THE LANDLADY by Jay Jay.

TOM.

Tom had been sobbing and moaning constantly for the last twenty years. Thus, although the room had been renovated, freshly painted every other year and properly insulated, the faint smell of dampness never went entirely away. The room had been painted a soft grey, because no matter what colour the room was, a pervading grey colour seemed to tinge it, and in the end it was easier to go with the colour it wanted to be.

Where Tom resided, the room was moldy, soggy, up to his waist at times with salty tears. The tears would drain away, leaving the floor muddy and slimey. Tom sobbed away. He filled the room up again. Sometimes the tears would fill the room all the way to the ceiling. Then Tom would float, helpless, and run out of air. He would gasp, hold his breath, but eventually he had to try to breathe. He would choke and drown in the tears, terrified. But before he drowned for good, the salt water would subside, drain away. Drain through the floor in big, glugging whirlpools. Tom, exhausted, would be quiet for a while. 

The thoughts would come back. "Why did I say the things I said. Why didn't I stop her? I should go and find her. I should say sorry."

"Why can't I get out?"

Then he would slam at the walls, kick the door, sink to his knees, and cry.

The same cycle, over and over. 

Tom didn't appear to notice the passage of time. The world had moved on, but he was stuck in one awful, horrible moment. That moment didn't give him time to think, or grow, he was still a young twenty-two year old lamenting the break-up of his first true love.

The air was thick with moisture and mold spores. The walls were grey and ran downwards like a bleak waterfall. The only noise Tom could hear was his own sniffling and moaning and crying. Sometimes he would thump at the door, the walls, the window, trying to kick his way out, but he was trapped.

"Tom...Tom...Thomas..."

A quiet voice. Tom stopped his moaning to listen.

"Tom...do you want out?"

"Yes..YES! Let me out!"

"All in good time. Look out the window. What do you see?"

Tom pulled the heavy drape aside, for some reason, the curtain always closed when he took his eyes off it.

Well, well, well.

Three people were walking past. Two women, one old, one young and attractive, with blonde hair and blue eyes. And a man. An older, scruffy, dirty-clothed man.

"Look closer."

The young woman was dressed well, immaculant. She was clean, too clean, too controlled. She was mental.

"Look closer."

The old woman, she was strange. Despite her great age, she walked with grace. Elegant. Smooth. There was something animal about her. Like a leopard, beautiful and deadly. Disguised in an old woman's body.

"Look closer, Thomas."

Tom squinted his eyes. And suddenly all was clear. The years fell from the man, the matted hair twined and twisted and tidied itself up. He saw the young man, the one who was meant to be Candy's boyfriend.

But he shafted Candy that night, he shafted Tom, he took Sherry away and neither returned. They did something filthy, he was sure of it.

It was Dean. 

Dean! 

Dean had taken Sherry away with him, taken her in his car. Gone to the beach. He saw them kissing, when they thought he wasn't watching.

But he saw. Oh, yes. He saw.

The room stared to turn red. 

Tom's sadness turned to anger. Tom was an entity that only had room for one emotion at a time, it seemed. The room was heating up. Steam was smoking off the wet walls and floor. Tom clenched his fists and howled, this time with fury. He smashed at the room with fists and feet, whole body blows to the door, trying to get out. He would kill him! He would teach Dean a lesson! 

"Just let me OUT!" he screamed.

His fury seemed to go on for an eternity. He had been screaming for days, weeks. The room was so hot it should have been on fire. At times it glowed white with the intensity.

Then one day there was a chuckle. Tom stopped his wailing, carefully listened.

"Your wish is my command," the voice said.

The door slowly opened. 

Tom looked out into a long, red corridor.

Free at last.

                                                                                       ...

After Tom had left, the heat and the red colouration seemed to slowly diminish. 

After a while, the room slowly dried out and turned a softer shade of red, a rose red, a nice red.

A hand appeared from behind the wall opposite the window.

The hand groped around, feeling the air. Deciding if it was safe.

Slowly, shy and uncertain, a young woman appeared. She tiptoed out to the centre of the room, bewildered and sorrowful. She looked around. Where was she? In Tom's room. Where was Tom? He...

She sobbed. She understood that she had been used, betrayed, taken advantage of, sober now and filled with grief and ... yes, a growing anger. This was a good place to find anger.

Tom had left plenty of angry energy in his wake. She was starting to mop some of it up.

Her name was Tracey, and she was the girl that was passed around. She was at the party to try to re-connect with Jacob, but Tom had persuaded her into his room. It had been easy, she had been so drunk. So drunk.

She needed a drink.

But someone was coming. Time to hide away.

She shrunk back into the wall.