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Chapter 29:- Human Barometer
“Do you feel that?” I asked The Ghost as I walked out of the building elevator onto my floor.
One of the gossipy women who live down the hall from me was walking my way, and she must have assumed I was talking to her. “Feel what?” she said, raising an eyebrow at me, giving me one of those looks women give when they're obviously appraising something to turn around and chatter about it later. Of all the people on the floor to run into right now. I wanted to slap myself for forgetting I was talking out loud again.
Addison, one of these days you're going to wind up in a looney bin. You really are.
“Is it just me or is there a draft in here?” I asked her, hoping I sounded at least a slight bit natural.
“Nice save,” The Ghost whispered.
“I don't feel anything,” she said, walking through the open elevator doors just before they slid closed. She gave me an odd look as they shut, one that practically screamed “I'm on to you.”
Paranoia, paranoia.
What did I care if she gossiped, anyway? Before this all started, the only thing that would have irritated me about it was the fact that people like her wasted time talking about things that meant absolutely nothing. So what if she did that now? I didn't care, or at least I shouldn't. If I hadn't before, why start now?
“What did you feel, anyway?” The Ghost asked me as I walked down the hall towards my door.
“You're going to think I'm crazy,” I whispered.
“Try me.”
“When I was little, we had this dog. I don't think I've ever told you about him before. I haven't, have I?”
“Never heard anything about a dog, no.”
“Okay, well, the dog hated the rain as much as I did. He'd hide in the basement or come into my room and lay on my bed,” I said, fishing through my pocket for my keys. “He always had the jump on me, too. It was like he knew it was coming. I never figured it out back then, but now I suspect he was sensitive to barometric pressure or something. Anyway, the air feels kind of heavy. Maybe I'm imagining it, but it feels like it's going to rain.”
“Great.”
“Yeah,” I said, turning my key in the lock. “Just what I need, huh?”
I opened the door and poked my head inside. Nothing seemed out of order, no furniture overturned or drawers ripped out and ransacked. I wasn't even sure what I should be looking for. I hadn't stopped to consider, since this whole thing started, whether or not the Ragged thing knew my name or anything about me. I'd just assumed it was able to pull my life out of me, drop by drop, and hadn't analyzed the situation any further.
That was probably a mistake.
I tiptoed into the kitchen and pulled the refrigerator door open. There, tucked lovingly in the back, were my coconuts. I rummaged around under the sink until I found a plastic grocery bag and retrieved them, carrying the bag with me as I inspected the apartment.
Nothing had been moved or touched. It didn't look like anyone had been in the apartment since I'd left. I stood in front of the closed bedroom door, afraid to open it. Every slasher flick I'd ever seen on late night TV as a child came rushing back to me in bits and pieces, and I knew just from the experience only a kid addicted to scary movies can acquire that nothing good ever waits behind a closed door.
“There's nothing going on in here,” I said, trying to calm myself through delusion. “The apartment's fine.”
“You saw it, though, right?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I did.”
“Well, then...”
“Okay, okay,” I said, opening the door.
The only light in the room came filtered through the bedroom curtains, soft and diluted. In the dimness, something felt off. I reached out and flicked the light switch, but when the bulb overhead sizzled on I still couldn't see anything amiss.
I walked around the room, checking every piece of furniture, every dusty corner. If I ran across anything, I'd be screwed. I didn't even know why I was doing this. I was completely unarmed, save for my keys, and whatever had been (or might still be) in here wasn't a carjacker or would-be rapist. It was a foot long, cylindrical, made entirely of what appeared to be some sort of muscle, and-
“Oh, god,” I said, looking down at a spot a few inches from my feet.
“What is it? Oh.”
There, between the bed and the nightstand, was a small spot on the hardwood floor. It was six inches across and almost perfectly round, a bright, shiny circular patch that looked as if it had been rubbed with furniture polish. It was the only place on the floor where any dust had been wiped away. Beyond that, my faux oriental rug covered the floor, obscuring the tracks of whatever had settled there.
I knew what it had been.
“It was waiting here for us,” I whispered.
“Why isn't it here now, then?”
I swung my head around, narrowing my eyes, scanning the room. “Who's to say it's not?”
“I don't see anything creepy in here, though.”
“You're right,” I said. “Was it glowing at all at the aquarium? I never even stopped to really inspect the thing.”
“I don't know,” he said. “My eyes go where your eyes go, for the most part. I didn't notice it, either. In our defense, though, we were a bit preoccupied with a few dozen other things.”
“Yeah, but-” Suddenly my voice was cut off by the loud rumbling of angry thunder. It sounded like a pack of hungry, irritated bears outside. I crossed the room and flung the curtain aside, and what I saw made me tremble. “No,” I said. “Not now. Not now.”
“Do you feel that?” I asked The Ghost as I walked out of the building elevator onto my floor.
One of the gossipy women who live down the hall from me was walking my way, and she must have assumed I was talking to her. “Feel what?” she said, raising an eyebrow at me, giving me one of those looks women give when they're obviously appraising something to turn around and chatter about it later. Of all the people on the floor to run into right now. I wanted to slap myself for forgetting I was talking out loud again.
Addison, one of these days you're going to wind up in a looney bin. You really are.
“Is it just me or is there a draft in here?” I asked her, hoping I sounded at least a slight bit natural.
“Nice save,” The Ghost whispered.
“I don't feel anything,” she said, walking through the open elevator doors just before they slid closed. She gave me an odd look as they shut, one that practically screamed “I'm on to you.”
Paranoia, paranoia.
What did I care if she gossiped, anyway? Before this all started, the only thing that would have irritated me about it was the fact that people like her wasted time talking about things that meant absolutely nothing. So what if she did that now? I didn't care, or at least I shouldn't. If I hadn't before, why start now?
“What did you feel, anyway?” The Ghost asked me as I walked down the hall towards my door.
“You're going to think I'm crazy,” I whispered.
“Try me.”
“When I was little, we had this dog. I don't think I've ever told you about him before. I haven't, have I?”
“Never heard anything about a dog, no.”
“Okay, well, the dog hated the rain as much as I did. He'd hide in the basement or come into my room and lay on my bed,” I said, fishing through my pocket for my keys. “He always had the jump on me, too. It was like he knew it was coming. I never figured it out back then, but now I suspect he was sensitive to barometric pressure or something. Anyway, the air feels kind of heavy. Maybe I'm imagining it, but it feels like it's going to rain.”
“Great.”
“Yeah,” I said, turning my key in the lock. “Just what I need, huh?”
I opened the door and poked my head inside. Nothing seemed out of order, no furniture overturned or drawers ripped out and ransacked. I wasn't even sure what I should be looking for. I hadn't stopped to consider, since this whole thing started, whether or not the Ragged thing knew my name or anything about me. I'd just assumed it was able to pull my life out of me, drop by drop, and hadn't analyzed the situation any further.
That was probably a mistake.
I tiptoed into the kitchen and pulled the refrigerator door open. There, tucked lovingly in the back, were my coconuts. I rummaged around under the sink until I found a plastic grocery bag and retrieved them, carrying the bag with me as I inspected the apartment.
Nothing had been moved or touched. It didn't look like anyone had been in the apartment since I'd left. I stood in front of the closed bedroom door, afraid to open it. Every slasher flick I'd ever seen on late night TV as a child came rushing back to me in bits and pieces, and I knew just from the experience only a kid addicted to scary movies can acquire that nothing good ever waits behind a closed door.
“There's nothing going on in here,” I said, trying to calm myself through delusion. “The apartment's fine.”
“You saw it, though, right?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I did.”
“Well, then...”
“Okay, okay,” I said, opening the door.
The only light in the room came filtered through the bedroom curtains, soft and diluted. In the dimness, something felt off. I reached out and flicked the light switch, but when the bulb overhead sizzled on I still couldn't see anything amiss.
I walked around the room, checking every piece of furniture, every dusty corner. If I ran across anything, I'd be screwed. I didn't even know why I was doing this. I was completely unarmed, save for my keys, and whatever had been (or might still be) in here wasn't a carjacker or would-be rapist. It was a foot long, cylindrical, made entirely of what appeared to be some sort of muscle, and-
“Oh, god,” I said, looking down at a spot a few inches from my feet.
“What is it? Oh.”
There, between the bed and the nightstand, was a small spot on the hardwood floor. It was six inches across and almost perfectly round, a bright, shiny circular patch that looked as if it had been rubbed with furniture polish. It was the only place on the floor where any dust had been wiped away. Beyond that, my faux oriental rug covered the floor, obscuring the tracks of whatever had settled there.
I knew what it had been.
“It was waiting here for us,” I whispered.
“Why isn't it here now, then?”
I swung my head around, narrowing my eyes, scanning the room. “Who's to say it's not?”
“I don't see anything creepy in here, though.”
“You're right,” I said. “Was it glowing at all at the aquarium? I never even stopped to really inspect the thing.”
“I don't know,” he said. “My eyes go where your eyes go, for the most part. I didn't notice it, either. In our defense, though, we were a bit preoccupied with a few dozen other things.”
“Yeah, but-” Suddenly my voice was cut off by the loud rumbling of angry thunder. It sounded like a pack of hungry, irritated bears outside. I crossed the room and flung the curtain aside, and what I saw made me tremble. “No,” I said. “Not now. Not now.”
