I know there has to be something wrong with this apartment. No one rents out a huge loft like this for one-tenth of the market value unless it's haunted or something. But since I haven't found a steady job yet, I don't really have a lot of options. This is all that I can afford.
I search the place thoroughly, but I can't find anything obviously wrong with it -- no rats, no roaches, no bloodstains, and the plumbing and electricity both work. I go to bed feeling extremely lucky.
When I wake up, though, it's a different story.
My asshole is sore, like I've been ridden hard, but I broke up with my boyfriend months ago and haven't been laid since. There's also this...slime on my skin, almost like snot, but thicker and slicker. It's on my sheets, too. I take a shower and strip the bed, glad to see that it hasn't seeped through into the mattress. I check the ceiling, but can't find a leak. I make a note to call the landlord if it happens again.
The next morning, it's the same thing. I call the landlord and leave a voicemail, and then trek down to the laundry room to wash my sheets, since they're all dirty now. There's a young woman already in there, folding her clothes as she takes them out of the dryer.
"Good morning," she says cheerfully. My ass hurts too much to be cheerful, but I smile back at her.
"Morning," I say, stuffing my sheets into an empty washer.
"I don't think we've met before," she says. "I'm Thecia. I'm in 2B."
"Mack," I say, "in 4A."
"The loft?" She stops smiling.
"Yeah. Why? Is something wrong with it?"
"I don't know. I just...I've heard things about the place. People say it's haunted, but that's just silly. I do know that there have been a lot of tenants come and go over the past few months. A lot. Most only stay a couple of nights." She finishes folding her clothes, piles them back in her basket, and picks it up.
"If you see any ghosts, let me know, okay?" she says with a smile as she leaves.
I do my laundry and go back upstairs. The landlord hasn't returned my call yet. He still hasn't when I finally go to bed. I have trouble falling asleep, wondering what I'm going to find in the morning.
I wake up sore and slimy for the third time. This is getting ridiculous. I call the landlord again, leaving another voicemail. He finally calls back around noon, telling me there's nothing he can do unless I can find where the slime is coming from.
That gives me an idea.
