A book of strange and unnerving stories. A horror anthology novel filled with stories you send screaming.
Some stories contain graphic material, so those stories will include a warning at the start of it. Reader digression is advised.
Enjoy.
Vaughn lived in an apartment after being relocated for work. He didn't mind it all, in fact, he enjoyed the change of scenery. Up in the Colorado Rockies was so lonely with little to no excitement. He wasn't a hunter by any means nor a hiker so the environment just didn't suit him. Austin, Texas, though filled to the brim with eccentric people, Vaughn enjoyed the optimistic vibes and friendly neighbors. A building stood in every corner and wild college students ran about, giving the city much excitement. Everyone that lived in the neighboring apartments were really friendly and everyone said hello to each, no cold shoulders or gossip. Very lovely people. Vaughn felt as if he had struck gold, for quite some time, he truly had.
Vaughn made friends with numerous people in his complex, many were college students who were finishing out their senior year and others just fresh out of college already making their living. There was one guy in particular who enjoyed to travel. He told Vaughn that he was off to Russia for business, he was a photographer and had been itching to get some snaps of Russia's snowy terrain. On his return home, he had brought with him a guy that he met over there who was looking to rent a room in the US. He was polite also, saying hello, would even wave from his window with a brilliant smile.
As time progressed, Vaughn stopped seeing the photographer and fellow neighbors started asking the tenant, the friendly chap from Russia, if the photographer was alright. The photographer used to play his stereo really loud and no one had heard it for a while. Though at times it was annoying, all the neighbors grew accustomed to it and that now it was absent from the air, everything felt off. The Russian was charming and told Vaughn and the neighbors that need to not worry and that the two hung out last night, or they had dinner. So like the Russian tenant said, the neighbors didn't worry.
Weeks began to pass, and upon Vaughn's return to his home from work, police officers were everywhere. Vaughn even had to sign into his building with the police. As he walked up the stairs, the smell hit the back of his throat and he couldn't hold back the vomit. Down the terrace it went, but some projectile vomit was the least of anyone's concerns.
The Russian tenant had been using the photographer's phone to text the his family and friends saying he was fine, and not to contact him as he was going out of the country again. In reality, the Russian tenant had killed the polite and kind photographer by hitting him about the head at least 22 times with bar stool, then left him there in a pool of his own blood. Such blunt trauma killed the photographer
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In between the Russian tenant smiling and waving to neighbors up to the point where police swamped the scene, he was living with a dead body wrapped up in a leaking rug. Vaughn and fellow neighbors later discovered that the Russian tenant had murdered the photographer and transferred a measly $12,000 from his account to his own and then flew back to Russia.
This once kind, this warmhearted Russian man had murdered someone, and had remained so calm. The police, as far as the neighbors knew, never caught the man and so the photographer's murder went without justice. The complex, once loud and vibrant with friendly faces and the booming of a stereo, had dissipated into an isolated and desolate apartment. It felt as if Vaughn had returned back up into those dismal mountains.
