it may well be Margaret’s portrait. If so, it had to be fifty years old at least.
Amber continued along the corridor towards the first door on the right, which led to the bathroom. She looked inside. The bathroom suite was an old-fashioned pink colour. Apart from the usual items you’d expect to find in the bathroom, the room was empty. A rhythmical tap…tap…tap emanated from the bath as a steady drip of water leaked from the shower head.
Amber continued along the corridor to the kitchen, and the source of the white noise. The large kitchen/diner had been recently modernised, and had evidently been fitted out for someone who really enjoyed cooking. There was a large central, square, island set in the middle of the room, which matched the main kitchen furniture. All the worktops were black granite, which nicely set off the cream kitchen units beneath. The entire setup was complimented by nicely polished, beige marble, floor tiles. It felt like you were standing inside a Spanish villa, not the apartment of an old lady. The only evidence that the kitchen had been used recently was a half-squeezed lemon, sitting in a small bowl, on the central island worktop. A couple of Jacobs Crackers were resting on the worktop next to it.
Amber found the source of the white noise. An old-fashioned radio was sitting on top of the worktop, by the sink. She walked over to it and twisted the dial left and right, but was unable to find a station to tune into; no surprise there. She turned the radio off.
On the kitchen windowsill, she noticed the remnants of what had been some variety of potted plant. The plant was in the same state as the ones elsewhere in the complex, completely dried out, and almost burnt. A few small piles of dust were all that was left of its leaves and flowers. A bowl of shrivelled greying fruit sat next to the radio, just remnants of the brightly coloured oranges and apples that, Amber guessed, had been there yesterday.
Amber backed out of the kitchen and checked the bedrooms. Both rooms appeared very old fashioned, floral wallpaper and dark patterned carpets in both. There were old antique wooden beds in each room, together with side tables and full dressing tables with large oval mirrors. The apartment block had only been built ten years ago so, Amber figured, Margaret must have brought all the old furnishings from her previous home.
The end of the corridor opened up into a large semi-circular lounge, which looked out over the Thames, the same view that Amber’s uncle’s apartment had. The curtains were open and the diffused grey afternoon light was just bright enough to penetrate into the room.
The walls of the lounge were decorated with floral wallpaper and underfoot, a thick luxurious cream carpet absorbed Amber’s trainers as she stepped into the room.
There were two, light green, two-seater sofas and an armchair, arranged around a 50 inch plasma TV. Amber found it slightly amusing that no matter how much antique stuff elderly people had in their houses, they’d usually managed to upgrade their television to a modern plasma version, and Margaret was no exception. As Amber stood in the door threshold, she could just about make out the sound of another explosion rumbling across London, somewhere in the distance.
She entered the room. There was no sign of Margaret. Next to the armchair was a nest of wooden tables and a magazine rack. On top of the largest table was a glass, which was empty apart from a shrivelled piece of lemon at the bottom. A half knitted garment and pair of knitting needles rested in the magazine rack. Then, on the opposite sofa, Amber noticed that one of the green cushions looked darker than the rest. She went over to inspect it, recoiling in horror, when she realised she was looking at a pile of grey ash and bone fragments.
Something in the pile of ash glinted in the dull light. Amber leaned over and inspected what she guessed were the remains of Margaret – who for some reason, just like Bernie, had appeared to have simply spontaneously combusted. The objects were a gold heart pendant and two diamond rings, which were nestling in the centre of the ash mound.
Horrified by the sight, Amber backed slowly out of the lounge, banging into a pedestal which had an ornamental vase on top of it. The pedestal toppled over, sending the Chinese-style jade and blue painted vase, which was on top of it, crashing to the floor. It smashed on the carpet with a dull pop.
“Shit!” Amber screamed, as she fled from Margaret’s apartment, and back into her own. She bolted the door and ran through into the lounge and fell onto the sofa, placed her head in her hands, and began to cry.
A sudden knock on her apartment door caused her to look up and stop crying. Was she hearing things? She remained seated, her torso now twisted towards the hallway that led to the apartment’s door.
Thud...thud…thud!
Amber’s heart started to race as she briskly walked along the hallway to the main door. She reached it, and slid the small disk covering the spyhole across, and placed her right eye against the hole. Standing outside, in the corridor, was Bernie!
Amber stared at him through the spy hole. Bernie’s face was impassive and he was minus his spectacles, but he had his uniform on. What the hell was going on? She’d seen what she’d assumed had been Bernie’s remains on the floor, in the gents; his spectacles had been resting on top. Am I going completely nuts?
Now Bernie was standing in the corridor outside her door, perfectly alive! Something did look a little odd about him, however. She continued scrutinising him, but was unable to fathom what it was that was out of place.
He knocked on the door again, but Amber didn’t see his arms move. He was standing quite close to the door though, and she only had a limited view of him.
What was she thinking? Bernie was clearly ok and, standing in the corridor, knocking the door. Maybe he knew what the hell was going on. “Hang on, Bernie!” Amber shouted, as she proceeded to unbolt the door.
CHAPTER 9
AMBER YANKED THE two dead bolts back, and opened the door. “Bernie, are you ok? I thought you were dead!”
Bernie just stood there, swaying ever so slightly back and forth, as if he was a little bit drunk. He just stared at her, his expression vacant, apart from a slight smile that slowly began to form.
Amber started to feel nauseous and also thirsty, extremely thirsty. She felt her throat drying out rapidly, as she stood looking at the security guard. Her head also began to throb, and her eyes, suddenly, felt gritty.
“P-l-e-a-s-e, come with us,” Bernie said, in a monotone voice, which sounded like he was in some kind of a trance.
“Bernie? What are you talking about? What the hell is going on?” Amber said, stepping back from the door.
As she did, she noticed a translucent, watery, tube-like tendril extend from Bernie’s stomach, which then attempted to latch on to her.
“Bernie, what the fuck is that? Jesus,” Amber said, stumbling back into the apartment. She reached for the door to try and slam it in the guard’s face, but she was too late, he’d already moved into the hallway. It was then she noticed that Bernie didn’t actually have any legs. Where his legs should be, was a solid column, which formed into a thick tube at the bottom, and extended out into the corridor behind him.
The entire structure wobbled, like it was made from clear jelly…or water.
Amber turned and ran for the lounge, trying to put some space between her and the Bernie-thing, but she ended up having to suddenly stop and turn to the right to try and avoid the entity, which had somehow moved swiftly along the corridor, and was now swaying in front of her, grinning inanely.
Amber skidded on the central rug, that covered the wooden floor, as she tried to abruptly stop and change direc
tion but, instead, she collided with the smoked glass coffee table and fell over, as she tried to avoid hitting the Bernie-thing.
As she scrambled to get back up, the long tube still extending from Bernie’s midriff, started whipping around in front of her, trying to latch onto some part of her body. It managed to connect with her arm, but Amber yanked her arm away, detaching the sucker like device that had momentarily connected with her skin. Liquid, which appeared to be water, sprayed out from the tube, as she pulled her arm free.
“Jesus Christ!” she screamed, as she got to her feet. She picked up the nearest object she could find, which was her uncle’s heavy hardback book about the life of U.S. President, JF Kennedy, which was standing on the side table against the wall to her left, and threw it at the swaying entity standing in front of her. The book simply passed through the gelatinous mass, landing with a wet thud on the wooden floor behind it.
The Bernie-thing started moving towards her once again, supported by a thick tube-like structure of clear liquid, which curved around into the hallway, and back out into the corridor.
Now, in a complete state of panic, Amber was at a loss over what to do. The tube extending from Bernie’s stomach whipped around, this time latching onto her leg, but thankfully it was unable to attach to her skin through her jeans.
Amber backed up against the wall, wondering whether she could get to the second bedroom, without the Bernie-thing blocking her. If she could, she had the option of getting out through the window onto the small roof area, which provided access to a fire escape. She moved slowly sideways, her back up against the wall. As she moved along the wall, her right shoulder moved over something hard. It was the keypad for her uncle’s panic room.
The Bernie-thing moved around in an arc, blocking her route to the bedrooms, almost as if it had sensed her intentions. “Please, come with us A-m-b-e-r,” it said, in a gurgling robotic-like voice, which sounded a little like the real Bernie she knew.
It knows my name?! A column of ice raced up Amber’s spine as she stared at the thing, swaying gently a few feet in front of her. Amber’s head started to pound badly, as if she’d just woken up after a night of drinking. Her thirst was also becoming unbearable.
She reached up with her left arm and, glanced as discreetly as possible, at the keypad for the panic room door fixed to the wall. Then, very slowly, she tapped in the code to open the door.
The door whooshed open, and Amber ran into the secure room, but before the door had a chance to fully slide closed, the Bernie-thing also entered. The tube of liquid that had been supporting it was severed by the action of the door closing, leaving a large watery pool on the panic room’s concrete floor.
The entity swayed from side to side, its arms extended as if to steady itself, whilst at the same time, the four foot long tube that had extended from its stomach quickly retracted back in. The inane grin on the thing’s face remained, as the column supporting it suddenly morphed into two legs, each one seemingly wearing the blue trousers of Bernie’s uniform.
“This can’t be happening,” Amber muttered, before screaming in absolute terror. Flashes of her life flashed before her eyes, as she backed further into the room. How could what she was witnessing even be possible? Let alone happening.
The entity continued moving towards her, the tube once again slowly extending from its abdomen, out towards her face.
Whatever the thing was, it appeared to be moving slower, and was perhaps weaker, now that it wasn’t connected to the main column of liquid.
Amber’s movement backwards was arrested by a stack of her uncle’s stored supplies. She felt behind her. It wasn’t the mineral water, but something soft, like bags of sugar. She pulled at the cellophane wrapping around the pack and yanked one of the bags free. It was a standard 500g bag of self-raising flour. The bag accidently split near the top as she yanked it free of the 12-pack carton it was in. At a complete loss to know what to do, she tossed the split bag at the Bernie-thing.
To her amazement, when the ruptured bag of flour hit the entity, it didn’t pass through it like the book had done, but the loose flour that flew out of the split actually appeared to absorb some of the liquid the Bernie-thing was made from, taking a chunk from the thing’s face as it did. Gooey lumps of moisture-laden flour hit the panic room’s steel door and fell to the floor, looking almost as if they were ready to knead.
Amber looked on, temporarily stunned by what she’d just seen. The Bernie-thing continued moving towards her, now looking more freakish than it had done seconds earlier. Half of its face was missing. Slowly, in front of her eyes, liquid from the entity’s body rose up and filled the chunks that had been displaced by the dry flour.
Amber spun around on the spot and yanked out two more bags of flour from the pack, split the paper with her thumb nail, and tossed the ripped bags at the entity, now just two feet in front of her.
The flour passed through the thing, absorbing the liquid that it appeared to be made from as it did; taking more of the entity with it, this time, almost all of the Bernie-thing’s head was absorbed by the flour.
“Jesus, I can’t believe this,” Amber panted, as she reached for two more bags. She repeated the procedure, this time, emptying the bags over the entity. With every particle of flour that hit, the liquid creating the entity was absorbed.
Five bags of flour later, all that was left of the Bernie- thing, was a mound of gooey flour on the panic room’s concrete floor.
Amber stared at the mess, her mouth hanging open, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Had it not been for her uncle’s decision to store essential items in the room, water, beans and flour, she’d be dead.
Now that the liquid entity was gone, Amber started feeling better again. She no longer felt nauseous or quite so thirsty, and her headache had subsided. How very weird, she thought.
She placed her ear against the panic room door and listened. There was nothing unusual that she could determine, from the lack of sound through the door. She turned and grabbed the last two bags of flour from the carton and tapped the code into the keypad to open the door.
The panic room door whooshed open, revealing an empty lounge, which looked like it had when she’d raced into the panic room. There was no sign of the creature, apart from a wet strip, around three-foot wide, which snaked across the wooden floor, and out into the corridor.
Amber cautiously stepped out of the room and crept slowly towards the corridor. The JFK book was still on the floor where it had landed, only now it was wet and slightly damaged.
The carpet in the hallway was sodden, and Amber squelched along it to the apartment door, which was still ajar. She reached the door and, without looking out into the main hallway, quietly closed it, quickly sliding the two dead bolts into their brackets once again.
Her heart racing, she ran back into the lounge and quickly checked all the rooms inside the apartment to make sure the windows were closed, and locked.
Happy the apartment seemed fairly secure; she walked over to the main lounge window and looked out over the Thames again. The scene outside hadn’t changed. There was no sign of any living thing; no people, birds or other animals.
Amber now felt utterly alone, and felt a fear that she had never before experienced. It was the kind of fear that she imagined an ancient caveman might have had; when being hunted by a hungry wild animal. She felt a combination of helplessness and terror.
The glass in the window suddenly vibrated as another distant rumble echoed across the city, before quickly dying out. The explosions were occurring on a fairly frequent basis. What the hell could be causing them? Amber wondered.
One thing was for sure, she thought, as she looked out of the window at the desolate cityscape, was that she had to get out of the apartment as soon as possible. Whatever had attacked her, could come back, and she didn’t want to hang about to try and fight it off again.
CHAPTER 10
A FEW HOURS had passed since the Bernie thing had entered the ap
artment and attacked her. Amber had gone to check the apartment door at least twenty times since, to look out through the spy hole, and to listen for any unusual sounds. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen or heard anything, apart from the odd clanking of the building’s central heating pipes.
The time was now approaching 8 p.m. and Amber had given up all hope of trying to leave the apartment today, she was just too freaked out to even venture out into the corridor, let alone go outside the building.
Amber paced back along the hallway, from one of her numerous trips to check the front door, and headed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. At least the caffeine would prevent her from falling asleep too early. She went to fill the kettle, but nothing came out of the tap. Instead, a loud clanking noise erupted from somewhere along the pipe system. She quickly turned off the tap. “Shit, what next?” she muttered, as she went to grab a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. She pulled out the bottle she’d placed there earlier, but it was empty. Strange, she was sure it had been at least half full the last time she’d looked. She headed out to the panic room and pulled a fresh bottle from one of the packs, returned to the kitchen and emptied it into the kettle.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, a thought occurred to her. What if the thing, or whatever it was, could travel along the pipe system? With that thought, Amber rushed over to the utility drawer and pulled out a reel of duct tape, she’d spotted earlier. She tore off a small strip and rolled it into a ball, and stuffed it up into the end of the kitchen tap. She then tore another strip from the roll of tape and secured it tightly over the end of the tap, holding the make-shift stopper securely in place.
She carried out the same procedure in the bathroom, ensuring that the showerhead, sink, and bath taps were sealed. Whether it could keep the liquid-based entities out, she didn’t know, but at least she felt a little better, knowing that the potential entry points into the apartment were covered up. She’d already placed a strip of the tape along the bottom of the front door, and over the keyholes.