The Door.

Chapter- 4

The Accidental Murder.

"OH NO!" 

The scene I witnessed in front of me was utterly unbelievable! Just a moment ago, I had kicked the door in a fit of frustration, intending to slam it shut as I sought an escape from the suffocating tension inside. However, what actually happened was a disaster. The door, instead of slamming against its frame, crashed violently to the floor, falling in the opposite direction—an unexpected spectacle that left my mouth agape. The heavy wooden door landed with a resounding thud, right where Mrs. Señorpizza had been just moments before, as if fate itself had orchestrated this chaotic ballet.

With urgency clawing at my insides, I called out, “Boys! What are you watching? Lift the door! Our neighbor might have gotten hurt!” My voice was tinged with alarm as I desperately tried to jolt Damnsney, Pesticide, and Pasta from their deep, bewildered thoughts. I could sense the weight of the moment, thick and oppressive, hanging in the air.

“Oh yes!” They shrieked in unison, jolted into action, the shock rapidly transforming into an instinctive response to help. Together, we rushed to the scene, our muscles straining as we together lifted the heavy door from the ground, our minds racing with the possibilities of what we would find.

As we slowly raised the door, a horrifying sight materialized beneath it. There lay our neighbor, Mrs. Señorpizza, sprawled unconscious on the ground. My heart sank as I took in her ghastly appearance. Her face looked almost dismantled, smeared and distorted in a way that sent a chill spiraling down my spine. Dark streaks of crimson blood painted a horrifying picture that threatened to engulf my mind in despair.

It was in that moment I noticed the front edge of the door—the grim imprint of her face was stark against the wood. Panic surged through me, morphing into horror as I worried that this was worse than I could comprehend. But then, like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters, a wave of realization washed over me: the blood pooling around her was not what it seemed. It was merely the aftermath of her heavy makeup, now a grotesque smear on the door from when it had struck her during her fall. Even so, she still lay there, unconscious, with her chest showing no signs of movement—no rise, no fall.

“Tailor! Check whether she’s breathing!” Pablo urged, his voice laced with urgency, breaking through the fog of confusion settling over us.

I leaned closer, my finger poised near her nose, desperation fueling my hopes for any sign of life. I felt as though time had stopped, each second stretching into an eternity. But there was nothing—no inhale, no exhale.

“This is foolish! Tailor! Check her pulse!” Grenade insisted, panic creeping into his tone, making it clear how dire the situation was becoming.

Just as I was about to place my fingers on her wrist and plunge into a frantic assessment of her condition, something distracted me. A man peered out from the opposite building’s balcony, his facial expression frozen in a state of shock as he took in the chaotic scene below, his brows furrowed with an unspoken question.

“No! This is not what you think!” I yelled, hoping to project assurance despite the madness unfolding before us, desperate to convey that we were not the culprits of some sinister act.

He stood there, gripping a wet shirt in his hand, clearly having interrupted drying his laundry in the early hours of the morning. The absurdity of the situation struck me, and I couldn’t help but question, “Who the hell dries clothes at 5 AM?”

“Guys, a dude saw us! I’m going to go talk to him before he can get a chance to ring the cops. In the meantime, take care of Señorpizza’s ‘corpse,’” I called out, an adrenaline rush propelling me into action as I sprinted toward the staircase, thoughts racing chaotically in my mind.

I bolted down the stairs, crossing the road with urgency before melting into the shadows of a nearby building, careful to avoid the watchful eye of the security guard on duty. Frantically, I scanned my surroundings, doing mental calculations as I sought to discover which apartment belonged to the curious man who had witnessed our scene of potential disaster. After what felt like an eternity of scouring the area, I finally pinpointed the right flat.

With a pounding heart, I knocked on the door, the noise echoing ominously around me. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing a stern-looking woman whose eyes bore an intensity that made me feel distinctly unwelcome.

“Do I know you?” she queried, her icy tone sending a shiver down my spine.

“Uhm… Is there any guy in this house?” I stammered, nervous beads of sweat beginning to form at my brow, each drop a reminder of the urgency pulsating through my veins.

“Yes. My son. Why do you want to know?” she questioned, her curiosity mingling with a flicker of suspicion, the atmosphere thickening.

“Uhm… erm… because…” My voice faltered, caught in a fog of embarrassment and impending implosion, when suddenly, the woman interrupted me with an ear-piercing squeal.

“Oh my God! Child, are you in love with my son? When do you want to marry him? When are your parents free? I need to talk to them about the arrangements!” She rambled on, seemingly not giving me an opportunity to clarify the situation, as her wild imagination took flight.

“I-I, is your son here now?” I asked desperately, attempting to redirect the conversation and find some footing amidst the whirlwind.

“Oh dear! He just went out to buy some groceries! Would you like to come in and have some tea while we discuss your future life together?” The woman beamed, a bright excitement lighting up her demeanor, completely ignoring my distress.

“Uh, no! I have important work to do right now! Can I get his number, please? I live in the next apartment! I swear I’ll visit another time!” I blurted out, hoping to escape the increasingly absurd situation that had descended upon me like a comedic farce.

“Sure, darling! Here’s his number! Save it as ‘Hubby’ with a heart so it can be romantic!” She chirped, her enthusiasm undiminished as she handed me a scrap of paper, my stomach twisting with disbelief.

I waved her a quick goodbye, my legs propelling me out of the building in a surge of relief, fueled by a desperate need to return to my friends and the chaotic scene we had inadvertently created.

Dashing up the stairs, my heart raced as I climbed each step toward home, anxiety and dread mounting within me. Finally, I reached the last step and turned to see what awaited me. The scene before me brought my heart to a sudden halt, and my mouth dropped open in disbelief. “WHAT THE HELL?”