I just… What. No idea where this came from.
A tall building sits like a rotten tooth in a rough district of New York; it is lonely though it is surrounded by many others of its like. It seems to have feelings- that sense of alienation usually only found in misfitting teenagers, wrapped up in their own personal dramas and excluded from social life.
6 stories of tiny flats. 6 stories of brown, peeling carpets and mouldy paint, of dented doors with locks broken by wannabe gangstas, of couch potatoes with unpaid power bills.
And at the top of these six floors, there is a strange man who no-one remembers moving in. Who never changes. Who pierces the crooked corridors with screams in the night.
Surrounded by piles of papers and scrunched-up takeout boxes, shivering in the sparse protection of the flimsy door, a grown man waits, staring at an outdated computer screen. Not that any other tenant has ever been far enough inside.
They all know he's a loon, but because hardly anyone has ever seen him, the children are told all the familiar stories- by their parents, (harried and cross ansd just wanting their children into bed) they are told that he is a boogeyman who'll come to get them if they don't do what they're told. By their elder brothers (old enough to hold a gun and old enough to have fathered illegitimate children, but apparently not old enough for a driver's license) they are told he's really someone's dead grandfather, so old and stubborn that his spirit wouldn't leave his body when he died. By their friends (swaggering and pretending to be older and wiser than they really are) they are told he is a monster in the shape of a man, who escaped from hell and is forever waiting for the other demons to catch up to him.
Some of these stories, especially the last, are closer to the truth than one might think.
And one thing that everyone agrees on is his name- a name nobody can remember giving him, a name that doesn't suit him- Merry.
Now, to set the scene: It's 1:00 on Tuesday morning, and the family in the flat next to Merry's has been woken again by an awful, inhuman scream.
"What the hell?" Cally rubbed her eyes sleepily, wincing as she poked the black eye that stained her honey-coloured skin. Lisa stared at the door to their flat with serious eyes.
"Mom, this isn't the first time. You know it's Merry."
"Yeah, you're right, sweetie," she said, picking up her eight-year-old daughter and kissing her on the cheek.
"Marvin says he's a monster."
"Oh, sweetie, you know that's nonsense. There's no such thing as monsters."
Another wail shredded through the quiet.
"Then why does he scream like that?"
"He's a very sick man, Lisa. But there's no-one to help him."
"Why can't we help him, mom?" Lisa's chocolate-brown eyes were wide in her small face. Her mother sighed, twisting one of her black braids around her fingers.
"We've had this talk, sweetie. People don't want help from strangers."
"But-"
"That's enough about Merry, sweetie. Now how about some hot milk and bed?"
"Okay, mom."
But Lisa couldn't sleep. Whatever people said about Merry, whether he was a monster or not, she knew this: his name might mean happiness, but he sounded like the most heartbroken and lonely person on earth when he screamed.
000
The memories lay tantalisingly just at the edge of his reach. Where were they? He could remember some people, but not their faces, not their names, not who they were to him… some with green eyes, some with blue, some with no eyes at all.
Why couldn't he remember?
Why did he have to hide again?
Why hadn't anyone come to find him?
000
"Go on," Marvin whispered, eyes fixed on number 600. "Don't be a chicken."
"But I don't want to," the kid whispered, wearing the same terrified, stranded look as someone who needs to pee and can't find a toilet.
"It's just a dare, one of their other friends said. "Don't be such a pussy."
Lisa seeped forward, putting her hands on her hips. "If you're so brave, why don't you do it?" she demanded.
Lisa was smart for a third grader. She knew that Karen was only picking on Tom because he was knew, and that she didn't have the guts to carry out the dare herself.
"Why would I do that? It's Tom's dare," Karen said, covering her moment of confusion with a quick comeback.
"Alright," Lisa said, "I'll do it. Tom, your dare is now mine."
The children around her murmured, looking confused. "Can she do that?"
Marvin shrugged helplessly as his best friend strode off towards the door.
Lisa hesitated momentarily before pressing on the doorbell. She was greeted by silence, and the muffled whoops of her friends.
She waited a moment. Then knocked. Again, louder.
Again.
"Goddamnit can you STOP?!" Came a loud male voice from within, accompanied by a lot of banging and crashing. "Just wait a sec!"
The door opened a crack and Lisa felt her legs trembling with fear as a wave of stink overpowered her. She felt an almost overpowering need to run, but stifled it, held her ground.
The door continued to creek open until it was just wide enough for a face to appear.
"Whad'you want, kid?"
She opened her mouth, but found it was too dry to speak. He was going to kill her. She never see her mommy again.
It was strange, because he looked so familiar. She felt almost as though he had seen him before- but she'd never knocked on Merry's door before.
And shouldn't he be older? Because he couldn't be older than her mommy, and her mommy was young, not even thirty, she thought.
"Well, kid? What's up?"
"I- I'm sorry to disturb you sir. I got dared by my friends. I had to come up to the door, knock on it, and say hi. Hi."
Merry's eyes softened, and he opened the door a little wider. "Now why would they dare you to do that?"
"Umm, cause they think you're a monster. No offense, mister. You seem real nice."
He frowned. "Why would they think that?"
"I dunno, mister. Maybe it's cause you scream so much."
Maybe she was mistaken, but she almost thought she saw a smile touch his face.
"But that's not because I'm a monster, kid. That's because I'm afraid of the monsters, just like you."
"Well," she said nervously. "I don't wanna take up too much of your time."
He threw his head back and laughed. Really laughed. It was so happy, so carefree and infectious, that if it had been anybody else's laugh, Lisa probably would have laughed right along with them.
"It's been a while since anybody's said that to me. It was nice to meet you, miss…?"
"I'm Lisa," she said, and stuck out her hand.
He grinned and shook it.
"Lisa. Nice name. You can come talk to me anytime you want."
She nodded and ran off to join her friends. Her bravery would be told and retold in years to come, and her status in her group of friends was forever ensured.
000
The memories lay tantalisingly just at the edge of his reach. Where were they? He could remember some people, but not their faces, not their names, not who they were to him… some with green eyes, some with blue, some with no eyes at all.
Why couldn't he remember?
Why did he have to hide again?
Why hadn't anyone come to find him?
000
He held his head in his hands, leaning against the door, sliding down until he sat among the masses of paper and litter on his floor.
"Idiot. Now she isn't safe."
"Forget her, we aren't safe! What if she's a spy? What if she's on our tail?"
"Don't be stupid, nobody would use a child as a spy. And besides, she doesn't know anything about us. She's clueless."
"Exactly why you should have left it alone! Now she'll be back, and she'll know more!"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If worst comes to worst…"
"I don't want to have to deal with your messes!"
"You won't have any choice. We'll have to do it."
Merry slowly climbed to his feet, perfectly aware that he was completely alone.
000
Lisa stood bewildered before the door of number 600, with nowhere else to turn. Her friends were fighting. Sharpelle and Karen were in the middle of a feud and the lines had quickly been drawn by the other children. Casualties were high and there was no room for non-combatants. She didn't know hwo to stop the fighting, just that it needed to be done.
So she rang the doorbell, and she knocked, and she waited.
"Just- god, gimme a sec!"
The door opened, just a crack.
"Mr. Merry, it's me, Lisa."
A pause. "Who?"
"Lisa. The girl from the other day?"
"Uh… Sure. Come on in.
The door opened up wider and she got her first full view of the resident monster.
He was tall and lean, pale as a sheet, with haunted eyes and fingers that wouldn't stop twitching. He was wearing holey old sweats.
As she came in, the door was shut behind her quickly.
I need help, she wanted to say, but her tongue wouldn't work. Stacks of papers taller than her lined the crooked hallway and there was a layer of food cartons and wrappers littering the floor like leaves in the Fall. The stench was rank. She didn't even know what it was- rotting meat, sour milk, dust and tears and memories, she had no idea. but she had to breathe through her mouth and it was all she could do not to retch.
"Oh, sorry. I know it's a mess… I don't usually get visitors…" he said, shifting uncomfortably behind her. "Just go on through."
It was almost as if she was lost in another, extremely messy world. With widened eyes she registered that the walls had holes knocked in them and all the windows were boarded up.
She perched uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa.
"What was it that you wanted?" he said softly, sitting on the floor in front of her.
"I… Um… I just don't know what to do."
He smiled softly, nostalgically. "It's been a while since anyone asked for my advice. What do you need help with, darl?"
"I… My friends are fighting. I don't know how to make them stop."
He sat back on his haunches with a whistle. "I don't think anyone's ever asked me for help stopping a fight. Although there was that one time…"
"Please, what do I do?"
"Well, who's the fight between? Why?"
"Sharpelle and Karen. And I have no idea why they're fighting."
The corners of Merry's mouth lifted in a sad smile. "That's a good reason to fight."
"No it's not!" Lisa said, surprising herself at the strength of her conviction. "It's stupid!"
"That's true. But you've gotta face it, kid," he said, leaning forward. "by the time you're as old as me, you will have been in too many stupid, pointless fights to count. The important thing is whether or not you made up after them."
"But how do you do that?"
"They might never make up. They might take a really long time. It depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you can make them see that the fighting is pointless. That's the first step. The next step is to make them reconcile."
"That sounds hard."
"It is. It was."
"… How old are you?"
He looked off into the distance, almost as if he couldn't see her at all.
"I don't know. I've lost count. Too old, though. Much, much too old. And I've made much, much too many mistakes."
He suddenly focused on her, eyes sharp. "But you don't have to do the same thing. Be careful! Make him happy! Don't let him go! Be strong!"
Lisa was frightened, and as he slowly reached forward as if to grip her on the shoulder, she slipped out of her seat, running for the door, and tripped over a huge pile of papers.
"Lisa!" he yelled, and ran up to her. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?"
She tried to get up, tried to back away. "I was just talking to you!"
"No you weren't! How did you get here? Did they let you in? Did they find me?! HOW DID YOU FIND ME?" His grip on her shoulder tightened, his eyes filled with swirling vultures.
"I- I'm sorry, I don't know what I did, I'm sorry, please let me go-"
He blinked and his eyes cleared. "Lisa?"
"Please, I'm sorry,"
"Oh god, why did I let you in? It's not safe in here, you have to leave,"
"They could find you," he whispered, as he shoved her out the door. "I'm a bad person."
She was left alone, trembling, in the corridor, the advice he had given her ingrained in her mind.
000
"Sir, I believe we've located Specimen 1."
Alan Coyle, FBI director and one of the most powerful men in America, looked at his subordinate in surprise. "… Is this some kind of joke?"
"With all due respect, sir, I'm not at a liberty to prank my higher-ups."
"True. And you're sure?"
"We're sure."
"… Wow. It's been so long."
"Almost 50 years, sir."
"Well, what are we waiting for? Bring him in."
"Of course, sir."
000
Merry was screaming. There were so many faces, so many things he knew, and they taunted him- he knew he was old, far too old, knew that he had been betrayed, knew that he had betrayed himself- he had loved and hated ad fought for good and OH GOD HIS MIND
I'M FALLING TO PIECES…
000
Outside, there was a nondescript black Toyota, containing two unremarkable men in ordinary suits with ordinary faces. One, the man riding shotgun, was holding a pair of binoculars, which he held pointed at a 6th floor window.
The driver's mobile phone rang, still set to the original ringtone. He lifted it to his ear, accepting the call.
"Agent Reynolds."
"It's time. Bring him in."
He didn't even blink as the call was ended after a seven-word exchange, merely hung up himself and turned to his partner.
"It's time."
000
Lisa sat outside of number 559, waiting for her mom to get home from work. She was late and it was dark, but she had to wait.
She found herself looking furtively at Merry's door. She wondered if he knew she was there.
That was silly, she told herself. He wasn't a monster, just very sick.
But the idea that he might know she was there still freaked her out.
000
Merry froze, eyes darting to the door.
They were here.
They had found him.
Oh god, they had found him.
There was nowhere to hide.
000
Lisa watched as two men in suits climbed up the stairs and approached her.
Who were they? Why were they here?
"Who're you, misters?" she asked, desperately fighting the urge to run. They ignored her, not even sparing her a glance as they passed.
"Where are you going?" she asked curiously, then stopped. They were standing at number 600.
What were they doing there?
The first one rang the doorbell. Then he knocked. Then he knocked louder.
And again.
But there was no answer. No irritable, harried shout, no sound of falling papers, no door opening a crack. "Sir, we must ask you to open this dor, or we will come in by force."
"This is Agent Reynolds and Agent Parsons from the FBI. Please, we must ask you to leave the premises."
Again, there was no answer.
Reynolds seemed to take this in his stride, and without blinking an eye, he took out a gun and shot the lock, then kicked down the door. You could hear it hitting the mountains of paper as it fell.
"What the…?" Asked Parsons, blinking at the wave of smell. Reynolds didn't say anything.
They advanced, and the eight-year-old girl could only watch and wait.
000
Alan Coyle was led into the basement of a holding facility, where he could watch the man sitting broken at the table to his heart's content.
"Yes, that's him," he breathed.
50 years of chasing shadows, and finally he was faced by a man indistinguishable from the photos in his case file. The 50-year-old photos.
"Yes," he said quietly to himself. "That is the United States of America."
So… Should I continue?
Review?