The Man's Apartment

Seeing as there was nowhere else to go, you shuffled over to the opening and frowned. It was dark and you could just barely make out a doorway to what was most likely another room. What really threw you off guard was how nicely the doorway was carved. An intricate pattern wove itself around the exit. Did that mean… someone else was here? At the thought of possibly being able to get out of here with the help of another person made you scurry over to the patterned doorway with little hesitation. The sleeves of your two-sizes-too-big sweater fell down to wrap loosely around your forearms when you reach over and grabbed the wall to peak around into the next area.

I unlock the metal gate and climb onto the front patio. Before me stands a two-story house with newly-refurbished windows and a fresh coat of white paint. I admire the house’s beauty as I stroll past it. I walk through a crowded path of mohintli, white laelia, tithonia, and dahlias that seem to guide me to the real reason I am at this address. After moving the branches of some avocado trees out of the way, I finally find the treasure I am seeking: a small rose-colored house with just two windows and two rooms. With the key my father gave me, I open the doors to enter the rooms. The light switch does not work, so only shadows are present in the room. Giant cracks graze the walls like the markings of a lion. On the ceiling, an intricate flower design shines proudly with the rest of the room, slowly losing its will to decay. Only broken furniture stands in the corners of the room, ashamed to be present in front of a girl from the North. After taking a deep breath to calm my emotions, I lock the door, look to the sky, and walk back to the house I am staying at with my

Dread and sorrow wash throughout me. We spent so long in this cursed building to prevent us from ending up like we did. I furrow my brows. The foul smell of rotting old wood came upon my senses. Now, I could only taste dryness in my throat. This attic has still not changed one bit.

I took a deep breath as I walked through the doorway. The door was stuck open, hanging on just one of its hinges. It was clear that no one had been near this place in a long time. As I entered, a stench hit me. It smelt sickly sweet, almost like rotten fairy floss. I looked around the room at the faded and ripped wallpaper, and the broken furniture. The air was so thick with dust it was almost impossible to breathe, and everything was thickly covered with dust. The little light there was came from the cracks in the yellowed blinds.

I paid for my food and left. Taking a short walk I stopped outside a building of flats. Chrome identifies the building to be my final destination. Rounding the back of the building to the service road I search profusely for my entrance point. Pulling my dark hooded jumper that matches my black combat pants and boots. The second floor window was open, allowing the cool night breeze waffle through the apartment. I climbed on to the commercial bin and hoisted myself into the room. Landing gracefully on the floor I searched my surroundings, orientating

Anxiety ripples through my body for weeks; before I know it, it is the day of the ‘mystery trip’. Apprehensively, Hanna and I approach the dilapidated building, which worries me, due to the fact that it looks exceptionally abandoned. From the skies, gargoyles peer down at us, their stone dead eyes carving into me. On one side, two windows are smashed and unadorned white drapes dance in the gentle wind. Furthermore, the hefty door looks to be hanging from its hinges. This trip is definitely no luxury trip.

Using his hands against the grey tinged, rough and dusty wall he slowly finds the door. He stumbles for a second against the feeling of his feet sinking into plush carpet. He steadies himself, deciding to completely ignore the foreign feeling shifting underneath his feet. Slowly he moves through his cottage trying to visualise each wall and obstacle that may get in his way. He seems to crash into every single object that he owns. Clumsily he finally makes it to the door.

The first couple steps were bumpy, my trembling feet vibrating against the crackling floor. The door swings open as I go to knock creating a loud screeching noise. As I walk into the unfamiliar home, I become more aware of the man I'm about to meet. I travel further into his world and can hear the noise coming from under my feet. I get closer and closer until I find it, the crooked door where he told me to meet him. As the stairs appears from the darkness, my path becomes lighted ahead of me.

The stone remains cold from decades of freezing winter nights as it sat neglected andunwanted. The couches is decorated in a faded flaming pattern of roses. The musty smell continues into the library. Shelves of forgotten novels line the fourwalls, and a large window is strategically placed between two of the shelves. The lights hangingfrom the ceiling are dimmed, and the melodic ringing of wind could be heard. Bodies crowdtogether in the small room, and all heads gaze at one single item. The television growls awarning, but it is set up in the form of a welcome to the hotel. Above the shelves sit manyknickknacks: a beat up camera, adusty music box, a rickety old fortune telling machine, andeven a vintage girl’s doll sits on the wall with beady eyes staring down at me. I gaze at my oldfriends. Their presence adds a hype to the idea of what awaits. The television blanks out and thefamiliar spike in my heartbeat comes, and there goes the lightning right on queue. The creek ofthe door is heard over the rumbling of voices, when a bright light blinds my vision for a quicksecond. A heated breeze flocks into the room from the shadowy corridor. The empty smell of steam surrounds, and it caresses my arms the further into the room Igo. The cold brick walls brush against my arms as families rush past me. The concrete floorchanges into a steel bridge. Over the railing, the boilers cascade down to the floor standing talland rusted. The smell of oil and steel disgustingly mix. The sound of my feet clattering againstthe steel reverberates around the room. The bridge splits into two and leads the newcomers intoan aloof. I remember, in the end it doesn’t matter; however, I am pulled to the right. The redboilers line the path as it slowly descends. The clatter of footsteps follows, and the steam in theroom thickens, crushing me. I turn to the elephant in the room. A steely service elevator door threatens the room in amagnificent haze of power. Above the powerful door

-JPI began serious investigation of Austin market in 1991—at that time excellent growth in on population and jobs—rents were too low to justify new construction

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not

Her feeble wails are loud enough to alert gramma and I now that if I want to escape into the attic then I have to do it now. I race down the hallway my socks slipping on the polished floor, and just as I pulled down the ladder from the ceiling I could hear gramma's feet padding steadily towards me. Frantically I climb up the ladder, my sweaty hinds sliding on the slippery rungs. Just as Gramma turns the corner, I start to pull the ladder back up into the ceiling. 'Caught,' I thought disappointed, but gramma is so busy calling my name, that I am able to swiftly pull the rest of the ladder up into the ceiling without her noticing. I sigh with relief and smile, surprised that I was able to out wit gramma, who is the smartest person I now. The attic is pitch black, and I am beginning to regret my mad dash to the attic without preparing myself first. But soon my eyes adjust to the dusty gloom and I am able to make out enough of my surroundings to move further away from the trap door in case gramma pokes her head in. I stand still searching for a light or window that could illuminate the sufficating

Each day, he found himself on the decrepit steps of an apartment building, placed between 6th and 7th Avenue. He was well assure that it was a busy street, for it flowed with numerous tourists, and businessmen on their way to work. This is exactly why he chose to sit in that particular spot each day. His situation was often uncomfortable, and he was unfortunately one of the few that found himself in it. Frequently, bystanders would stare at him as they passed, possibly asking themselves how he ended up his situation and probably judging whether he was an alcoholic, druggie, or merely lazy. Unfortunately, he was extremely poor, and found himself forced to join the many others in New York City that relied on the kindness of others. Moreover, the vastness of the city often caused his presence to be faded into the background of the flowing traffic, and the only attention drawn was usually filled with deep stares of disgust. I also joined those who also crossed paths with him, and sadly, I found myself judging him based on his situation. I wondered multiple questions while walking past him, asking myself why he have a job? Or how is he using his money? Unfortunately, I judged him before knowing how exactly he ended up in his situation. And knowing this, it greatly bothered me to the point that I decided to approach him with the questions I had. Fortunately, he was very welcoming upon my approach and gladly went on to explain his story.

Pushing the large aged wooden entryway open took more strength than I expected, yet finally giving way as rusted hinges squealed my arrival. I was tired tonight and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, the

As we travelled up the dark winding road, we came insight of ardtornish house, my house. once we stopped I dashed out of the carriage umbrella in hand, trying to evade the bullets of rain firing down upon me. It had been a long day and I hadn’t realised how tired I was until the events of today had finally finished, so I decided to retire to my bed. I slothed my way up the gloomy staircase and dragged my feet along the hallway until i came to a sudden halt. I noticed that there was a figure silhouetted in the moonlight above my glass attic hatch. I assumed it was an intruder, but I was confused to why it was staring directly at me. but in my blindness of danger I pulled the cord down to release the ladder to my attic, but as the cloud of dust that came down with ladder disappeared, the figure had vanished.