''Visitations''

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  • Published: 5 Oct 2015
  • Updated: 5 Oct 2015
  • Status: Complete
A small-town young boy moves to a new city to study art and hires an apartment where deadly sinister things have happened. Soon the dead visit him to tell him he is in grave danger

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   When I moved in, the apartment was littered with  belongings. It was on the first floor of a small red brick building. The apartment - which I walked into for the first time on the day I moved into it — was older and grimier than it had appeared in pictures. The walls were off-white and lumpen where dents and holes had been painted over without being repaired. The bedroom was dark yellow, the walls bare. Tiles were missing from the kitchen floor.  Inch-long insects with too many legs scurried along the base molding. The bookshelves were covered in a layer of sooty dust, the counters and stove crusty with food residue. There was no air-conditioning, and on stuffy summer evenings I dragged my single fan with me from one room to the next to stay cool.
A few days before I arrived, the landlord emailed me. There had been a terrible accident. I sensed myself something sinister had  happened since the first time I walked in the apartment.
 Before me-the landlord told me-a single mother and her daughter Tracy rented the place and a week ago when the landlord,as usual,came for the rent, found them both dead-the woman on the bedroom floor and Tracy in the kitchen.
 When I heard this, the idea of eating and sleeping in this apartment bothered me but I had no choice-I am in a new city,knowing no one and tomorrow starts my semester in the art college.
   
                                                                                                  .  .  .

 I avoided doing anything about the bathroom for as long as possible, though, because it frightened me. The window had been painted over for privacy, and the overhead lamp was broken, so the only light came from a small desk lamp clamped to the door frame. The ceiling was covered with  stains. The ancient bathtub badly needed a new layer of varnish, and the floor tiles were crumbling. When I had to use it, I always checked behind the shower curtain for axe murderers and kept the door open. The whole apartment was so creepy and very often I felt like a victim or prisoner in it.

                                                                                                    .  .  .

  The first couple of days nothing weird happened since I moved in. One morning,while I ate my simple breakfast,I saw in the distance under the washing-machine a sheet of drawing block. It was signed-''Tracy''. When I saw the name and the picture,portraying a man in black with a knife in the hand and a house with locked door, I shuttered of freight and when I wanted to tear the sheet up, I saw by me a little charming girl who was floating in the air and said:
-This is my picture. Give it to me!
I screamed like a lunatic man and immediately ran off the apartment. I don't remember how I reached the city park and sat on a bench. I wanted to forget what I have  encountered but it didn't work out. I knew if I told someone about this,they'll never believe me so  I  remained in the park until very late.

                                                                                                .  .  .

  Even though I was too scared to inhabit the place I currently live in, somehow I was attracted to this apartment. I wanted to find out who was the man in black with the knife from the drawing and why he killed Tracy and her mother. I was sure he was the murderer but didn't tell neither the landlord,nor the police.

                                                                                                   .  .  .

This whole week I was busy at my art college. We began portraying naked figures but I felt it was shameful for me to do it. In the apartment I spent only the nights. I just had no time for anything else and besides I preferred not to mess around too much time in the home of horror.

                                                                                                  .  .  .

 One particular night I went to bed early because didn't feel well. I almost closed my eyes when heard the door bell ringing. I left the bedroom and the stranger who ran the bell was already inside the apartment. It was a woman. When she turned toward me, I see she had a bloody gash in her stomach. My instincts were telling me it was Tracy's mother .This time I didn't run or screamed. I stood like numb. I collected courage to speak:
-You're dead. Why are you here?
-I need to tell you ...you're in danger!
-Me? Are you insane? No, I must be insane for talking with dead people-I ironically blurted out
-Listen,college boy, the landlord is sick man. He,he......killed me and my only child.
The man from the drawing-thought I feeling inside a mixture of repulsion,fear and anger. I was in grave danger. Probably the landlord will kill me,too-said I out loud completely panicked.
-Yes, tomorrow is 1st of November-the day of the dead in Mexico and I saw him preparing for tomorrow night to painfully cut you into pieces
 When I hired the place, I remembered the man mentioned me he is from a small town in Mexico and I completely believed what Tracy's mother's ghost has just told me.
 Without any warning, the woman have disappeared. I started packing my bags. It was 22:35h.Then took a cab to the bus station and never returned. As far as art, I continued pursuing my dream to be an artist in another college.

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