Between The Walls

“Laura, honey, are you sure this is the best idea?” The sigh at the end of my mother’s question echoes through the bare apartment. 

Sure, the walls are a muddy brown, the paint on the doorframe’s chipping, and maybe there’s a little mold in the bathroom. But, it’s just outside the city, and it was the only thing available on such short notice. I nestle the last of my moving boxes into the closet of the bedroom and turn to make my way back into the living room. My mother has her back turned to me and her head cocked towards the vent in the upper corner, “What’ve you found to nitpick now?” 

“Oh!” She jumps and snaps her head in my direction, “You startled me, and I think you have mice.” She points up at the vent. 

“It’s an old building,” I brush off her comment, “and yes I’m sure. It’s close to my job, and it’s nice enough considering the rushed move in.” 

“Well why did that young couple move out in such a hurry?” She throws a hand to her hip as she asks. I love the woman but she can have quite the dramatic flare. I squeeze the bridge between my eyes, knowing I’m going to end up with a migraine if she keeps asking questions like this. 

“Listen, I really appreciate you helping me move the rest of my stuff in today, but I’m exhausted and I really have to start drafting some emails for work, so do you think maybe we could call it a night?” I make sure to add a yawn at the end for extra emphasis.

“Okay,” She gives the living room one last scrutinizing glance, “If you need anything, I’m just a phone call away. I love you.” She pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek before letting me walk her to the door, “Love you too, get home safe.” She blows one last kiss as I shut the door behind her, leaning my head against the inside. I lock the door and exhale before turning around. 

There’s boxes pretty much taking up every surface. This is only the third time I’ve even been in the place, the first time was after I’d already signed for the keys, and the second time was just yesterday when I started moving my stuff in. I take a few slow steps towards the living area, trying to take in this little place I’ll be calling home for at least the next year. The floorboard creaks under my weight, but only for a moment as I keep moving towards the window to glance outside. Dusk is passing quickly, and I’m suddenly aware of how alone I am. I disregard the feeling, plugging in a small lamp in the corner, and pulling some sheets out of the boxes so I can make my makeshift bed. 

I’ve just managed to get comfortable, pillows stacked behind me and my computer in my lap, when I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I feel my body stiffen and my eyes dart around the room. The bedroom door is closed, the front door is locked, and this apartment is on the sixth floor so nobody’s breaking in through the window. I take a deep breath and try to shake it off, but as it gets darker the feeling only gets more intense, like I’m being watched. The feeling disturbs me enough that I get up to check the bedroom and the closet, and dig out some curtains that I immediately use to cover the window. The last thing I need is some creep or pervy teenager spying on me from some random building across the street. 

I feel a little better with the window covered. Enough so that I turn off the lamp and make myself comfortable on the air mattress. I wriggle under the covers and close my eyes. I let myself drift into daydreams of my new marketing job and living life on my own terms. The thought puts a smile on my face as I sink deeper into my pillow. Not long after I’d fallen asleep, the creak of a floorboard sends me shooting into a sitting position. I’m disoriented in the pitch black and stay completely still, listening for anymore movement. My breathing is shallow as I try to convince myself it’s just the neighbors, or that it’s an old building bound to make some noise, and it has nothing to do with earlier. My eyes adjust to the darkness enough for me to make out the counter where the floor creaked earlier and I’m relieved to see nobody standing there. 

My eyes are only barely closed again when I hear it. A dull scratching sound right above my head, like nails being dragged along the wall. I throw off the blankets and stumble to the lamp, pushing my back into the corner and staring at the empty room in front of me. “Hello?” I call out, my voice shaking. To my pleasure nobody answers my call, but I stay in my position in the corner and continue scanning the room. After what felt like an hour of me sitting there, I wearily returned to my bed, leaving the lamp on. 

I wake up in the morning when a chill brushes over my legs, and I look to see that not only is my blanket not on my body, it’s across the room. I must’ve had some nightmare, I reassure myself. I get dressed and go to work, enjoying my first day and dismissing whatever may or may not have happened last night. It was probably just my imagination, or I was overwhelmed by being in a new space. These thoughts play on repeat in my head all day as I shake hands and smile. I work at my desk, smile, and try not to dread when it’s time to leave for the day. 

The next few nights are the same. The creak of the floorboard, the scratching along the walls, the hair standing on the back of my neck. Every moment I’m in the apartment it feels like there are eyes on me, even during the day. At night, I sleep with the lamp on and when the scratching starts I try to tell myself it really is mice, despite the long and intentional sounding strokes of the noise. I force my eyes closed and ignore when I wake up to boxes moved around the apartment and my blanket on the other side of the room. It’s fine, I’m just tired. I put concealer on the bags under my eyes and keep my head down at work. I just have to keep telling myself that everything is fine, it’s all in my head. I smile at my coworkers and take my coffee with two extra shots. I have to make this work. 

Weeks pass like this. I’ve stopped sleeping on the mattress and curl up in the corner by the lamp instead. It’s fine. I look at my phone to see my mom has called three times. I would call her back, but it’s almost an hour past midnight and I know it’ll start soon. I’ll close my eyes, and then the floor will creak maybe once, maybe twice, and then the scratching will start. Except, tonight I close my eyes and the whining of the floorboards doesn’t come. I’m ready to let sleep envelope me whole. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the entire night without fear pitted in my stomach. I am so relieved by the lack of creaking in the darkness, that I almost don’t notice when the doorknob to the bedroom begins to turn. Gently, I hear the click of the mechanisms inside turning one way and then the other. I keep my eyes squeezed as tight as I possibly can. I’ve stopped breathing completely, the only sound now is that of my pounding heart. One eye slowly opens, and I nearly choke as I see the door to the bedroom is open. With no light to see, it’s like peering into a tunnel that anything could walk out of. I could leave. I could get up and leave right now. 

I stand up to gather my things, and the door slams shut. I stumble back into the wall, tripping over the cord that keeps my only source of light on. In the pitch black I keep my eyes open and feel around on the floor for the cord, my hands pleading with the floor to surrender it. I try to tell myself it will be fine, but the mantra is interrupted by the sounds of footsteps sprinting across the floor in front of me. I scream before I finally grasp the lost plug and slam it into the wall. I hear a breath that isn’t mine and look up towards the vent. Two eyes look back at me.