One Weird Day

The Neighbor

Bang, bang, bang.

Drums, drums, drums.

I slap a hand over my face, then try to pull the pillow over my ears. The window is shut, but it still sounds like there's a damn rave party in my room. It's impossible to fall back asleep, not now that I know he did it again, and I'm so angry.

The speakers roar something incomprehensible. He's not into intellectual lyrics, my next-door neighbor. He likes music simple and loud. We have a bit of a disagreement on that point.

I've spoken to him a couple of times already. Normally, I'm as interested in socializing with neighbors as a fish is interested in communicating with the seaweed it's swimming through. They're just there, nine floors of nameless people, and I make polite conversation when I stumble upon them in the elevators, but that's all.

But the guy across the hall is a different story. He tends to keep his windows open while testing just how loud he can turn his stereo on without bursting his eardrums or causing his ceiling to collapse. I quietly place my bet on the ceiling, but it still holds firm. They build so reliably nowadays it's depressing.

In the beginning, when he'd just moved in with his speakers, I gave him some space. But after a couple of evenings spent with a pillow over my head, I decided to make contact.

The guy who opened the door was in his early twenties. He wore a tee shirt and underpants so white they looked almost shimmering in comparison to his furred body. There was a smell of weed emanating from him, and I'm not talking seaweed this time.

"Hey," he said. "What's up?"

"I live across the hall," I said. "My name is Gabriela. Welcome to the building."

"Oh, thanks," he said, shaking my hand and looking me over. "Fancy coming in?"

"No, not really. In fact, I just wanted to ask you to lower the volume or close the windows, if you don't mind. I was trying to sleep, and your music is, like, deafening."

He frowned. "It's only eight in the evening. Isn't it too early to go to bed?"

"It's just that I work night shifts and I usually sleep till ten."

"Oh," he said, scratching his chest, "That's tough. Sure, I'll close the windows."

He did. And I crawled back into my bed and hoped to never have to speak to him again.

For a few more evenings, the music was muffled and not so bothersome. But then he forgot to close the windows again. And the day after that, too. Eventually, almost every evening I'd find myself with a pillow over my ears, tossing, turning and grinding my teeth.

I had to keep my finger on his doorbell for about a minute the next time, because with the speaker roaring he didn't even hear me ring. But eventually, the music went down, and I heard footsteps behind the door.

"Ah, it's you," he said, "Did I forget about the window again?"

"You got it."

"Sorry," he said, not a shade of regret in his voice, and tried to close the door, "Won't happen again."

I slipped my foot into the crack.

"Maybe you should pin a note to your system, or something, to remind yourself?" I said.

"Remind myself about what?"

"That other people live here, too?"

"You're the only one who's complaining," he said.

"I live the closest to you. And I like to sleep till ten in the evening."

"Well, sweet dreams then." He pushed my foot out with his own and closed the door.

That was just yesterday. But now, the music's blaring again.

I take the pillow off my head and check the clock.

It's eight.

He's so doing it on purpose.

One minute past eight, I'm at his door, my finger glued to his doorbell. This time it takes me five minutes to draw his attention, but I do get my way since I'm one persistent bitch, as he notifies me upon opening the door.

"I seriously value my sleep," I say.

"I turn it off at eleven," he says. "It's legal."

"I don't care what you do at eleven, I'm not home by then."

"I wonder where you work at those hours."

"Whatever I do, I need my beauty sleep."

"Sure you do," he says, "Pale is out of fashion, you know. Go catch some sun instead of sleeping all day."

"I don't remember asking for your advice."

He tries to close the door, but I put my foot in there again.

"Don't make me hurt you," he warns.

I stare at him, contemplating my options. Wherever I live, I always try to keep it nice with the neighbors. But maybe this time I'll need to take drastic measures.

"Look," I say. "Let's just cool down, okay? We started off on the wrong foot."

"You did," he says grudgingly.

"Whatever," I say. "Maybe I was wrong. How about we open a new page? I got a cake at home, and some wine. I can bring it over, we can sit and chat and just get to know each other better – what do you say?"

He looks me over again, taking in the silk dressing gown, the long black curls, the shapely leg preventing his door from closing. He scratches his nose. I smile reassuringly.

"All right," he says at last. "Bring it over."

"Are you inviting me?"

"Sure," he says. "Coming now?"

"I'll just take a minute to change."

Once at home, I shut the door, cutting off the light from the hallway, and walk to the bathroom in the darkness, losing my clothes on the way. All the windows are tightly shut, but with my perfect night vision it's never a problem.

I examine my face in the mirror. Sure, a little pale, but that's a matter of taste, and sunbathing is out of the question anyway. But I still look reasonably young for three hundred years old, and sleeping is essential for good looks - every cosmetician will tell you that.

I'm not hungry yet, but it's not about food this time, it's about a serious social issue. It's my flat, I pay the mortgage, and this little shit is trying to mess with my quality of life.

I watch in the mirror as my fangs elongate slowly. New black skin creeps over my body, covering it, making me invisible in the darkness, turning me into nothing but a shadow with two wings. Pale, he says. I'll show him pale.

It's half past eight. Early by my standards, but it's dark outside, and I've got an invitation I'm not going to miss.

I walk towards the balcony, gliding above the floor. Once outside, I breathe in the fresh air, spread my wings and take off. After a swift flight, I land on the wall near the window that he's left ajar for one last time.

How very considerate of him, I think, and fling it open with my claws.