The Seance in Apartment 10 Page 13

  It'd taken my mother's form again, and in the bright sunlight, it almost looked convincing. Stark naked, empty eyes sprung wide, its mouth parted in a droning, wheezy cry.

  I limped through the abandoned parking lot, crossed the street, and kept on walking until I made it downtown. I left drops of blood in my wake, and my battered fingers smeared the screen of my phone in crimson as I frantically dialed my dad. I managed to convey to him, blubbering mess that I was, that I needed picked up. That I wasn't going to stay in the apartment any longer. That I missed my mother, and that I was sorry for everything.

  He probably said he was going to come get me at that point. I'm not sure. I passed out alongside the road half-way through the phone call and didn't wake up again till a passerby called the cops.

  20

  The aftermath was every bit as messy as you might predict.

  I ran up a decent bill at the local ER getting stitched up. The police got involved and I was questioned by numerous different officers about what had gone on at the apartment complex. They wanted to know where I'd gotten my injuries, who had assaulted me in the supposedly empty apartment and why I'd seen it fit to bust out the window to escape.

  I told them, quite truthfully, that I didn't know.

  The thing that had lured me into that room and terrorized me was simply beyond description. Though I could have tried to offer up something more concrete, the fact remained that no one, not even my own father, would have believed me. It wasn't human, but could don a human skin if it so chose. A dead woman had seemingly conjured it up from Hell itself and had died in the hopes of sending it back. Now it lurked there, waiting patiently for a host through which it might live, and Evelyn's spirit was bound to the apartment, and to the nightmarish book she'd used to summon the entity.

  The book called Carte de Umbra Lungi.

  I Googled that title later on, long after I'd moved back home with my dad, and found out that it was Romanian. It could be translated loosely to mean, The Book of Long Shadows. There wasn't anything about the book to be found online, and more curiously, the cops who'd gone into apartment 11 to study the crime scene hadn't mentioned finding any trace of it, which made me wonder if I'd simply hallucinated it.

  Sheldon had been in the apartment earlier on that fateful day to get rid of Evelyn's belongings, and had discovered urine on the floor. This he took as proof of a squatter. That detail had saved my ass; it was suspected that the “squatter” and my attacker were one and the same, and as a result I wasn't held responsible for the damages to the unoccupied unit. A criminal investigation that would never get anywhere was launched and I gave a token description of my attacker. “A man,” I told them. “A man with a very large mouth. And big eyes.”

  They weren't going to get anywhere with that, but it wasn't technically dishonest. What was I supposed to tell them? That they were looking for a ghost or demon?

  After everything that happened, Sheldon didn't put up much of a fuss about our lease and let us out of it easily. The guy was a shambles when we showed up to clear out the studio, and it was pretty clear that he was going to have to file for bankruptcy unless things turned around quickly.

  It was around the time that my summer course in pathophysiology would have started that we drove up to Moorlake from our house in Dayton to recover my things. I had absolutely zero interest in re-entering the apartment, and just looking up at the building as we arrived was enough to inspire a panic attack. My dad understood, since it'd been the site of a great trauma for me, and enlisted Sheldon's help for a small fee in moving my scant belongings into the bed of the truck. It was during this exchange that I learned just how dire the situation at the complex really was.

  Sheldon, a sweaty mess by the time the job was finished, told my father that the old tenant in apartment 8 had passed away just a few days prior, which meant that the entire building was now vacant. Renters in his other buildings, having caught wind of all the recent troubles and deaths in building 3, were considering pulling out of their leases now and he was probably going to be out of a job.

  I asked about Ike, wanted to know what'd happened to him, but Sheldon declined to say anything except that he'd passed on in his sleep.

  With all of my stuff packed, we bid Sheldon farewell and left the Lamplight complex behind us. I looked back at it as we departed, staring at the three pillar-like buildings cutting into the sunny scenery for the very last time.

  Or so I thought.

  I moved back home with my dad and spent a mercifully boring summer in Dayton like I'd done back in my elementary and high school days. Staying in my childhood bedroom with my dad close-by did wonders for me, and a few weeks after that final incident in the apartment I started to feel almost like myself. Though I sincerely doubted I'd ever be able to get over what'd I'd experienced there, I did get to the point where my every waking thought wasn't dominated by visions of cramped studios and waxy specters.

  The rooms at the Lamplight were often at the back of my mind when I settled into bed at night, but for all intents and purposes the nightmare really seemed to be over. Whatever had chased me around inside apartment 11 was still there, probably. Or, at least, it hadn't followed me out. Wherever it was now, if it still existed at all, was none of my concern.

  I learned once more how to pass the night peacefully, how to enjoy a full night's sleep. Over the remainder of the summer, I spoke to both Julia and Annie a lot. They visited once or twice, but spoke little of the apartment or the goings-on in Moorlake. They would tease at the very borders of the subject with smug smiles, as if to say “We knew there was something wrong with that apartment all along”, but wouldn't actually voice it outright. We returned to our typical routine of covert drinking and gossip, and all was well.

  I signed up for my fall semester classes and opted to live in the dorms once again. No roommate that the university could throw at me could be worse than living at the Lamplight, and I was pleased to discover come the start of the semester that my assigned roomie, a sophomore named Sarah, was actually kind and considerate.

  I took on an ambitious course load in the hopes that I might graduate a semester early and dedicated myself to my studies. My dad was apprehensive about my going back to school. He let me move into the dorms in mid-August without too much fuss, and when the first few weeks of the semester passed without incident, he eased up. He called a lot more frequently, though.

  It was during a Friday evening, when I'd finished my last course of the day and was considering a night out with Julia that I received a call out of the blue from Cat Meyers.

  At this point, I hadn't seen or heard from Cat since I'd visited her in the hospital. It'd never dawned on me to give her a call after everything that'd gone down in apartment 11, and to see her number come up on my phone dredged up some massive dread. Dread that I'd thought well and buried for several weeks.

  Cat apologized for calling me, apologized for not keeping in touch, but it was clear that she hadn't called simply to reconnect with me. Clearing her throat, she asked me a token question, how my classes were going, and then cut to the chase. “How did it go?”

  I knew what she was talking about without any further clarification, but I didn't have a good answer. “I went back into the apartment,” I explained. “And it tried to keep me there. The mirror wouldn't break, and...” Slowly, I unpacked the events of that afternoon for her, explaining all of the details, and at uttering them for the very first time I couldn't help but laugh. It sounded utterly insane.

  But Cat didn't laugh. “So, it looks like I was right. That woman summoned something. She used the book to make contact, but got in over her head. She tried to protect you up to the very end. What happened to the book?”

  I bit my lip. “Honestly? I don't know. The cops didn't find it when they searched the place. It just vanished.” I knew that Sheldon had gotten rid of Evelyn's things, and that most of her personal effects had been donated to a local Goodwill. Not a week before, I'd been hanging around that
Goodwill with Annie, looking for a cheap clubbing outfit, and I'd be a liar if I said that I didn't visit their book section and search it rather closely for that singular metal-covered book. The Book of Long Shadows. It hadn't been there, of course.

  “There are stories about books like that,” explained Cat. “My grandmother used to be really into occult subjects. She's the one who taught me how to use a talking board in the first place, and she'd tell stories about powerful old books that could be used to terrible ends. You know... summoning awful things, but always at great cost. Offering limitless knowledge, but also limitless pain. Maybe this book of Evelyn's was something like that. Who knows where it is now, though.”

  “Honestly, I'm not even sure it was real. It all seems so... dream-like now that I mention it.”

  That should have been the end of our talk, but Cat pressed on. “We need to go back there.”

  “Where?” I chuckled. “To... to the apartment?”

  “Yes,” replied Cat. “We need to see if this thing, this entity, is still there. And if it is, we need to get rid of it.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “No thanks.” At the mere mention of going back my palm grew sweaty. “I've had enough of that place. Anyhow, the building's completely empty now. There's no one living in it at all, last I checked, so no one's in danger.”

  “For now,” continued Cat. “No one's in danger for now. But what happens when someone moves in, Tori? If that thing is still lurking, it's only a matter of time before someone gets hurt. Or worse...”

  I wanted to reply, “That's not my problem,” but instead I sat in my bunk, silent.

  “If we go in together, we stand a better chance. Think about it. I can bring a new board,” Cat offered. “If the two of us hold a séance, perhaps we can force the spirit to reveal its connection to the physical world and then banish it. We'll do it in your old apartment, just like we did it that night. And once we have the information we need, we'll go into Evelyn's apartment and put a stop to this, for good.”

  I refused, outright. “There's nothing in this world that'll get me to go back there,” I declared.

  She called me again the next morning, pressing me.

  Once more, I refused.

  Finally, she called a third time on Sunday afternoon. Cat announced her intention to return to the complex solo, if need be, to carry out this plan. She said I was welcome to come along, and that she was even willing to meet me on campus so that the two of us could venture there together, but that she wouldn't ask again before trying to settle matters on her own.

  I told her it was damned stupid, called her every name in the book, and then I begged her not to.

  Then, maybe because I felt guilty, responsible for Cat's involvement in this, I caved. We agreed to meet outside the campus bookstore in an hour so that we could walk to the Lamplight complex and get this done before dark.

  I hung up the phone and, for some strange reason, I started to cry. Sarah, my roommate, asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't bring myself to explain it to her. I simply told her I had something important to do, and regaining my composure, set out for the bookstore where I met Cat nearly forty minutes later.

  21

  Cat's brown hair stuck out from beneath the edges of a Detroit Pistons ball cap in messy waves. She'd worn it after her discharge from the hospital to cover up the bald spot left behind by her operation, and kept on wearing it even now out of habit. She had a familiar-looking duffel bag slung over her shoulder; the same green and black one she'd brought to my “housewarming party” over the summer, with her last name written on it in silver marker.

  “I don't want to do this,” I told her at the onset. “I'm not just chickening out, mind you. The things I saw in that apartment are...”

  “I knew you'd say that,” replied Cat, starting down the sidewalk and taking the lead.

  I ignored her and tried to finish my thought. “No, look, I don't think we can handle what's in that apartment. The thing in that building, whatever it is, is going to try and rip us apart, Cat. We shouldn't involve ourselves any further.”

  Undeterred, Cat marched on and I fell into step behind her. Like a general giving her orders before a great battle, she rattled her duffel and turned to me with a firm nod. “We need to figure out what's keeping this parasite in the building to begin with. Once we know that, we can cut it off. Send it back. It won't be able to hurt anyone.”

  I didn't say anything for several minutes, but simply kept my eyes on the ground. I felt like I was in a movie, something tightly scripted, where I had no control over my own actions. Here I was, walking down the streets of Moorlake, heading back to the Lamplight. It was something I thought I'd never do again—something that I wouldn't be doing if I had any sense at all. I thought to make small-talk at several points along the way, wishing to distract from our grim errand, but couldn't even force out the words. It all seemed so pointless.

  “I picked up a new board,” explained Cat. “There was a store in town selling one used. They had a few, in fact. I picked what I thought was the best one. Usually I like to do this sort of thing with more than two people, but we'll make do.”

  The scenery of downtown Moorlake was coming into view. The shops were bustling now; the restaurants and cafes were packed, with lines nearly out their doors. Students wandered in groups throughout the streets, laughing and carrying on. This was what I'd missed all summer while trying to live on my own. Compared to the desolateness I'd encountered, the stretch of downtown seemed like an entirely different place. It felt warmer, more inviting.

  And we were steadfastly marching through it, to a place where I knew the isolation to be preserved year-round.

  “That night,” I offered, hands in my pockets, “I really thought it was my mom reaching out to us.” I gave a nervous laugh. “You know, during the séance? I thought it was the real thing.”

  Cat smiled and nodded. “It can be hard to tell. You never know who might 'pick up' when you ring the other side.”

  I gulped. “Yeah, but there's something I don't understand. That thing, when we made contact with it, it... it knew things. It knew the name of that picture book character, Melanie Mouse. It knew things that it shouldn't have known at all—things that only me, or my actual mother would know. How is that possible?”

  Cat pondered this for a few moments, her pace never slowing. “There are differing opinions on that. Some say that certain spirits are capable of simply knowing the unknowable. It's a trait, especially of malevolent spirits, to have access to forbidden knowledge. There are others, though, which claim that the spirits can't know anything about you that they aren't given. That is, when you're using a talking board and you ask a question, you already have an answer in your heart. Those spirits, they say, can listen. They know what you're thinking, what answer would serve as good proof.”

  I paused on the sidewalk. “Cat? If... if that's really the case, then what else can they know? Is it possible that this thing in the apartment... this dark spirit... knows we're coming to visit?”

  For the first time since we'd been reunited, I saw a flash of uncertainty, of fright on Cat's features. “There's really no telling,” she said, pressing on.

  We were approaching Melrose Street. Above the trees I spied three towering, concrete columns poking into the bright, blue sky. My heart began to race at seeing them. The closer we got, the more I was able to make out. The large windows, the rusty railing of the fire escape, the sloping asphalt lot where cars were left to rust out.

  The Lamplight complex hadn't changed at all since I'd last seen it.

  As always, the property was awfully quiet. Though I couldn't be certain, there appeared to be fewer cars parked there than before. Probably a lot of the tenants had made good on their threats and broken their leases after the recent, publicized incidents. I felt a twinge of sadness for Sheldon, who would probably be bankrupted by such a turn of events, but it was promptly squashed by raw dread. Cat walked up to the door of building 3 and opened
it.

  “You ready?” she asked, entering the commons area.

  I wasn't, and I hesitated on the lawn for a long while, scanning the outside of the building and trying to think of some last-minute excuse. “Looks like there aren't too many people living here right now,” I offered. “Maybe we should reconsider, Cat. Maybe... maybe no one's in danger. I bet they'll end up selling this building soon, or closing it down. We shouldn't bother.”

  Cat tried to flip a switch in the commons area, attempted to brighten things up, but by the looks of it the bulb was out. “You coming, Tori?” she asked, ignoring me.

  I followed, head low.

  Stepping through that doorway was like delivering myself willingly into the jaws of some huge animal. I touched the wall as I entered, shuddered, and tried to internalize the fact that, having returned, I might never leave the building again. Cat was soldiering on, had opened the stairwell door and was fussing over another light switch. “You know what?” she said. “I think the electricity to this building's been cut altogether. There's probably no one living in the building, even now.”

  I followed her up the stairs. The concrete stairwell was aglow in a dreary light. The sun came in through the dusty glass blocks and grew duller, discolored for the filter. The air was every bit as earthy as I remembered it, though the day was fair and the building as a whole had cooled down considerably compared to what I'd dealt with at the peak of summer.

  I paused on the landing to the second floor, setting my hand on the door of apartment 8, which had been Ike's. “There was an old man living in this apartment. He was very kind, drew detailed pictures of warplanes. I was told he died not long after I left. Do... do you think it was related?”

  Cat shook her head. “No, I doubt it. Not unless he was reaching out to the world of the dead, trying to make contact with someone. Many spirits, even evil ones, won't bother you unless you've meddled with the occult. That's why most people can go about their lives without ever encountering a ghost. The two of us, though... we've experimented, connected with things. To some degree, we'll always have eyes watching us from the other side. The good and the bad.”