Long story short; I found a story right on readsypromts with the same premise and I wanted to make something like it. I do not own anything.

Bobby Santiago woke up in the early morning, hit the showers, ate breakfast dressed in his usual attire, and went outside Today, he would be helping his Abuelo and Tio with a special task involving cleaning out an empty apartment room upstairs after complaints from the other apartment about some foul stench, Bobby figured it was just rats. Today was also a special day for him because he recently got accepted into Fairway University, meaning he gets to see Lori again after he, his mom, and his little sister moved to Great Lakes City a month ago.

He arrived upstairs around 7:20 just as Hector and Carlos were talking.

"I still think you should call those construction cleaners just out north, Dad" Carlos spoke.

"And wasting hundreds of bucks? No thank you, we can do this all by ourselves, we don't need them," Hector spoke confidently.

"If you say so." Said Carlos.

"Hey, Tio Carlos, hey Abuelo." Bobby walked towards them.

"Roberto, just in time." Said Hector.

"So, this is the room that the other next-door neighbours were talking about?"

"Yep, apartment #3C" Hector began. "This place hasn't been used since back in 1981 and it has already started stinking up the place."

"Who do you think owned this place?" Asked Carlos.

"I don't know," Hector said. "All I know is that before I bought this apartment, there used to be someone living in this place but they never found the owner nor any trace of him."

"That's spooky," Bobby said.

"Alright, enough with the chit-chat, we got some cleaning up to do," Hector said. "And also wear a mask, it's going to get really stinky when we get inside."

Bobby's tool belt sat comfortably on his hips, mask readily covered on his face and loaded with everything needed to knock down walls, remove old electrical wire, and tear out various types of tile, flooring and fixtures. Bobby gave a deep sigh as he rose and entered the room.

Jason Collins wasn't having a good day to put it simply. He glazed nervously over to his shoulders at the front door of his apartment then to his watch. 9:00 he thought. He held his breath carefully before letting it all out in a deep sigh before entering his door. He locked it and went to his room. After a few seconds, he whirled back around and continued his frantic packing.

He ripped down a battered suitcase from the upper shelf of the hallway closet and tossed it wildly across the living room. The suitcase cartwheeled through the air and landed corner-first directly into the center of Jason's living room coffee table, shattering the glass top and raining hundreds of little shards of glass onto the living room rug. The lone item on the table, an ashtray, hurdled to its unfortunate end, smashing quite spectacularly into the outside wall.

Jason flinched and almost ducked down at the deafening crash before recovering very quickly. Scurrying over to his closet, he carelessly threw out every shirt into the floor like a madman even throwing out his 70s Greatest hits cassette tape on the floor. He bunched them into a multi-coloured wad of fabric, rushed back into the living room almost slipping from the tiny glasses, and wildly tossed the pile toward his now-opened suitcase.

Now, with sweat pouring down his face and back, he mashed the case fruitlessly, willing it, begging it to close. When it was clear the suitcase could not or would not comply, he tossed it behind the room's single couch and bolted for the bathroom.

Jason wrenched the cold-water faucet on and splashed several handfuls into his face. His heart rammed against his ribs as if desperate to escape. He could feel his pulse in his temples, his wrists, and in his neck and ears. Jason opened the medicine cabinet, retrieved a prescription bottle, emptied the five remaining downers from the bottle, and tossed them into his mouth, washing them down with water from the still-running sink. In the tight quarters of the bathroom, he had to close the door fully to sidle over to the toilet. He removed the heavy, porcelain tank cover and peered into the toilet tank.

At the bottom next to the flapper sat a medium-sized, black plastic bag, sealed with heavy packing tape. Jason's arm plunged into the tank, spraying water everywhere. He pulled the dripping plastic bag out of the tank and jammed it unceremoniously into his jacket pocket.

Damn it.

As he reopened the bathroom door and hurried back into the living room, he heard three loud raps on his front door, followed by two male voices.

Shit.

"Time's up, Jay." One of the voices declared in a strong Brooklyn accent.

That would be Giacomo William Tocco or Jason is more familiar as Jack. He became the leader of some partnership literally called Detroit Partnership after the previous guy died six years before. "Let's do this the right way ok?"

"Yeah, open the door pal; it'll go better that way." The second, higher, more nasally voice chimed in. Paul couldn't place it. Henry ran with a variety of toughs, from muscle-headed, brain-dead louts to rat-faced, scrappy types. This one sounded like the ratty-type.

Jason froze where he stood, his heartbeat now firmly beating an unpleasant cadence against his Adam's apple. How had it come to this? How had things gotten this out of hand? I wanted to pay them back, I really did. Even gotten close a couple of times, only coming up a few hundred short once. If those goddamn Macklin twins hadn't screwed me out of my last eight balls, I would have had the money and left to another country, I was sure of it. Jason balled his hands into a fist tightly as if he was strangling an imaginary stress ball, his face was red as cherries and burned in fury. If I ever escape and find those fucking bastards again so help me God I will tear off their balls and slice every limb they have. Another set of raps, louder and more aggressive sounding, pelted his door.

"Do we need to count?" The first voice said. The second voice was chuckling in that irritating, pinched-nose tone. Paul glanced over at the living room window. Ever since the first week he moved in, he had meant to get a damned window fixed.

Now, still painted shut, it provided no help as a means of escape. In a defeated sigh, Jason slunk over to the front door and unbolted the lock. Plastering on a grin that would not have fooled a complete stranger, he opened the front door.

It was 9:15 and Bobby took a morning break, sitting beside the dusty floors of the kitchen of Apartment 3C while Hector and Carlos were in the other room. Rosa came and offered the three men some beverages. Since there were no A/C in the apartment it was sort of hard cooling off. Bobby took the glass and calmly took a sip at it as he looked at the room with ease. He, Carlos and Hector did make good progress the latter two, in particular, both had a habit of sprinting through their work for the first couple of hours of the day then coasting for rest, something Bobby would often do from the many jobs he'd taken before he moved.

Nearby, he could hear still suggests calling a cleanup crew to which Hector declines. Your overconfidence is your weakness, said some guy wielding a laser sword.

But in all seriousness, Abuelo really needs to call those cleaners his uncle was talking about.

After he finished with his drinks, Bobby got up and surveyed the work they'd done. Almost all of the kitchens have been torn off, along with the small bathroom. They'd thrown out a bunch of junk like the lurid, maroon, shag carpet and ripped out the linoleum flooring. Hell, even one time, Abuelo found old cassette tapes from the closets. In which he sold in a garage sale for a high price.

But even that he still couldn't find out where that smell was coming from.

As Carlos and Hector sat talking, Bobby noticed a rather large section of the wallpaper had begun peeling from the ceiling in the northeastern corner. Best case it's some recent water damage. Bobby thought.

Worse case?

The worse case is that this might be where the stench was coming from. The smell was more powerful in this mould. He really wished it was just water damage.

Bobby stood up and approached the spot Carlos and Hector were sitting.

"You saw the mould to huh?" Carlos said.

"Yep."

"So was the smell…" Hector said.

Bobby nodded.

They stood closer to the corner and inspected the wallpaper. Grabbing a peeling corner, he reached it and pulled it in a large swatch as if the adhesive were completely dissolved. After a few more pulls and with help from the other two, they completely removed all wallpapers in the corner. Underneath the wall revealed indicative hints of black mould. Gray, splotchy circles in several quantities garnished the wall from floor to ceiling and about three feet wide. The smell was unbearable somehow able to slithers its way through their masks.

They knew too well the affected section was too big to scrub down or paint over. They'd have to tear out the drywall and most likely replace several of the wood planks. They went out of the apartment to grab the things they needed. Once they came back with respiratory and goggles. They slid their drywall saw out of their work belt and began carving out a large rectangular section of mould-blackened wall.

Jason sat heavily on his stained, cheap, flea market couch and gazed in fear at the two mobsters standing imposingly in his living room. Right next to him sat the unpacked suitcase Jack had discovered and tossed right next to him. Jason shifted his feet, mashing the glass shards from the shattered coffee table into the also stained carpet.

"Headin' on vacation are ya, Jay?" Jack teased. Jason made no move to speak but laughed nervously, though he did think of going on a visit to Mexico for the summer. He wanted to see the Mayan pyramids or whatever it was called.

"Probably to Mexico," Jason muttered.

"Hey, that sounds like a pretty good idea to go right now. Pretty damn good indeed." Jack said in the deep and monotone voice Jason had heard.

"But before ya go, if you wouldn't mind paying what you owe us?" Said Jack, "We'd sure appreciate it."

All of Jack's grins were mock kindness. Jason remained silent, looking down at his shoes. Jack glances at his partner -who Jason was gonna call "rat boy"- who nodded. Rat boy began tearing up cardboard open and pulling drawers onto the floor. He pulled down the single painting of a strange-looking dog, took out a knife then started gauging the living fuck out of it from behind.

"Now listen here you little shit," Jack came with a low and bitter tone. Jason was surprised he didn't just scream into his face. "I gave you time, I gave you fucking centuries. Times up. Either you give us the cash or give us whatever dope you have left and we'll see where we go from there." Jack stood still while his partner continuously ransacked the entire place. Jason meanwhile flinched at all the damage done by the mob.

Several minutes had passed Jack continued to stand statuesque while rat boy tore Jason's apartment to shreds.

Jack wasn't at all pleased then shot daggers at the shaking man before him.

"Fine...have it your way."

Jason gulped.

Fuck my life.

Jack took a step towards Jason who clambered up to the back of his couch (which he was certain felt warmer than before) He looked like a giant, skinless cat poised along the back of the worn-out sofa.

Jason's body began to tremble before blurting out. "It's gone! The money, the dope it's all gone okay? Just…" He paused for a moment, sweat poured from his forehead, then continued. "I just need another day, come on man, one more fucking day!" Jason's frightened, spluttering, voice sounded strange to him as if it were listening to it through wax paper.

Rat boy, who had just torn a giant hole in the splash behind the oven range, froze and turned to look at Jason. Jack continued to take a menacing step towards the couch. Jason due to a large amount of fear on his body caused his legs to feel like wet noodles ending up losing his balance and fell behind the couch and onto his back.

This couldn't be happening, it wasn't fair, where did this all go wrong?

He crab-walked his way into the corner and held his hands out in front of his face as Jack menacingly closed the gap.

"That more than a kilo, Jay," Jack said in a dangerously monotonous way. He kneeled down so that his nose was a few inches away from Jason's. "If you are telling the truth, which I doubt, one day won't make a gnat's dick of difference. I think the dope is here Paul, probably some of the cash too, and I think you should tell me where it is, right now Jason. Right, fucking, now." Jason's eyes, filled with tears, were now locked with Henry's.

Seeing the fire burning from within the mob boss's glasses and the teeth that gritted intensely knew that his times were rubbing out. Jason out of desperation, sprang up quickly as fast as he could like Superman, and headed for the doorway pushing and shoving the two other mobs around him.

This could be it. I might actually make it out. Jason was in so much panic about staying alive that he forgot his keys to his car, he didn't need it anyway, he could just steal another person's car for all he cared.

Where the hell would I go? I don't know as long as I can get away from these fucking mobs. Might even move to Mexico if I fucking have to.

But his luck completely ran out when something shot out from behind the back of his left shoulders. Jason screamed as a shot of blood oozed from him. He collapsed to the ground grunting at the amount of pain he was enduring and his visions became very blurred. The only thing he could make out was Jack slowly walking towards him

"Oh, Jason, you poor little bastard." Said Jack as he crouched down to Jason's level before hitting him with his gun. "You can never run from me."

Jack jammed the gun against the lower end of Jason's mandible.

"If the dopes right here, we'll find it, Jason." Jason could not make up for what he said due to Jack's voice sounding very muffled to Jason. It was like someone shoved cotton onto his ears. But from what he could tell by the gun and the sinister Cheshire grin from Jack's face, he knew God was waiting for him in the sky.

"We were trying to give ya a chance to help out. Maybe earn a smoother ride for ya. But I guess that ain't gonna happen. So long pal." The bullet passed through Jason's jaw before tearing through his skull in a bust of brain matter and bone fragments. Immediately his world went to black.

Bobby reflexively wiped his upper forearm against his mask-covered forehead leaving barely visible stains he didn't bother cleaning. He cursed something in Spanish at the plastic shield fogging for the third time. Damn these stupid masks, it's bad enough that I only saw a ghostly outlined of the blackened drywall now I have to deal with this?

Bobby considered stopping and cleaning his mask again but decided against it as he was almost close to finishing. Maybe next time I would buy one of those protective glasses. At least I won't have to fucking clean it from the inside. After about half an hour of meticulously cutting, he finished carving out the last remnants of the large rectangle of mould-coated drywall. As he did so, the sweet, sickly scent of moisture underneath had begun seeping out through the cracks. The smell was unpleasant, to say the least, it was overpowering even the respirators.

Bobby tossed his drywall knife aside and called his Uncle and Grandfather over to assist in tearing out the affected wall.

The three lifted the patch of wall, yanking it off from the wood planks, and slid it to the side. As feared, black rings of mould blanketed the wood. The rock wool insulation was drenched and looked like wet cotton candy.

Bobby surveyed the area and mentally noted how many squares they'd need to bring in, and reached his gloved hands into the slick, mushy insulation. His fingers pressed against something solid a few inches behind the insulation. He probed up and down the wall, deducing the size of the hidden aspect.

After some prodding, he realized it started at the floor and continued up several feet. A sudden, unexplainable feeling of dread crept up Bobby's back.

"What the fuck?" Bobby muttered.

He turned and called, Carlos and Hector back over and all three removed the heavy globs of wet insulation. Behind it, the three uncovered a large, human-sized object wrapped in thick, black plastic. Carlos stepped back, horrified as his mouth formed an O shape while Hector made the sign of the cross.

"Dios Mio what is that?!" The old man screamed. Bobby's heart raced when he noticed the very front of the object almost eerily resembles that of a human head. . Taped to the bag, about chest-high was a smaller plastic bag. Near the bottom, Bobby noticed several small tears, probably chewed through by rats or some other rodent.

To his absolute horror, he saw a gray, sludgy slime trickling out the holes and onto the wood floor behind the wall. Bobby, not handling this anymore, out of every terrifying thing he saw in his 17-year-old life this will undoubtedly be the worst. He turned and rushed toward the kitchen sink, but did not make it. He puked his breakfast, now mostly digested, into his mask. He ripped the mask off, heaving in the hot, thick, sick-smelling apartment air.

Both Hector and Carlos could only tell that this was a dead body wrapped in black plastic.

"I'm not doing this anymore, fuck this, I'd rather be trapped in the freezer again than doing this." Bobby choked out.

Carlos turned to his father and fixed him with an angry stare. "Not only are we gonna hire a construction cleaner but we also have to call the police and a therapy for Bobby."

"Yeah, after what we just saw, I'm gonna do it right away." Said Hector. Their faces, obscured by clear plastic shields, pivoted back and forth from the black-plastic bag sarcophagus to Bobby, who was still shaking and wiping vomit out of his hair. They went to help him before letting him go rest.

Bobby would never come back to that room nor will speak anything related to it even after the cops had arrived to take the body. One time, Ronnie Anne asked him what he really saw back there and he would just shrug her off and said he doesn't wanna talk about it.

THE END