i've had these dreams, consistently
shared with another within my soul, but
the contents of it remains the same no matter
who's footsteps are in it.
i digress.
i am:
standing on the rotting-through wooden
porch-steps of an apartment complex building
but the apartment complex looks like a one-story
hotel, and the wood hasn't been maintained
there are twelve doors
there are no doors
there is one door, it is sunken into the wall
down three steps after you walk north then
take a left turn, follow the wooden "hallway"
the apartment door is labelled apartment 103
many rumors surround this apartment, rumors i
am not supposed to know about but intimately can recall when i face it
there is a witch that lives in this apartment. this apartment is abandoned.
this apartment complex is condemned. nobody lives in this apartment.
a deity lives in this apartment. an old lady lives in this apartment.
ten cats live here and nobody feeds them but they never starve
if you go to apartment 103, you have a chance to obtain
exactly what it is you need
nobody has ever come back.
the first time i visited (i have never visited, this
is only a perception of my unwaking reality
i do not know why it feels more like home
than my neighborhood in the waking world)
i was alone. i came alone. my foot went
through the rotted wooden steps and i kept going
rap three times on the neatly painted & upkept door and watch the
apartment number plate sway on its hinges
it opens with a neat little 'squeak', not a squeak of rust
but a perfectly kept noise that couldn't be maintained with WD40
and She greets me like an old friend, as if she already had know
could know always knew was expecting my arrival
She has wavy dirt blonde hair that sweeps neatly to the middle of her back
dressed in a wrinkle-free black sweater, a
cloak draped over her shoulders and a flowing, ironed black skirt
over knitted leggings and high heels
i do not know why these details stuck with me. Her eyes are impossibly green and
her nails a bit too long, nail polish perfectly kept black without a
spill or a chip
"i'm glad you finally made it, dear."
She offers me a cup of chamomile-peppermint tea
(i don't question how she knows the blend i keep in my
cup boards)
and i sit down on a dusty rocking chair
and observe: cobwebbed couches, slashed open
their stuffing is spilling out but never touches the floor, moss growing in
the boards
the floors creak. the tv stand is dusty and hasn't been touched in
an incalculable amount of time. why would you need to?
the simple wooden steps upstairs have
a single metal banister and it reminds me of:
the rickety steps to the bedroom of my childhood friend's home
i sip my tea in silence.
"strange; you see too much,
you do not want forbidden knowledge.
fate pulled you here,
not your own desire to see
what shouldn't be."
She explains to me the rules of apartment 103: i have come
for a purpose (we always do), and i have to pass
the test to prove i am worthy of receiving a gift
the test is: five challenges. there are no other catches
three out of five, and i can go home
(if She claims victory thrice, my soul will never leave
and i will be forgotten
like so many rumors that should not exist.)
when i don't hesitate to accept, She smiles at me in a slight
half-smile way, as if She finds me very funny
or perhaps pitiable. or perhaps reckless
and She asks, sympathetic
"are you sure? what is it you gain from this?
if you lose, you may never leave.
you will simply be another Debt i have collected."
i don't have an answer. She finds this very funny.
"you are one of the most intriguing guests i've had in
a very, very long time,
zero."
challenge 1: sweep the upstairs attic
which has been so caked in dust, a second floor
so abandoned and unloved that it's
mistaken for an attic
i claim the victory without really trying, for i
have always been competent at sweeping very diligently
She regards me with a look in her eyes i cannot place
and claps twice.
challenge 2: lift more than her
i don't see the
mossy, overgrown, dusted weight-lifting
benches in the kitchen of the first floor when i
first entered. the vines connect to
dumbbells, and you simply must hold on longer
than She can.
i do not last very long. victory is Hers.
She laughs like a low breeze through dead branches
"most try to hold on; you let go.
a funny human, you are."
challenge 3: collect the cockroaches
they run everywhere. they are impossible to
count, or identify, but i shouldn't be surprised - the building is condemned.
we are timed. i win, despite being slower
i count each one and gently coax them into
a cup, trying to reassure them
somehow, i have more than She does.
"you count every little detail. are you always more concerned
of the feelings of a single roach
than your life?"
challenge 4: feed the spiders
i cannot do this (i am so scared, i have
not been this scared in a very long time)
my throat is constricted. i can't move
i lose by default
She does not gloat. She looks at me with
sympathy, or pity, or something passing for concern
"there is something different about you."
challenge 5: you must watch
the tv, the tv is always off but She
collects VCRs and will play a tape for you
and the tape will show you:
what you fear. what others think of you
your future, your past, your reality
what are you running from?
you simply must confront what those close to you
think of you, think about you, your threads
and how they pull on others. what does your gravity influence?
i surrender. She doesn't let me
"you are the first human who has not cheated,
who has not done everything in their power to best
me. you have no desire for a wish
nothing to be granted
you would rather run from the unknown
than be alive?"
'i'm scared', it is the first words i have said in a while
'i know too much. i see too much. i don't want to know
so i lock it away in a little box.
you've won, fair and square
so do as you please.'
"no
i have not won."
even though the floorboards are cracking open
and i know i am:
hopeless, being sent to oblivion
or nonexistence, or whatever the punishment
the outcome of failure is
before i am swallowed, She
puts a hand on my head and yanks me out
by the throat
"until next time,
my dear Zero;
i eagerly await your next visit.
you are always welcome in apartment 103."
the apartment is collapsing inwards, the walls are
peeling apart to reveal--
(i don't remember. i remember the scent of rot. decay. regret. despair)
i am pushed out the front door and stumble four steps forwards
and i barely spin around to see apartment 103's door shut
i wake up in my bed, in the real world
feeling like i'm falling
feeling like i know something i shouldn't.
the second time my dreams
take my feet to the condemned complex
that houses apartment 103, deep in
the woods away from humans, away from
anyone who would see;
i am not alone this time.
there is someone accompanying me (i could identify
him in my sleep, in my wake,
in my death, in amnesia)
he is laughing joyfully, music to my ears
like a cloud of music notes following me
it is a sound i hope to cause every day of my life
and every night thereafter
it fills me with dread this time, only
because i know where i am. i know where we are
when i take his hand, he cheerfully tells me:
"have you heard the rumors? if you go to apartment 103,
apparently you'll have a wish
something you covet or desire, something
about you that you want to change
or a power you would like
come true!"
'it's,' i do not have the right words
i know in the real world: i would tell him
do not do this. it's dangerous
an i love you stuck to the back of my throat
but here? i can't protest
for what, for what, for what would become of me if
i denied him this joy and woke to his death?
'really dangerous. i don't want to be here.
i think we should go home.'
"oh, it's fine!
we'll leave after we check out the place a little;
it's just a condemned complex."
when he raps on the door
four times even, She
opens the door and smiles at me without hesitation
"welcome back, my dear
though i must admit
i didn't expect to see you again.
there are no repeat visitors to 103."
he looks over at me
with wonder in his eyes, and says
"you've met her?"
i'm shaking when i manage to reply,
'it's nice to see you again, too'
"you don't want him to take the test." it is a
statement, not a question
plainly over chamomile-peppermint tea
while he bounds around the apartment
his feet smashing holes in
rotted floorboards without a worry
in the world. i stare silently into my teacup
'i don't,' and even though i should
be more scared, it feels
comforting to tell Her this.
'he can't handle this.'
"who are you to judge that?"
i have no reply. i trace the rim of my mug four times
and She sighs, and taps a
tune i only dimly recognize.
"you would trade your life
for his. you, the first loser to escape
for you are truly an intriguing human.
we are very alike.
so why, pray tell
would you so vehemently protect him?
what are you scared of him seeing?"
'something he isn't prepared for.' there are so many
things i have experienced
i sip my tea and find some apathetic
peace in knowing that i fear
a third of my life spilling over into his
nobody deserves to go through what i have.
"you cannot spare everybody the tragedy of living,
of loving, of experiencing
would you cast away your past
to try and create a future from dirt and water?"
'...no.'
"i enjoy your company," She says with an unfeeling smile
"here is a challenge, a Task, your 6th: do not interfere.
you will Observe with me."
like me, he
fails & succeeds in equal measures
like a metronome. he succeeds where i fail
and fails where i succeed
the sun to the moon that hangs alone in the sky,
surely.
She watches my expressions when
the dust remains unswept,
the cockroaches scatter, and she
offers him his fifth challenge:
watch the unconscious.
i can't help the 'don't!' that escapes my mouth
before i can stop myself, before i
really understand what i'm doing, and She
tsk's at me with that same
unfeeling, condescending smile
"you just can't help yourself,
can you?"
he looks at me with confusion as he asks
"why? what's so bad about it?"
and i am silent. who am i to protect him from things
i cannot possibly predict?
She laughs, then makes a new pot of tea
and suggests,
"there is a sixth challenge,
if you fancy physical work.
catch all of the ghosts on the second floor
with this vacuum
before the clock strikes twelve."
i watch him attempt it
full of confidence. there is so much relief in
this challenge, as i sip my refilled
cup of tea in companionable silence with Her
her knitting is half finished
yet already full of moths;
i find myself thinking of spell components
i haven't finished gathering
we have a low discussion of
the next full moon, and what the spirits
of the woods think.
it is only
with three minutes to 12,
that i realize he is
going to fail.
She smiles at me,
unfeeling, sympathetic
concerned, condescending
curious.
"well?
what will you do?
you may leave
at any time.
i told you when
we met:
you have my blessing
to come and go as you please."
i put the teacup down
and go to head upstairs;
She laughs
the sound of church bells tolling.
"you would fail
your sixth task, a task in
which your life is not at stake
in which you have nothing to lose or gain
for what?"
'i would trade my existance
for his. any day of the week.
i won't leave this apartment without him.'
"ah," Her smile sticks out. it always sticks
out. it sticks with me. i can still picture it.
"you never intended to let him
have the option to fail."
i help.
it is 1 minute until
the clock strikes twelve, and
i hear Her laughing
and when i blink, the
apartment has more cobwebs than ever
and we are standing in front of the door
(the clock never struck twelve.)
She pushes us out,
him before me, into the cold
frosty morning air.
"well,
as you wish.
you are truly the most
intriguing human i've ever met.
come visit again soon,
my dear."
when i wake up, i am
gasping and hyperventilating
and it is noon, and
the sun is shining brightly outside
and i check my phone to message him
and he's fine. everything is normal
as i left it. as if it would be silly to think that
a condemned apartment complex
that doesn't exist (could never exist)
could kill him.
i wonder when i'll visit apartment 103 next.
