Outside, a raven cried, but nobody noticed.
That, alongside the dim moonlight, provided a uniquely ominous backdrop to the events in what normally was a mundane apartment building. An old, ratty apartment building that had mold growing in strange places and a certain stench that never seemed to go away. It had that sort of dark, dingy, and depressing atmosphere that reminded its residents that this was a place where when bad things happened, nobody cared. Where if someone died, nobody would notice. And if they did notice, they’d pretend not to. Because of those reasons, tonight somebody was going to die and the murderer was going to get away with it.
The front door to the dingy little building was left half open. It had been like that for an hour. Above it, a flickering lamp above it blinked in and out of electrical existence. Outside the door the night air was cooling, as it normally did around this time, just after twelve. Past the entryway, in the single hallway leading to one of eight residences, the fluorescent ceiling light flickered once, then twice, threatening to go out completely. Suddenly, with a loud crackling spark and overloaded wire, the ceiling light went black, letting shadows creep into the hallway. Footsteps retreated out of the apartment building a moment later, their sound fading outside.
All of the interior apartment doors were closed, save one, which hung ajar similarly to the front door. This door, however, was half ripped from its hinges, haphazardly struggling to hold to the frame. The single functioning metal hinge was doing the job of two, barely keeping the door up. The interior hallway smelled about the same as the outside but with a cheap air freshener. But from inside this hanging door, there was a more intense, terrible stench that overpowered the naturally repugnant odors of the building. It stank of metal. Copper, maybe. Anyone who had been around it often would know immediately what it was. Anyone who didn’t would still have that inner instinct from the smell telling them something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. At least, if anyone had actually been around to notice.
Surprisingly tonight somebody did notice. Someone else who lived in the dingy building arrived after a long shift at the loans office just down the street, and felt a logical compulsion to check on the strange scene. This compulsion was contrary to this persons instinct, telling them to just ignore the neighbor they didn’t really know, and get on with their sad, boring life. After all, they worked late this evening, and their own comfort and hour of television before a short, restless night was more valuable than the well being of their neighbor. That’s what he would normally feel, at least.
But, this night, he was feeling what he would call altruistic. ‘Altruism’, consisting of the most basic, simple, effortless task of checking on a neighbor who lived literally five feet across from him. So, the loan officer called out in an all too cliche manner, “Hello?” But there was no response. He placed one hand gingerly on the half-hanging door, inspecting the thing that had been violently torn off its hinge. This unusual sight was the first indication that he should not be choosing to be brave tonight, but in his sleep deprived exhaustion it didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
After looking at the banged up door for a moment, the second indication that he should not be brave followed shortly after. That smell that causes that primal instinct washed over his senses, causing him to gag. It was overpowering to the point he had to turn away and pinched his nose shut, still able to taste the smell of blood in the air. And yet, again, the second warning went unheeded. Instead, he continued. What compulsion drove him forward? He couldn’t say himself, beyond the fact that maybe deep down inside of him there was a good human. But he wasn’t thinking about the why, right now he was only thinking about the what. One peek inside the room and he saw something terribly amiss. A third indication to leave; less easily ignored than the others. In fact, from what he just saw, he felt an urge to get away as quickly as possible, leave the entire building, run away and call the police. To do the smart thing. Foolishly, for a reason unknown to him, he tried to harden himself, thinking that he could do this, whatever this was, before carefully taking one step inside.
The apartment was torn to pieces. Bed upturned, everything that had been on the kitchen counter smashed, sliced, or strewn about. Cabinets broken, wood chips everywhere, and furniture destroyed. But most importantly, that powerful stench now had a visible source. In the center of the room a comically large stain of blood painted the floor red. Like one in a slasher movie, where the villain had just struck a fatal blow against a hapless victim and ridiculous sprays of blood caused the audience to scream. But in this case, it appeared to be reality. The neighbor had never seen that much blood, and his first inclination was to puke. He gagged and covered his mouth, and some strange, trained politeness in him told him that puking in his neighbors apartment would be rude. Like somehow it would distract from the giant pool of blood on the floor. His next thought was about how ridiculous that first thought just was, but nevertheless he kept himself from throwing up.
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Looking forward, the apartment wasn’t that large. The same layout as his, in fact. There would only be one or two guesses as where a body could’ve possibly ended up in this place. But there was no need to guess, because beyond the large pool of fresh blood there were long, stretched, drag marks of blood leading towards the bathroom. His hands were shaking as he called out again, trying to desperately remember the name of the neighbor he had lived just next to for four years. There was no way a living human could bleed that much. There was no way even a dead human could bleed that much, he thought. This had to be some kind of horrible, sick joke that he had the misfortune of being the victim of. But he knew that wasn’t true.
“H-Hello?” He took one step forward, terror seizing his body and brain like a coil of ice. “Mr. Alvarez?”
The name came to him automatically, finally, giving him some minor sense of relief that he did remember something he should have known in the first place. That that tiny act of humanity would somehow appease the entire situation. He knew that wasn’t the case, but it made him feel slightly less horrified for the moment.
But, finally, just before entering the bathroom, a modicum of sense arrived, and the man removed his phone from his pocket with the intent of calling the police. Only to immediately drop it through shaking hands. It clattered on the floor, and he snatched it up hastily, not taking his eyes off the bathroom. He hesitated for just a moment, a thought presenting itself that he would be blamed for this. But he shook his head and dialed 9-1-1 as he peeked into the bathroom. This is the right thing to do, he thought. As the line picked up, a dispatcher tired and worn down began to speak over the phone. However, that modicum of sense had come and left quickly because the neighbor was no longer listening, his eyes widening and his hand going to his mouth as peeked around the corner and saw what was inside the bathroom.
To say there was blood everywhere would be an understatement. The bathtub had a thick, red layer of blood inside, while whoever had killed the man had seemingly been intentionally messy. A spatter of fresh blood streaked down from the ceramic tiles behind the bathtub, and there were bloody smears and splotches of crimson all over the floor. The body itself was completely drenched in its own vital fluid, so much so that it was difficult to even see Mr. Alvarez’s face. It was also difficult to determine what exactly had killed Mr. Alvarez on account of the blood, but there were obvious tears of flesh all over the mans chest and neck, exposing tendon and bone beneath. Regardless, it was very clear that Mr. Alvarez no longer resided on the mortal plane.
“My God.” Was all the man managed to whisper, his voice carrying over to phone line he was still holding near his face, though completely unaware of the fact that he was even still holding a phone.
“Sir,” the dispatcher said, “I’ll only ask one more time or I will hang up, are you in need of assistance?”
The neighbor realized that sound had been coming out of the phone this whole time, repeating itself. Taking every effort the had to force his body to react to his commands and try to think clearly through the terror, he moved away from the rank stench and awful scene, back out of the apartment, stumbling on a broken piece of furniture. He tripped, and his elbows hit the floor hard as his phone clattered away again, this time sliding out into the hallway. He could still hear the dispatcher threatening to hang up if she didn’t get a response shortly.
The neighbor frantically crawled towards the phone, his breath ragged, speaking loudly towards the phone lying on the floor. “Yes, yes! Emergency!” Was all he was able to get out. As he dragged himself away from the apartment and reached for the phone again, there was a shadow of movement. From the front entryway he hadn’t bothered to close like every other night, under the streetlamp he hadn’t bothered to report to be fixed like every other night, in his ratty, dingy apartment he hadn’t bothered to leave, despite knowing he should; a figure emerged. The neighbor, still on the floor, looked up at the shadow, back lit by the malfunctioning ceiling light flickering behind him. The shadow just stood there, stark still, as the neighbor’s hysterical speech slowed to a stammer, never having reached the phone just a few inches away from his hand.
As the light blinked in and out, it wasn’t enough to make out any details on the persons face, but one thing stood out clearly. Nothing about him seemed particularly threatening, or dangerous, other than the fact that even through the uneven light it was obvious that his face and hands were stained red, completely covered in blood. The neighbor began to utter pathetic whimpering sounds as the figure took a step forward, deliberately crunching the phone underneath his foot as the dispatchers voice crackled out through frayed wires.
The neighbor tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t react, couldn’t do anything. As he realized what was about to happen, thoughts about past regrets, failures to achieve what he wanted, and ignoring his friends and family passed through the neighbors mind like a slideshow. And in that moment, the neighbor had one final, sad, pointless thought, which was that he should have closed the front door.
Faster than the eye could see, the killer was on top of the neighbor. There was a quick struggle, a scream, and a crunching of bones. Then he went limp, and his corpse was the second one dragged into Mr. Alvarez’s apartment that night. Nobody else saw anyone come or go from the apartment for another few hours, and nobody else bothered to check on the broken door, or the screaming man outside. Only much later did somebody finally bother to check, when the sun had risen. But by that time the killer was long gone.
