Gash

I woke to the lights of the city peering through the nearly useless blinds in my apartment. After being here for better than a year at this point – one would think I would have adapted. The lights felt too bright for the late hour of the day, as the light still managed to pour its way in.

At about nine at night, I got out of bed and started getting ready for my work that night. I pulled on the black utility pants that were draped over my desk chair. Then I pulled the polo shirt over my head and clumsily put on my work boots. Then worked on getting my utility belt through the loops of the pants – which weren’t broken enough yet to allow me to slide the belt through.

Once the belt was on, I slid small leather loops with snaps through the belt so I could attach my can of mace, handcuffs, and baton to my belt. Then I also worked on sliding the clip of my radio onto the belt. I gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. I ran a hand over the stubble growing on my head – grimacing at the feel of the short and pointed growth that felt like Velcro under my fingers. I peered over at my nightstand to check the time; it was only 9:15. I still had plenty of time to quickly shave the new growth of hair off my scalp before leaving.

I quickly applied shaving cream to the top of my head and carefully ran the razor over just as I had done two nights before. I took a moment to brush my teeth as well. I then went to the closet in my hallway to grab my helmet. Then snagged my wallet and the key for my motorcycle before leaving my apartment and dashing to the elevators down the hall.

I pressed the button and didn’t see any light reflected from it. I pressed the button a few more times, with a resigned sigh, when there was still no light to be seen from the call button for the elevator. This was the third time this week that the elevators were inoperable. They were no sooner fixed and then rendered useless once again.

I took a deep breath before making the trek back the hallway and to the stairwell at the end of it and pushed the door open. Looking over at the wall in the dim, buzzing, florescent light felt like a mistake. It only served to remind me that I had eight flights of stairs below me to navigate down. I cursed myself under my breath as I made the first step of many to work my way down.

Aside from the careless thuds of my boots against the concrete stairs and the buzz of lights, the stairway was silent.

I continued to work my way down the stairs, floor by floor, mindlessly. Then, once I was down on the fourth-floor landing, I could feel a shiver rise through my entire body and raise the tiny hairs on the back of my head. The lights in the stairwell from the fourth floor down suddenly shut off. There weren’t any sounds of doors opening or closing nor the sound of any light switch being flicked off.

From higher in the stairwell came the sound of a child giggling as the lights from the floors above me had shut off as well. I silently took a deep breath and unclipped the flashlight from my belt, and turned it on to attempt to continue my journey down the stairs. I paused momentarily on the landing for the fourth floor. I then peered through the window and saw no lights on down that hallway.

The cold chill ran up my spine again, and a sinking feeling began setting in my stomach. I was starting to feel sick from nerves as the small voice in the back of my head started to tell me something was wrong.

I debated running the stairs back up to my apartment to grab my cellphone and call off from work but knew that the others I was supposed to work with would be upset if they were down a body. After a small, silent, internal fight, I pushed myself to go down the last few flights of stairs. I forced myself to creep down the stairs as I didn’t feel like I was alone in the stairwell anymore, and I didn’t want to call any attention to myself.

I made it down to the second-floor landing and saw a dim light casting its way into the stairwell below me. An odd feeling of ease started to settle in. I told myself that it was just some kids in the apartment building playing some pranks. I reminded myself that the building itself was old and needed a maintenance staff that cared enough to do actual upkeep in the building.

That feeling of ease was short-lived, though, as I took my next step and heard a small splash as my boot connected with the stair. I could feel my entire body tense up, and tiny goosebumps formed on my skin. The stairwell’s temperature immediately dropped from the comfortable 19-20°C down to 5°C almost immediately.

I slowly directed my flashlight’s beam down to the stair I had just stepped on and saw a crimson puddle spilling down the stairs. Streaks appeared on the walls as the light hit them and looked like handprints clawing for traction against the painted cinderblock walls in the stairwell.

A loud crash came from above me on the stairs, and I felt a cold sweat break on my forehead. The sinking feeling in my stomach from before was back. I wanted to run down the rest of the stairs. Get away from whatever was in the stairwell with me. My feet wouldn’t move. It was as if my feet were stuck in a cement pool that had dried around them. Even attempting to make my arms move to shine the light around me seemed an impossible task at this moment.

All the breath I didn’t realize I was holding felt like hot coals in my lungs as I frantically looked around me. It looked like the stairwell was empty aside from myself and the blood; no new sounds came, and not even the sound of breathing could be heard. I tried to slowly let the air out of my lungs, but I was betrayed when the sound of a slight whine came from my throat. I felt one of my hands fly up and cover my mouth, and a tight, white-knuckled grip formed around my flashlight. I pressed my eyes shut for what felt like an eternity, and when I opened my eyes, I managed to let out a long breath. I closed my eyes to inhale again before descending the stairs again.

Each step felt heavy and left me feeling more nervous than the one before it. I didn’t dare look at the walls or the stairs, but I kept my flashlight turned on so that I could see the edges of the stairs in front of me. It was like I had tunnel vision and couldn’t see the world around me.

I found myself trying to explain away everything that I could see. Just as before, it was all just an elaborate prank. The crimson puddles on the stairs became dyed water, and the red streaks and prints on the wall were just fake blood. But I still couldn’t breathe without having to command myself to do so, and with each inhale came the distinct metallic scent of blood.

Even then, I was trying to convince myself otherwise and that it was clearly my brain filling in the blanks of what I could see. It all just had to be my imagination.

It felt almost like a dream when I finally reached the door to the first floor and could see the lights outside through that window. My hand gripped the door handle, gave it a twist, and pushed the door open. A feeling of relief came over me, like a rabbit diving into its burrow after being chased.

The relief was short-lived.

None of the lights in the lobby were on. Blood was splattered all over the mailboxes and on the carpet in that same area. There weren’t any bodies around, but I could see drag marks all over the lobby showing that the bodies that had been here all were dragged out to the parking lot behind the building.

With another deep breath, I threw on my motorcycle helmet and put the face guard down before running towards the concierge desk and front doors. I nearly tripped over my feet as I jumped the three small stairs and flailed out to the parking lot in the front of the building where my bike was parked.

I quickly threw the key in my bike, pulled the choke, and hit the ignition start button. The engine started to turn but wouldn’t finish turning over. I looked over my shoulder as I heard footsteps against the pavement, and someone was standing behind me. Their clothes and hands were stained dark red - almost glowing under the streetlights. Their eyes were black, and their mouth almost cut their face in half with the Cheshire-cat-like grin they had.

They simultaneously looked like a kid and yet looked inhuman. My eyes felt like they were betraying me.

I returned to trying to start my bike, anxiety nipping at me again. The fear of flooding my bike sitting in my stomach and the cold chill continuing to sit in my spine with that thing’s black eyes boring a hole through my back.

After what felt like forever, the engine turned and sputtered to life. I stomped my foot against the shifter, threw the bike into first gear, and took off down the road. I quickly turned down the main road without looking and worked on getting away from the building. I looked in my mirror to find that kid was walking down the street after me.

I arrived at my shift 10 minutes late and threw them the excuse of the elevator being out in my building. Marv, one of the other guards, laughed and said, “Have you considered moving?”

The laughter was cut short when all the lights in the building shut off. The streetlights also began to turn off in pairs, with the buildings around us all going black. I went as stiff as a board and felt myself turn as white as paper.

“What’s gotten into you ton-” Marv’s question was quickly cut off by the sound of a child singing. “Ring around the Rosie” sung slowly in the floor-to-ceiling marble lobby to which the two of us had been assigned. He swung around and came face to face with the kid I saw earlier. I quickly looked away and pressed my eyes closed.

The next thing I knew was that something rolled into my foot. When I turned around and opened my eyes, I stared at Marv’s head. I felt myself scream, and then everything went black.