Ivan, a young and poor student, is lucky enough to find a good studio for an incredibly cheap price. The downside? It's haunted. AmeRus.
I am not a native English speaker, please disregard my mistakes, or correct them so I won't do it again.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1 A New Beginning
It started from the very first night he moved into the studio. And it wasn't the light that flickered or a door that opened itself, like they had waved it off to be. It were footsteps. Footsteps that Ivan heard pacing back and forth through the living room. Every time they passed his door he dug his nails into his skin and pressed his face into his pillow. He couldn't fall asleep like this; not with that noise. It was impossible to tell whether it was just sounds he was hearing or whether someone was actually walking there. It were slow steps, as if the feet were dragged over the floor. Every few steps a shiver would run down Ivan's spine so violent that he was afraid it would draw the attention whatever was doing this.
When the footsteps slowed down to a stop right before his door he held his breath until he saw stars. He would have prayed to gods he didn't believe in if his mind hadn't been completely blank. He pulled up his knees and let out a silent sob. God, he hadn't been that scared in, well, not that long ago actually. Though now, he was frightened like a little child, because it weren't poverty or loneliness that tore him apart like usually, but by the monsters underneath his bed. Or, in this case, behind his door.
"It's not that bad," He mumbled to himself, mimicking the voice of a certain lady who happened to have sold the studio to him, "Just a few small things, you know, with the lights or doors." He chopped the vegetables with a little too much strength. "Oh, but it's nothing too big, nothing too bad!" With a quick move, everything landed in the pot. The water began to boil slowly. "Plenty of houses are cursed, but they hide it. This one too, but I'm not going to lie to you about that." He firmly placed the lid on the pot. "Yeah sure! Because not telling me about how fucked up this place is doesn't count as ly-"
"Such a foul mouth," A voice grinned behind him.
Ivan froze. For a few seconds he listened to the sharp noise of metal hitting the floor tiles and then, silence. There was no one else in the kitchen. Well, no one he could see. He grunted and angrily snatched the knife back up from the ground, throwing it into the sink and checking the fire. Yes, it had been turned up. Again. He lowered it back to what it should be and continued cooking. Without speaking another word, of course. Not a single part of him wanted to create more opportunities for the thing to react to.
"Ignoring me? That's just so rude." It chuckled.
Ivan clenched his jaw and lifted the lid. The steam escaped and the scent of soup filled the room. He inhaled it deeply and picked up the blender. Halfway the blending it shut down. First it was just that, but then the radio shut down as well. Not without switching through a few other channels rapidly first, naturally. Everything went dark. He put the blender aside and stared through the window at the rosy sky for a moment. The sun had just set. There was little light left and the kitchen was growing darker steadily.
After a few minutes he tried to turn the light on again, without success. The radio and blender too didn't do anything. He smacked his fist on the counter. The soup would be ruined. He didn't have time or money to waste like that. He waited another five minutes. Ten minutes. But nothing changed. He refused to call out whatever caused it though, and instead angrily put away some stuff. He turned down the fire and got himself a bowl of half-blended soup. It scorched his tongue but he swallowed it nonetheless. He was too aggravated to even sit down. So there he stood in the middle of a dark kitchen, forcing one steamy spoonful of half-blended soup after another through his throat.
He put it in the sink and went to his bedroom, leaving the kitchen for what it was. His clothes were thrown into a corner and he took a deep breath as he slipped into his pyjamas. The bed was soft and inviting after the long day. Just as he lied comfortably he heard a noise coming from another room. It took him a moment to place it. The blender. He didn't move for a solid minute, but then he flung the sheets off of him and stomped to the kitchen. Everything turned back on. He put it off and back in the cupboard where it belonged. As he returned to his bedroom though, he could already tell with a hint of dread what awaited him.
For another three times, everything in the kitchen would turn back on the moment he would lie down. The microwave, the oven, the kettle, everything. He had to unplug each and every kitchen utility he could. The fire would burn too. Not only was all the noise and danger making him frustrated, and ultimately turning him into an insomniac, but he felt personally laughed with and provoked. He could almost feel the eyes of this monster peer down on him and smirk.
Ivan collapsed on his bed, almost ready to prop himself up again right away and return to the kitchen. But it remained silent. It took him a while to confirm it was truly quiet, but then finally he felt a hint of relief. He didn't dare to move, afraid to somehow elicit another session. His heavy eyelids finally closed when he was startled out of his sleep. The same misery, all over again. He dragged himself to the kitchen to turn everything off again. Needless to say, this continued for another few hours, until Ivan sat down on the couch for a moment, giving up on the idea of a bed, and promptly fell asleep there.
He woke up early the next morning with a sore neck and back. At least it was Saturday, which meant he could leave soon for work and return home late and tired. Hurriedly, he showered and got dressed. Between a bowl of cornflakes and brushing his teeth he checked whether nothing in the kitchen had been permanently damaged. Despite not finding anything that was broke, as if nothing had happened, he didn't experience the slightest hint of relief anymore. He already dreaded coming back home, and he hadn't left yet.
It was eight in the evening when he unlocked the front door. He reeked of cigarettes and sweat. Without paying attention to the house, Ivan went straight to the bathroom and undressed. His clothes were left on the floor, where they would have to wait until tomorrow before they would be picked up and washed. The water was pleasantly warm. He closed his eyes and braced himself.
Then it turned ice cold. Ivan stepped from underneath the stream of water and cursed. It started to turn warm. Too warm. Steam started filling the bathroom and Ivan quickly closed the faucet. He hadn't even gotten to the shampoo, but he stepped out of the shower and jerked his towel off the rack. He dried himself and walked to his bedroom, where he got himself clean pyjamas for the night.
The water started running again in the bathroom. Half-dressed, he turned around and went to the bathroom. In the opening of the door, he abruptly stopped. This was going to go the same way it had gone the previous night. He gritted his teeth. Running water was not some kind of a silly joke, unless he wished for a fantastic bill after only one month of living there.
"Can you fucking quit?" He spat and closed the faucet, to which the light started flickering. "Damn it, I've only been here for three godforsaken weeks! One night, I want to sleep well for one single night!"
The lights turned off. Complete silence fell over the place. Ivan ran his hand through his hair and waited. Nothing about that felt reassuring. It was also impossible to tell whether whatever he had exclaimed had been understood, or whether he was awaiting his next adventure. Perhaps the electricity had just shut down entirely. He pressed the light switch, but it remained pitch black around him. A deep sigh rolled over his lips.
"Goodnight," A low voice purred into his ear.
He jumped and turned around, but his eyes couldn't even distinguish a silhouette from the darkness. He extended his hands in front of him but there was nothing. He swore he could have felt someone's breath in his neck. A shiver ran down his spine, and he pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead. This was going to get him another headache. 'Goodnight', was that a joke? He did not care enough to overthink it and headed to bed. It seemed a little too easy like this, and his own wariness kept him awake. Every sound roused his suspicion, but all were false alarm. Within less than fifteen minutes the tiredness took over and he drifted off into unconsciousness.
It had been a while since he had had a dreamless night. No nightmares or waking up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and gasping for air. It was a pleasant change, one he could get used to.
As usually, he rushed through his morning. After all, every moment he spent in that studio was a step closer to insanity. Perhaps if he left the place while it was in such an innocent state, he would return to it and it would remain like that. With that wishful thought he plucked his jacket from a hook and hurried out of his house. An unnoticed figure sat perfectly motionless in the couch. It watched him leave and noticed how he forgot to lock the door behind him. Ivan's footsteps faded soon and the quiet returned. A soft click disrupted that briefly. "Gotta lock your doors, Ivan," Alfred chuckled, "We wouldn't want any uninvited guests."
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