Rancor: Sinister Attachments, Book 1 (Haunted)

THIRTEEN

Maggie took a pillow from her bed and lay down on the couch. She closed her eyes and began tallying a mental account of the positives and negatives in her life. Positives included Jess, her apartment's gorgeous view, and . . ., she paused. She could not think of any more positives. The negatives included the creepy building and its history, Debbie, Susie, and probably Bruce. Of course, the death of Cory was a negative, but there was nothing she could do about that. Before she dozed off, she debated whether she should call Ethel, Mr. Zimmerman, the cashier and the old woman at Lenny's, a positive or a negative. They could go either way, she thought.

Her slumber was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut. Was it Bruce's? She looked at her watch; it was one in the afternoon. After she took a shower and grabbed a Diet Pepsi from the refrigerator, she decided to walk downstairs and out to the backyard. When she walked by Ethel's door, she stopped. For a moment she had thought about speaking with the seer; after all, Ethel did invite her to stop by her apartment. Instead, Maggie continued walking out to the back porch. 

The air was fresh and invigorating. It was if she walked outside a bubble, a bubble filled with a suffocating oily liquid.

"Hi, dear."

Maggie turned and saw Ethel sitting in a rocking chair at the end of the porch. "Hi, Ethel. Out enjoying this beautiful day?"

"Yes, I suppose I am." She coughed and then lit a wood tip cigar. "Or to have a smoke."

Maggie laughed.

"Care to join me?" Ethel said with her sandpaper voice as she pointed to the rocking chair next to hers.

"Sure, I'd love to." Maggie walked down the creaky planks and sat in the creaky rocker.

"Are you doing all right?"

"It's taking a little getting used to living here." Maggie watched the wind gently ruffle Ethel's loose gypsy skirt. "I could use a new lock, but I can't get a hold of Mr. Zimmerman. Have you seen him?"

Ethel blew a puff of smoke and adjusted the green scarf wrapped around her head. "He's usually in his apartment on the third floor. You may have to just go up there."

Maggie nodded.

Ethel rolled the ashes into the ashtray sitting on the small table between the two rockers. "No one else will tell you, but I will. This place is not all that it seems."

"I know about the building's history, but that was then and this is now."

"True, but sometimes then is now, and now is then."

"I don't know what you mean."

Ethel rocked back and forth. Back and forth. "I wanted to tell you to watch that friend of yours. I get a bad feeling about her."

"You're not the first one that's told me that," Maggie said. "An old lady at the grocery store said the same thing."