The Haunting
Chapter 01: A Scream in the Night
Tom looked up at the old building in front of him, set on the corner of the dark street, and flicked several sandy blonde dreads over his shoulder. The nineteen year old sighed, hiking his bag higher up onto his shoulder, as tiny raindrops started to fall, creating a steady pitter-patter rhythm against the cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The high pitched whine of a siren sounded from somewhere in the distance, and the dreadlocked man looked over his shoulder inconspicuously, biting at the ring adorning his bottom lip. He didn't feel safe here, standing next to the run-down brick building, under the dull yellow glow of the streetlights, but what choice did he have now? He had just gotten himself kicked out of his house, and had next to no money. This place was his only choice, whether he liked it or not.
The rain began to fall harder, and Tom winced as the cold drops splattered against his face. Thunder rumbled in the distance, like the low growl of a sleeping beast. The dreadlocked youth groaned softly and hesitantly approached the front doors. He stepped into building, wrinkling his nose as the old, musty scent hit him, and the elderly woman slowly sweeping the floor looked up at Tom through heavily lidded eyes. Tom's dark, mocha colored eyes met her beady grey ones, and a shiver descended down his spine. She shuffled toward him, and Tom looked down at the old woman, due to the fact that the top of her head barely reached his shoulders.
"Who are you?" the woman asked, and Tom was slightly taken aback by her rudeness.
"I'm… er, I'm Tom. Tom Kaulitz," he told her awkwardly. "I called last week; I was scheduled to move in to one of your apartments today."
The grey haired woman studied him a bit longer, and then finally nodded. "Right." She pulled a tarnished key from the pocket of her apron, a small blue keychain with the white numbers 483 printed on it dangling from the key. "Room 483. On the third floor." Tom nodded slowly and approached the gates of the old elevator in the corner.
"Doesn't work," he heard the woman grunt from somewhere behind him. Tom exhaled deeply through his nose, turned, and quickly strode over to the staircase in the other corner. Without a backwards glance, he began to trot up the flights of stairs, and still thought he felt the woman's gaze burning into him from behind.
***
With a tired creak, the heavy wooden door swung open slowly, revealing the small square room to Tom. The eighteen year old stepped into his new home, his footsteps echoing around him in the heavy silence of the building. He dropped his bag on the cold hardwood floor with a dull thud. In one corner of the room was a old double sized bed, covered with lumpy mattress and ancient looking set of blankets and pillow, a squishy looking, moth-eaten chair on the other side of the room. There was a beat up old desk and chair set under the tall, rectangular window that overlooked the city, a small, antique lamp set on one corner.
Tom sighed, feeling even more alone and abandoned than ever, and shivered, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes flickered towards the window, which was open slightly, the thin, almost translucent white curtains fluttering gently in the wind. He approached it, and slammed it shut, blocking out the cold draft. Tom crossed the room again and sat down heavily on the mattress, putting his head in his hands, letting out a low sigh. He flopped back on the hard bed with a slight frown gracing his lips and stared up at the ceiling, the glow of the city lights creating eerie shadows against the walls and roof of the room. And for the first time since he had been on his own, Tom couldn't help but feel a little bit frightened.
A crash sounded against the wall of the next room, and Tom sat up with a jolt of fear, heart racing. He paused, as still and attentive as a startled feline, listening hard. After several seconds that seemed to tick by excruciatingly slowly, he laid back down again, breathing out a deep, heavy sigh.
This is ridiculous. Stop acting like you're ten years old; there's nothing here.
Pursing his lips in a slight frown, Tom yanked the blankets off of his body, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rising to his feet. The nineteen year old folded his arms tightly across his chest, approaching the window and looking out over the mass of the large city. Standing there alone, amongst the thousands of glittering lights and buildings, Tom felt so tiny and so utterly alone. He paced the length of the room once, the hardwood floor cold against his bare feet, and gnawed at his bottom lip. A sudden pang of homesickness shot throughout his heart, and he groaned low in his throat, sitting back down on the small, hard bed. A mistake, was all this was. A huge mistake.
Tom flopped back onto the bed, bouncing slightly. He gazed at the ceiling through heavy lidded eyes, the sound of the traffic on the 4-lane highway below slowly, but surely, lulling him into a restless, uneasy slumber. As sleeps gentle embrace wrapped around Tom, he thought he heard someone singing softly; a faint, melodic tune that was barely audible, but still, somehow, beautiful. Finally deciding it was only his sleep-clouded mind, Tom turned onto his side, exhaling deeply before drifting to sleep.
A shrill, complete cry of terror woke the nineteen year old in the dark, early hours of the morning. He sat erect so fast that his head spun, heart hammering so hard against his chest that he feared it would snap his ribs in two. He looked around wildly, and still thought he could hear the scream echoing off the walls, the scream that came somewhere from the depths of the old building. It was when his heart beat began to regulate and his breathing slowed that he noticed how chill the air was, seeming to prick his skin with its coldness. The hairs on the back of Toms neck rose, and something didn't seem right.
Must've been my imagination.
It was then that Tom had noticed the wide open window, translucent curtains flapping wildly in the breeze. And then, inhaling sharply, he swore he saw a face from behind the curtains staring back at him. Then he blinked, and it was gone.
I'm still dreaming. Please let me be dreaming.
Sleep didn't come until the sun rose that morning.
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