Stone Daisy Pt. 2

By Richard Henry



As a stalling technique, I examined the door. Brand new, apartment number nine, no peephole. It was freshly painted a brunt reddish color, like the others. No deadbolt or any other locks of sorts, save for the door handle locks. I gave the door handle a quick turn. Unlocked. The door was slightly ajar now, so I gave it a quick tap. It swung open. I peered in, then walked all the was in. I half expected the door to slam behind me in the usual scary manner, but it didn't. A TV was flickering with power and voices floated out, but I wasn't able to make them out. A recliner sat in front of it.

"Shut the door," a shrill Chinese voice rang out from behind the patchwork La z Boy, "do you think I could shut it with a snap of my fingers?" He snapped his fingers to demonstrate.

"Oops, sorry." I turned around and shut the door, and when I turned back, the chair was swivelled around, and a Chinese man in a neon orange running suit was staring at me.

"I suppose you want the key?" he said matter of factly.

"Key? I...er...yes, the key." I said. He just rolled his eyes in response. In his hand was a remote control for the chair. When he pressed the up button, the chair hummed to life, and after several minutes, it held him in an upright position. But he was still sitting in the chair. After some choice out dated obscenities and several false starts, he hoisted himself upon is feet. He brushed himself off and grinned in victory. He slowly mozzied over to a bureau, and opened a drawer. He began to rummage through it when spoke to me.

"Where ya headed?"

"Huh?" Again he caught me off guard. I was admiring the pictures on his wall. "Oh, the twelfth floor. Some girl up there is gonna get a summons. Heh heh heh."

"Twelfth floor? Only one tenant up there. Michelle girl. Skinny thing. She's been here a while. Five or six years. Pays her rent months in advance. Can't figure out where she gets the money. She never leaves the apartment. She's probably into drugs." He whispered the last part. I didn't say anything. He looked through several more drawers before finding a giant loop of keys. There must of been fifty or so.

"Here ya go lad, enjoy. All the keys are labeled." I almost tipped over when I took them from him.

"Last I weighed them, they tipped the scales at four and one half pounds." Good Lord, they were heavy enough to be weighed. They'd pull my pants down if I put them in my pockets.

"Hey, uh, why'd you lock the doors? I mean, that kinda seems odd. What if there were a fire? People would die!"

"Listen son," he leaned in closer, "some weird s*** has been going on lately. A ‘paranormal' investigator was here ‘bout a month ago. At the sixth floor he wet his pants and ran screaming from the building. After that, I locked up all the floors up. Everyone lives on the first and second floor. ‘Cept the girl of course. She uses the elevator to move around."

"What? She uses the elevator? The elevators bro-" He cut me off. "She uses the elevator." he said, emphasizing the point. I rolled my eyes and dropped it. "And," I looked up, "I can't be sure of it, but I SWEAR I hear people up there, talking and moving around. I suggest you take this with you." He lowered a small golden cross on a silver chain into my open hand. I shifted my eyes away and thanked him. It found its way into my front coat pocket.

"Got to go." I span around on my heel and headed for the door. I heard the old man sigh and lean into his patchwork chair. It hummed once more to life as it lowered him down. I turned around, gave him a mock salute, backed out and shut the door.


From the looks of the party, the creepiness was taking over the second floor. In no time at all, the old Chinese superintendent will be looking for a new job, and these partygoers will sleep elsewhere.

I squeezed my way through the crowd and got to the gate. After some doing and fumbling around with the key ring, I found a plain key with a ‘3' written on a sticker stuck to it. The lock was throughly rusted and I had to give the lock a quick downward jerk to get it to open.

A fine layer of dust covered the stairs, and the stairwell itself was dimly lit and had the smell of stale oxygen. The air itself seemed to be stopped moving. Only when I swiped my hand in front of me did it move. Each individual particle made small circles in mid air then slowed to a stop.

The stop of the stairs granted me two surprises. One: No gate. Two: Not a living breathing soul. From what that old man had told me, I expected at least some people. There must of been a layer of dust an inch thick. So I began walking. Each step kicked up mountains of dust, but it slowly settled down. Much to my surprise, nothing happened. Not till I got to the gate that is. I was fumbling for the key marked ‘4' when I heard someone clearing their throat behind me.

"Ack-hem." And there behind me stood on genuine ghost.

To be continued.....



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