The Man Upstairs

Samantha's new apartment was absolutely perfect. Brand-new stainless steel appliances and granite counters in the kitchen; fully furnished with pieces that were both tasteful and comfortable; a closet big enough to double as an extra bedroom; and a million-dollar view of the city from every window. On top of all it's perks, she got it for a song. When she showed her mother the listing, neither of them believed it could be as good as it looked in the pictures. The minute they walked through the door at the open house, Samantha was in love. Her mother, however, was a bit more cautious and skeptical.

"What's wrong with it?" she kept asking the realtor.

The first five times, the realtor just smiled and redirected the conversation to a different area of the apartment. When Samantha's mother raised the question again, a set of heavy boots echoed across the ceiling from the apartment above. The realtor's face grew strangely pale, but her smile only faltered for a few seconds.

"That's Mr. Wayne," she explained. "The owner of the building. He's a bit of an odd duck, but completely harmless. Keeps to himself most of the time... and he almost never leaves his apartment. You might hear him moving around up there from time to time. Whatever you hear, though, it's best not to disturb him."

Samantha's mother cast her an "I-told-you-so" look, but Samantha had already made up her mind. Within the hour, she'd signed the lease, and she'd moved in by the end of the day. An apartment that gorgeous with such an unbelievably cheap price tag was well worth dealing with the occasional noise.

Her very first night in the apartment, Samantha was awakened from a deep sleep by a sudden, loud bang from above. She jolted upright in bed, her eyes darting to the ceiling while her heart pounded in her throat. No other noises followed for a while, making her think she'd imagined the whole thing. As she laid back down, though, she heard another bang, and another. The noises continued on and off until dawn, like Mr. Wayne was dropping bowling balls up there. Samantha gave up on trying to sleep around six a.m.; her alarm was set to go off soon, and she needed to get up and get ready for work anyway.

So, she had a noisy neighbor. Big deal. Living in her dream apartment was worth it... wasn't it?

By the end of the week, Samantha was seriously regretting her decision to lease the apartment. Every day like clockwork, she could trace Mr. Wayne's movements above her head, stomping and shuffling from one end of his apartment to the other. She could hear him talking at all hours, his voice carried down to her through the air ducts, but no one ever answered him. Not that she could hear anyway. Sometimes there was music - old-timey stuff played on what sounded like a gramophone. It was never very loud, just loud enough to keep her from concentrating on whatever she was doing. All those quirks she could handle... what she couldn't deal with was that awful, thunderous banging in the middle of the night, preventing her from getting any sleep.

Samantha couldn't break her lease early without suffering a serious financial penalty. Even if she did, she couldn't really afford to move anywhere else. Her first thought was to deal with the problem directly: talk to Mr. Wayne and ask him politely to be mindful of how much noise he was making. Twice after that first week, she jogged upstairs and knocked on his door, but he never answered. Samantha assumed both times that he was out, but the footsteps and mumbling echoed down again the second she walked back through her door. As frustrating as it was, she tried not to take it personally: he was an old man, stuck in his ways. If she was patient enough, she would find a way to make it work.

As the weeks wore on, Samantha found herself spending less and less time in the apartment. She'd arrive early at work and stay late, spend the night with friends or even at her mom's place. None of them really seemed to mind her couch-surfing, but her mother could tell something was wrong. Over a pint of gelato and a few glasses of wine, Samantha eventually told her mother everything. Her mother was sympathetic, but Samantha knew by that look in her eye that her mother didn't believe Mr. Wayne's noisy habits could be that bad.

"Why don't I sleep over at your place tomorrow night?" she offered. "We'll order pizza and make popcorn. It'll be a real girls' night, just like we used to have when you were little."

Samantha agreed to the sleepover, albeit reluctantly. She wasn't too thrilled to go back to her apartment, but maybe her mother would believe her if she heard the noises for herself. At seven p.m. on the dot, her mother came over as agreed - armed with snacks and DVDs galore - and at seven oh one, Mr. Wayne's music started up again.

Samantha gave her mother the same "I-told-you-so" look she'd been given weeks ago, but her mother just moved to the kitchen like she heard nothing at all. The crackly old music kept going through two movies, still audible no matter how loudly Samantha's mother cranked up the TV's volume. When she suggested they play a boardgame instead, Mr. Wayne's mumbling filtered down through the living room vents again. After half an hour, he went from mumbling to shouting.

"This is all your fault!" he roared. "I was happy before-! What...?! No, I'm not drunk! Well fine... go ahead and leave! I said leave me alone!"

Samantha covered her ears with a frightened shriek as a loud bang shook the entire ceiling. Plaster dust rained down onto their monopoly board, bringing her almost to tears. Samantha's mother squared her shoulders and got to her feet, her eyes narrowed in a scowl.

"I have had enough of this!" she declared. "No wonder you don't want to spend any time here. I'm going upstairs to give that old geezer a piece of my mind... and if he doesn't cork it, we'll call the police!"

Samantha tried to tell her mother not to bother. If Mr. Wayne didn't answer the door before, he certainly wouldn't do it now. Her mother was already on the warpath though, leaving her no choice but to tag along. They were at Mr. Wayne's door within two minutes, still able to hear him shouting through it. Samantha's mother rapped sharply on the painted wood, squinting through the peephole angrily.

"Mr. Wayne, I know you're in there!" she snapped. "This is your downstairs neighbor! Come out here right now! We need to talk!"

Samantha expected Mr. Wayne to ignore the knocks like before, and when his shouting abruptly stopped, she wasn't surprised. Before she could pull her mother away from the door, both women nearly jumped out of their skins at a loud scream from the other side of it. Samantha and her mother traded a frightened look, both of them too stunned to speak. The scream they heard belonged to a woman, not a man. Mr. Wayne lived alone as far as Samantha knew; she'd never heard anyone contribute to his one-sided conversations, at least. Now she was wondering if she'd assumed wrong. Clearly there was someone else in there, and based on that scream they were in trouble.

Before she could do or say anything, another loud bang shook the walls. Samantha's blood ran cold, as the sound was much different from before. Every other time she'd heard it, it was a heavy sound like a hard object hitting the floor. The noise she'd heard just now, however, was light and hollow. More like an explosion... or a gunshot.

Her mother dragged her away from the door and pulled her back to the stairwell, eyes wide and face pale. She called the police that same minute, and they were thundering up the stairs within ten. Two officers with a battering ram knocked down Mr. Wayne's door, allowing half a dozen officers to flood the apartment behind them. Samantha and her mom stayed huddled in the stairwell, peeking around the corner. A few minutes later, the officers filed out of Mr. Wayne's apartment, their weapons holstered and their faces puzzled.

The detective in charge strode up to the two frightened women, studying them with intense skepticism. "You're the ones who called 911?" he asked gruffly.

"Y-Yes," Samantha's mother gulped. "We... m-my daughter lives in the apartment downstairs. Mr. Wayne - the man who lives above her - was shouting like a maniac, so we came up to complain. That's when we heard a scream... and a shot."

The detective looked from Samantha to her mother a few times, then glanced over his shoulder at the apartment. "Come with me," he said.

Samantha and her mother followed the officer obediently to Mr. Wayne's splintered door. When she looked inside, however, Samantha was shocked and utterly confused. Thick layers of dust covered every inch of the space from floor to ceiling. All the furniture was hidden under sheets, except for a gramophone in the corner. Cobwebs netted every corner and doorframe, the windows all pasted over with old, yellowed newspaper. There was no signs of life anywhere within it, apart from the policemen's footprints on the dusty floor.

"You two wanna tell me what happened here again?" the detective asked. "From the top this time?"