Alfred moved for a better education, especially for his English major. Although he was hesitant at first, his parents insisted. He doesn't have any idea why his Gramps would convince him to, or why his Granny would even give him money just for him to go. But it seems like he has no regrets all.
London is just lovely. Its antiquity fascinated him. The place didn't have lavish decorations, or fancy signs. It is beautiful the way it is. Unlike America, where the streets are noisy and everything seems to be a mess, England may be the opposite. But no Yank may admit to that openly. Shame of one's country would be one of the worst things for an American to show.
He strolled around mindlessly for quite a while. He smiled at women who took a glance at him. Surely, these women would shriek just right after.
Later, he decided that he should really be on his way. He checked his paper once more, just to make sure he isn't lost. Then he went to a telephone booth near the apartment.
.
After some key presses, and some time waiting, the phone finally picked up.
"Hello, this is Alfred Jones speaking. Can I talk to the landowner, or-" He was cut off by someone next line.
"So, Mr. Jones? Just where are you?" A voice with a British accent rang through the phone. Alfred could barely understand it.
"I'm in the middle of nowhere." Alfred replied. He laughed to himself. It's just a joke. Not unless, if that Brit actually took it seriously...
"Oh bloody hell." The voice grumbled, irritated. "You HAVE to be kidding me, Jones."
"I am." Damn. The Brit took it seriously.
They might not be able to stand this boisterous and sarcastic Alfred, so it looks like he has to go find another place.
"Now, let's be serious, young man. Where are you?"
"I am at the telephone booth by the front door. I was just checking if the landowner is in."
"You just wasted valuable change, Jones. You should have just asked directly."
"Now that you mentioned it, you're the one who's wasting my change. If you just, you know, calmed down a bit, you wouldn't have took things too seriously, and everything would be a lot easier for us, wouldn't it be, buddy?"
Silence surfaced for a second or so. After, the voice took a deep, heavy sigh. Damn these impatient, too-serious Brits.
Alfred can feel the anger on the other side.
"Whatever. I'll have my brother tend to you. Wait at the front door." Whoever it is on the next line, they're so done with him. But why does it seem that this mysterious person wants him to stay anyway?
"Thanks man." Alfred mutters, apologetic. He didn't really want to piss off anyone. That's just the way he is. But that moment told him to change.
"I heard that, Jones. I am not your pal, or buddy or man."
Alfred chuckled pretentiously, then hung up the phone and left the booth. He went to the front door, and rang the doorbell.
.
A child of twelve or so opened up. He has blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore a sailor shirt with large blue collars with a drooping blue necktie, and blue capri pants to match.
"Hello! You must be Mr. Alfred, yes?" The boy seemed to shout out the words to him. Also, his high- pitched voice made Alfred cringe a bit.
"Yes, I am. Do you want some chocolate?" He fumbled for a bar in his front pocket, and then he showed it to the child. His eyes widened and shined at the sight it. Of course, he's a kid.
"Arthur told me not to accept anything from strangers, but since you look kind, and I know your name, it must be okay." The boy immediately snatched it from his hand, opened it, and gave it a bite. "Mm-hm. Hershey's, huh. This one might be quite lacking, but it's fine. Besides, I haven't eaten one for a long time." After two more bites, he stashed the rest of it in his pocket.
"Come on in, Mr. Alfred. You'd sure want tea, or coffee, right?"
"Well, yeah. Alright, I'll go in. Just, um, speak a little more softly." It is ironic for Alfred to say to a kid to shut up. He himself cannot do so.
.
"Anyway, I am Peter. Nice to meet you, Mr. Alfred." Peter reached out his hand to Alfred, while smiling so brightly. He and his brother are opposites. Maybe not all Brits are too serious, after all.
"And I you, Peter." He warmly shook his hand.
Peter took the suitcase, while Alfred carried the bags. They talked about the most silliest of things, like what hotdogs are actually made of, or the difference of the ladder from a stepladder.
"Ladders and step- ladders are the same! What's the point?" Peter insists.
"Ladders are just ladders. Stepladders resemble stairs." Alfred laughed at this debate. It's almost cute that he goes this far to ensure that he wins… Almost.
"Both are dangerous if there's an earthquake!"
All right, now stop this childish act. "Okay, you win." Alfred chuckled.
Peter stopped in front of the door of a room. Alfred did the same.
"This'll be yours, Mr. Alfred. I better get going, or someone will get cranky. Awfully cranky. Also, I had a great time. We can meet later, right?"
"Yes, Peter. We are neighbors, after all."
The lad smiled, and then skipped away. Alfred may have heard something like, "Does he even know that he'll be beside Arthur's? That sucks."
.
Alfred unpacked his things.
Thinking back, this apartment may be the one that he was always looking for. No wild kids running around, no old people knocking at your door for their cookies, no tattooed men smoking, and no musicians. The place may be a little plain, but it is decent- looking and neat.
His room is quite too spacious for an apartment. A thin wall separates his kitchen from his bed. At the side, is a clean bathroom.
His bedroom has a brown bed with a white cushion and white pillows, a closet, and a side table. Facing the bed is a large, framed picture of the Big Ben. This didn't really bother him, he was just surprised.
It'll all be fine, this ain't 'merica. My parents aren't here, so I get a bit of freedom, and I still have some cash. I-
His pondering was suddenly stopped. He heard something. He wasn't sure, but it sounds creepy. Like panting, or moaning. Whatever it is, it is scaring Alfred out.
Alfred's heart raced. Shit, that can't be. Hishair stood on one end. He got goose bumps all over his body.His hands were sweating. His knees were trembling. His throat ran dry, and a sharp pain penetrated his skull.
That can't be.
Ghosts don't exist, right? Come on, don't be such a sissy!
It looks like it's coming from next door. Wait a minute… Arthur… Is Arthur a ghost?!
Even if Alfred was frightened, he wanted to know. He needed to know.
After gaining some composure, Alfred headed to the wall adjacent to his room. He searched where the sound was loudest. And it was by the wall in his bedroom. The wall with the Big Ben framed in it.
THE PICTURE WAS HAUNTED?!
Alfred could feel himself tearing up. He really wanted to scream.
The creepy sound did not stop.
Out of curiosity, Alfred pressed his ear against the wall.
It's not a ghost. It's a someone.
Alfred was flabbergasted. It couldn't be a person doing something…