FEAR AND LOATHING IN APARTMENT 301
Taking a shower at the end of a long day is a relief because the hot water melts away all the stress from my day. The job has its challenges with obnoxious co-workers and vindictive dispatchers but that’s easy to deal with because I’m someone who doesn’t stand for bullshit. Traffic is always a mess and that’s something that can’t be helped. The members of the canoe paddling club that I belong to are wrapped up in politics more than canoe paddling but I just focus on the reason why I joined in the first place.
I think about those things as I let the hot water wash over my body, you see I’m an Irish Spring kinda guy, always have been. I don’t go in for those fancy shampoo things or the manly body wash, I just keep it simple. Even though it’s just myself living in this studio, I make it a point not take any Hollywood showers. I’m standing at the sink trimming my beard and brushing my teeth afterward and that’s when I see him in the reflection of the mirror. He’s standing in front of the closed bathroom door, he’s not so transparent that you can’t make out the details, he’s just not flesh and blood. He’s in a mustard-colored surf shirt and he’s got board shorts on, he’s a surfer because he’s dark and he’s got that wild surfer hair that gets a reddish blonde tint to it after being out in the sun surfing all day. I turn around slowly and look at him, I’m thinking that I should ask him about what he wants but the second I think that thought, blood starts trickling down his forehead and his eyes roll over white and he fades out right in front of me. I’m freaking out but I can’t give in to fear because I know I’m going to lose it. I get dressed and I head downstairs and knock on the building managers door and tell him about what just happened. The weathered old man had been the overseer of our place since the 70’s and he’s seen them all come and go, but the second I talked about what was going on in my little studio, he closed his eyes and ran his hand through his white brillo pad like hair and lets out a big sigh.
“That one was my fault, it was back in the 70’s and I was a sucker for tank tops and blue jean shorts. Two young hippy girls shared your place and had a party and invited more people than that studio could handle. Everybody was drunk and stoned and some idiot kid who was showing off and fell and hit his head in the bathroom…..he was split wide open. He was only sixteen and his name was Corey Stevens.” The building manager got all teary-eyed and had to use his shirt to wipe his face.
“Weren’t you supposed to tell me about that before I signed the rental agreement?” I could feel my frustration building up and I was doing my best not to get upset. There was also that fear that was boiling beneath the surface that I hadn’t quite dealt with yet.
“I figured that there was no point,” the old man countered. “Cory’s ghost has only appeared in your studio when there’s a female occupant.”
“I’ve had women over but it’s never been anything serious,” I had to think about it for a second. “Look, do me a favor and get rid of it, find an exorcist or aKahunaa or something but get rid of that kid’s ghost. My job is very stressful and the last thing I need is more stress when I get home at the end of the day….do something about it or I’m gonna take this matter to court.”
“Listen,” he said. “There’s really no need to get carried away….”
I cut him off because the end of a long day combined with the fear that I was trying to keep at bay both collided and caused a brief nuclear reaction, “I SAID FUCKING DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!”
“I CAN’T!” He screamed back, “Corey’s my son…” he broke down and slammed the door shut.
“Shit,” I hissed that word out more than I said it. I headed straight back to my studio and kicked the bathroom door open, his ghost was still there, bloodied and blank faced. “Stupid little shit! What the fuck were you doing here in the first place drinking and getting stoned!!!???”
….……..
The old building manager Mr. Thomas Stevens came rushing up to the front door of my studio two days later when he happened to look out his apartment window and saw a Kahuna standing outside my door. By the time he made it up the steps, the Kahuna had just completed circumnavigating the circumference of my studio and was now standing at the bathroom door. Corey’s ghost appeared and the Kahuna began a chant to cast out and send his apparition to where it was supposed to go. At that exact second, the building manager ran in through my front door and locked eyes with the ghost of his son; it was perfect timing as Corey saw his father at the same time.
“Dad!!! No!!!”
Building manager Stevens was a complete emotional mess, I gave the Kahuna his payment just before he left and I asked Stevens to take a step back, then I slammed my door in his face. I don’t have time for bullshit and if I don’t get a full nights sleep, I’m a complete bastard to deal with. Sleep didn’t come however because I still refused to deal with my fear of seeing a real live ghost for the first time. I would spend the next few months pacing the floor late at night until the sun came up. I was afraid of the fear because I knew I was going to lose it and I’d never be able to come back. Better to redirect that fear and be a miserable son-of-a-bitch.
No comments:
Post a Comment