One of Those Faces (6)

Erin’s building loomed directly ahead of us, a group of dark figures smoking on the narrow stoop. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow night unless you want to come up and help me choose a date outfit?”

She definitely didn’t care about my opinion, so it would just turn into a self-indulgent fashion show and then possibly an intervention about my own style. “No, I’m going to head home. I’ll see what you choose tomorrow at work.”

“Okay, good night!” She hugged my shoulder and climbed the stoop. The guys smoking grew quiet and all looked up from their phones to watch her stagger inside the building.

I noticed for the first time how chilly it was as the wine started to wear off. I zipped up my jacket and continued down the sidewalk, past the smokers. Several streetlights were out along the way. I glanced across the street and realized that the whole opposite side was out. It grew quieter the farther I walked. Of course, I lived in a considerably worse part of the neighborhood than Erin. My apartment was one level of a rickety, unloved wooden two-story house, a relic of Wicker Park’s darker period. My building was one of the last holdouts on a street full of restored Victorian homes.

Erin’s dad helped out with her rent, so she lived in one of the newest sleek apartment buildings not far from the hub of bohemian bars and artisan cafés. Although she didn’t need roommates, she wanted them. I couldn’t imagine her spending days at a time in silence like I did. She had tried to get me to room with her initially, but I couldn’t afford to ever leave my current place.

I had stayed in a downtown youth hostel when I first ran away from home. I had figured I could stay there indefinitely until I decided to look for a place where I could actually sleep rather than staying curled up the entire night, listening for drunk and drugged travelers seeking out a vulnerable kid like me. I had lost a lot of trust in humanity during that time and a lot of my scant savings.

I’d been lucky that Erin’s lead on an affordable place hadn’t been merely a ruse to mug me. Her friend Mo had been getting ready to move out and introduced me to his landlord, Bug. His real name was Todd, but his bright, bald head was always glistening like a beetle, even in winter, and his quick footsteps made a sound similar to a cockroach scuttling across the floor.

I passed the Gothic houses with windows all like terrified eyes, stretching high and wide, the gables tapering sharply as they scraped the trees above. Most of the windows were dark inside, but as I passed by, I could see a couple watching TV and a dog looking out, its mouth suddenly dropping open right before a loud bark.

I whipped my head to look across the street as a loud metallic crash erupted through the silence. I couldn’t see anything in the darkness. I quickened my pace, my boots beginning to chafe the skin between my ankles and the fabric of my jeans. I saw my building, the only one without outside lighting and hidden behind a large dead tree.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the sound of continuous rustling but saw nothing. Then there was the sound. Like the distant wailing of the L but weaker and fading.

Screech.

I jogged down the street until I reached the stairs to my apartment. I bounded up the steps to the second floor and swung my bag onto the wooden landing. I always walked with my keys in hand, but in the rush to leave the studio, I had forgotten. As I unzipped the outside pocket of my messenger bag, I gazed into the dark alley once again. The scraping continued, now accompanied by the rasping of the wind.

Screech.

My hands trembled as I unlocked the door, then dropped the keys when I heard a faint rustle down the steps behind me. I tossed my bag and kicked the keys over the threshold as I scampered inside, catching a glimpse of a figure as the door slammed behind me.





CHAPTER THREE


I hadn’t even realized I’d drifted to sleep on my desk until my eyes opened in the darkness.

My ears strained for the sound of a movement or a breath in the dark. Something that would reveal I wasn’t alone. But it never came.

I fumbled for my phone, switched on the phone light, and flashed it around the room. No one.

Keeping the light on, I checked the screen.

3:00 a.m.

I groaned and glanced toward the front door, for the first time noticing something dark outlined on the floor right beside it.

I squinted but couldn’t make it out. I sat up with a heavy sigh and flicked on the light. As I walked toward the door, the light-gray object took shape.

It was a rabbit’s foot. I bent over, steadying myself with one hand on the door. It was one of those tacky key chains sold at gas stations. I hesitantly picked it up. It was soft, but the fur had stiffened quite a bit, as if a liquid had been spilled and then dried. I dropped it after a moment’s speculation on what liquid it could be.

Woodstock suddenly appeared between my legs, inquisitively batting one feline paw at the foot.

Where did he get this? I had never owned a rabbit’s foot charm.

As a tingle traced along my spine, I glanced around the entire room. The light reached only to the edge of the wall as it led to the bathroom and my closet.

Woodstock rubbed against my leg, and I locked eyes with him. This hadn’t been the first time he’d brought something weird to my attention. The first time I’d let him in, he had dug up a dead rat from the moving boxes in my closet.

I swayed sleepily to the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel. As I walked to the front door, Woodstock sat and whipped the rabbit’s foot around between his two front paws, playfully. “Thanks for the gift, buddy, but I’m not interested,” I muttered, scooping it up with the napkin.