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Parts of a nightmare, ca. 3-3:30, Thursday 9 August 2007:
While the housing company are doing those routine repairs in my flat, they've lent me a temporary flat on the fourth floor in another, slightly neglected house. It's significantly worse than my own; much more worn, smaller (both the bedroom and the living room are cramped; with slightly odd proportions), the daylight never quite reaches the inner parts, and it's partially furnished with drab greyish-brown furniture that looks somewhat dirty even when it's squeaky clean. At least I suppose they'll waive the rent for my own flat for this month, for all the inconvenience.
I have just taken out the garbage on my first evening in this flat and am about to go to bed (as it's nearly midnight already). I just need to go and lock the front door. But just as I reach the door it opens, and out there stands some... thing.
It might have been human once. Now it looks like a human who has been dead so long it no longer smells rotten, but just old and stale, like an old cellar. It's greyish-black, dried out and shriveled, with remains of clothing hanging loosely about it; its face is a skull with scraps of skin and hair still attached to it. It should not be moving, those empty eye sockets should never be able to perceive me, but nevertheless it stretches out a fleshless hand and ambles towards me. I run — although not very far, because there is nowhere to run in here, except... I quickly jump into the bathroom, lock the door and put a broom through the door handle. If it gets in, I am planning to get out through the window.
The locked door seems to be beyond its capabilities to deal with. Whimpering in fear, I curl up on the toilet seat for hours while I hear it trying the door handle and scratching feebly at the door. It doesn't seem very fast or strong or intelligent, which is little comfort right now, because it certainly seems relentless. Finally the scratching stops and I hear a few shuffling steps getting fainter, and then silence. I still don't dare to open the door until it gets light outside the window, and I'm wielding the broom as a weapon as I venture out — I don't think it (still) has enough of a mind to hide and ambush me, but you can't be too sure.
It's gone. There is a faint trail of dust and dirt and pieces of old textiles and less identifiable matter (although I'm not trying very hard to identify it, for fear of succeeding) leading from the door to the bathroom and back again. What the bloody FUCK is happening here??
The next night I don't dare to go to bed. I have procured a length of iron pipe which should be enough defense against further visits — and sure enough, the revenant, true to its name, does come back. This time it can't get in through the front door, which I have wisely kept locked; it can do nothing more than stand out on the stairs, scratching and thumping at the door. I try to speak to it, ask it who and what it is (or once was) and what it wants, but it doesn't seem to notice me. Maybe it doesn't even have a voice to answer with; I haven't heard it make any vocal sound. I can see through the spyhole that it's the same... thing out there, though I can't look at it more than a few seconds before I feel my sanity swaying. Could it be a former tenant wanting to get back to its old home? And does it resent me staying here, or does it just want a late-night snack? I shudder at the thought.
Come the dawn, it leaves again. And as soon as they open, I am at the housing company's nearest office, posing polite but pointed questions to a vague and inefficient lady. Have there been any reports of disturbances in the house before? Yes, well, it's a bit noisy some nights and sometimes tenants, mostly temporary, decide they've had enough and leave from one day to the next without even leaving a notice. I have some disturbing ideas of why and, even worse, how they move.
"Tell me," I ask, "has anyone ever mentioned..." But when I try to describe the thing, all the soul-searing terror comes back, it feels like someone is pouring a bucket of liquid helium down my spine, the room starts spinning and is flooded by a sharp green light which turns out to be my alarm clock, showing 3:33. I whimper at the vivid images of my nightmare and curl up in a ball under the covers. I am still half inside the nightmare, and see a strong significance to the time being half of 6:66, and the green hue of the LEDs seems malevolent and poisonous, while deep down I understand the reality of the waking world and that I'm being irrational and superstitious. It's a comfort that the international conference I worked for was such a success. Not only did I manage to make delegates from all over the world, regardless of gender, skin or religion, cooperate in a rational and constructive fashion; they all took this spirit of cooperation with them to their respective homes and are now working in concord to make the world a better place. With the new era of international understanding dawning, I go home to take care of more pressing concerns, and find that the revenant has been there and eaten a dog I didn't even remember I had. But now I think I have a weapon, of sorts, to repel and maybe even kill it forever...
[No, I don't remember what my solution was.]
While the housing company are doing those routine repairs in my flat, they've lent me a temporary flat on the fourth floor in another, slightly neglected house. It's significantly worse than my own; much more worn, smaller (both the bedroom and the living room are cramped; with slightly odd proportions), the daylight never quite reaches the inner parts, and it's partially furnished with drab greyish-brown furniture that looks somewhat dirty even when it's squeaky clean. At least I suppose they'll waive the rent for my own flat for this month, for all the inconvenience.
I have just taken out the garbage on my first evening in this flat and am about to go to bed (as it's nearly midnight already). I just need to go and lock the front door. But just as I reach the door it opens, and out there stands some... thing.
It might have been human once. Now it looks like a human who has been dead so long it no longer smells rotten, but just old and stale, like an old cellar. It's greyish-black, dried out and shriveled, with remains of clothing hanging loosely about it; its face is a skull with scraps of skin and hair still attached to it. It should not be moving, those empty eye sockets should never be able to perceive me, but nevertheless it stretches out a fleshless hand and ambles towards me. I run — although not very far, because there is nowhere to run in here, except... I quickly jump into the bathroom, lock the door and put a broom through the door handle. If it gets in, I am planning to get out through the window.
The locked door seems to be beyond its capabilities to deal with. Whimpering in fear, I curl up on the toilet seat for hours while I hear it trying the door handle and scratching feebly at the door. It doesn't seem very fast or strong or intelligent, which is little comfort right now, because it certainly seems relentless. Finally the scratching stops and I hear a few shuffling steps getting fainter, and then silence. I still don't dare to open the door until it gets light outside the window, and I'm wielding the broom as a weapon as I venture out — I don't think it (still) has enough of a mind to hide and ambush me, but you can't be too sure.
It's gone. There is a faint trail of dust and dirt and pieces of old textiles and less identifiable matter (although I'm not trying very hard to identify it, for fear of succeeding) leading from the door to the bathroom and back again. What the bloody FUCK is happening here??
The next night I don't dare to go to bed. I have procured a length of iron pipe which should be enough defense against further visits — and sure enough, the revenant, true to its name, does come back. This time it can't get in through the front door, which I have wisely kept locked; it can do nothing more than stand out on the stairs, scratching and thumping at the door. I try to speak to it, ask it who and what it is (or once was) and what it wants, but it doesn't seem to notice me. Maybe it doesn't even have a voice to answer with; I haven't heard it make any vocal sound. I can see through the spyhole that it's the same... thing out there, though I can't look at it more than a few seconds before I feel my sanity swaying. Could it be a former tenant wanting to get back to its old home? And does it resent me staying here, or does it just want a late-night snack? I shudder at the thought.
Come the dawn, it leaves again. And as soon as they open, I am at the housing company's nearest office, posing polite but pointed questions to a vague and inefficient lady. Have there been any reports of disturbances in the house before? Yes, well, it's a bit noisy some nights and sometimes tenants, mostly temporary, decide they've had enough and leave from one day to the next without even leaving a notice. I have some disturbing ideas of why and, even worse, how they move.
"Tell me," I ask, "has anyone ever mentioned..." But when I try to describe the thing, all the soul-searing terror comes back, it feels like someone is pouring a bucket of liquid helium down my spine, the room starts spinning and is flooded by a sharp green light which turns out to be my alarm clock, showing 3:33. I whimper at the vivid images of my nightmare and curl up in a ball under the covers. I am still half inside the nightmare, and see a strong significance to the time being half of 6:66, and the green hue of the LEDs seems malevolent and poisonous, while deep down I understand the reality of the waking world and that I'm being irrational and superstitious. It's a comfort that the international conference I worked for was such a success. Not only did I manage to make delegates from all over the world, regardless of gender, skin or religion, cooperate in a rational and constructive fashion; they all took this spirit of cooperation with them to their respective homes and are now working in concord to make the world a better place. With the new era of international understanding dawning, I go home to take care of more pressing concerns, and find that the revenant has been there and eaten a dog I didn't even remember I had. But now I think I have a weapon, of sorts, to repel and maybe even kill it forever...
[No, I don't remember what my solution was.]
lazy