My Guest in Apartment 10B

Scrabble

It's an incredible feeling to get scared. Your mind first does a double-take and cautiously tries to reassess the situation, before eventually going into overdrive.

Arabella screamed like she never had before.

While freaking out, she spent the breaks in between screams staring at the fridge door. Arabella did not want to scare herself further, but her mind refused to stop waiting for the magnets to move on their own. The minute she felt that she has calmed down, her mind would recall how the letters rearranged themselves, and she would start screaming some more, her feet remaining frozen in place.

Suddenly, her eyes blinked rapidly in an effort to set herself to rights. Her leg muscles started contracting to prepare for a sprint, and she ran to the apartment door, panting as her brain was clouded in a thick cloak of fear.

Mrs. Rothschild emerged from her apartment and hurriedly approached her, as fast as her small feet could carry her. "What is happening, my dear?" Worry creased her forehead.

Arabella blurted incoherent words, a random combination of emotions and descriptions coming out of her mouth as she pointed to the fridge.

Mrs. Rothschild peeked in and saw nothing wrong with the place. She placed a hand on Arabella's closed fists as she spoke soothing words to her.

Mrs. Rothschild's calm demeanor only pointed to one thing—she knew. Oh my God, she knew!

Her wobbly wrinkled fingers rubbed Arabella's back, as she tried to pull her back inside, but the startled miss didn't think that it was such a good idea.

"I'm sure it is friendly..." She soothed, smiling as she entered the room to show Arabella that no harm would happen if she entered her apartment.

This is exactly how a badly made horror movie starts out. Instincts say don't, but they do stupid shit and enter anyway.

Arabella half-expected Mrs. Rothschild to get hit with a frying pan as she stood inside the kitchen waiting for her to cross the threshold. There was no logical way to explain this!

"Why don't we name it Casper? Will that help?" Mrs. Rothschild tried again, and Arabella had none of it.

Mrs. Rothschild turned, glanced at the kitchen and read the words on the fridge thoughtfully. "Seems to be quite helpful, even! I used to have my own imaginary friend when I was younger."

That's it. Fuck it. I'm done! So done!

With gritted teeth, Arabella reached for the door lever in a struggle to close the damn thing. Whatever it was in the apartment, Mrs. Rothschild could have it, she seemed quite comfortable inside anyway!

Her trembling knuckles struggled with the door. She couldn't quite close it without her feet getting in the way. The wooden door bounced back a couple of times before a weight tried to pull it away from her.

Mrs. Rothschild was on the other end, pulling the door open as Arabella tried to shut it close. She screamed again and again as she forcefully fought over the door.

"No! No!" Grunting and finally gripping the handle with both hands, she grabbed it with all her might, and the old lady's fingers slipped which allowed the door to give way, its thick wooden panel slamming her across the face.

Arabella dropped face-first onto the floor, half her torso lay in the house while her legs sprawled out into the hallway.

"Aww, you poor, poor, child."

The combination of sustained heightened senses and terrible hand-body coordination was enough to make Arabella pass out. As her brain started clearing the fog, she began to feel the hardwood floors behind her head. An ache slowly grew on her forehead, which spread to her arms and knees.