The Gatehouse Apartments, 1956
(But That Is Why We Are Here.)
Gatehouse Apartments stood like a grey monolith to a forgotten god, guarded by an acolyte eager to do its bidding, which proved that things were sometimes exactly as they appeared.
The man tapped his cane against the path that led to its doors and watched with rheumy eyes as the yellow police tape rattled in the wind. It twisted one way, then unfurling the other. It danced in the breeze and rattled like a tambourine. One stray fluttered across the path, tapping at it insistently to a tune only it knew, revelling in anticipation of the dance.
Charles Johann Grey was too old to join in on its revelry but felt the urge. He listened to the moaning wind that swept past the empty windows. It whistled past the open doors and gave the empty building a voice. The tales it could tell he thought, and smiled a smile that offered sleepless nights.
He stepped into the shadow of the building and felt the cold grasp him. The sun was bright outside of the building influence, but as he stepped closer CJ could feel reality’s grasp grow weaker with each step.
He stepped inside and heard a call from his left but ignored it and to the right. Most men would have treated a police chief so carelessly, but to CJ Grey, he was no more or less important than any common man.
The circumstances of CJ’s last visit to Gatehouse Apartments had been under similar circumstances. He had required that same specialised crew, and the police chief was also involved. No reporters had visited the building and no tales had ever been told about the occurrence, as none would today.
There was no graffiti on or in the building, no broken windows, and no rooms used by miscreants searching for places of mischief. The Gatehouse Apartments brought religion out of such people. Its dark windows reflected their black souls at them, and many swore they saw pale faces with wide frightened eyes staring at them if they wandered close enough to the building to see.
CJ walked to the closed door to room seven. He did not try to open it but placed his palm against the cold wood. Room seven had been the start of it all. He leaned in closer, not quite pressing his ear to the door. Even he felt sudden trepidation about what he might hear.
“Mr Grey?”
CJ flinched, but the police chief could not tell that CJ’s smile masked a grimace. He had not acquired his position through the application of diligent police work. He was what he was because CJ Grey put him there. The police chief was owned, and his wife still required therapy for what CJ had unleashed on her to make this ownership understood. It wasn’t necessary to lay a hand upon the woman. Charles Johann Grey was too sophisticated a sadist.
“They’re ready for you.” The police chief’s words faltered like a schoolboy. His final word drifting off as he saw it and CJ followed his gaze.
The rectangle of glass to the East Stairwell revealed a figure.
The two men stared at it, and it stared back. Its crimson eyes glowed with the flickering light of diffused neon. Its flesh was as black as soot and just as insubstantial. The edges of it drifted as though the air itself threatened to pull it apart. The light that played through it drew the viewers closer. CJ resisted the call, but the police chief could not.
CJ smiled as the little man stepped closer to the rectangle of glass, the black mist moved in eddies across the window. The police chief raised his hand towards it and CJ waited, watching the neon light flicker as the phantom blinked. The light bathed the chief in a sickly glow. Then something wet hit the glass and the police chief snapped his hand away and shrieked.
The figure dissipated like smoke.
“Pull it together man.” CJ smiled his voice soft. “It was just a remnant, nothing more than a fragment of a dream. You’ll forget about it in moments.”
CJ didn’t move, he didn’t want to break the remnant’s spell over the man. It would be over soon enough. The man’s eyes darted around the corridor, his body statue still, then returned to the rectangle of glass where he saw the remnant. His mind was open, his veneer of reality pierced, and CJ Grey saw an unexpected opportunity.
“It will visit you,” CJ whispered, “It will stand over you. It will caress your wife while she slumbers and grins over your children’s sleeping bodies.” The man’s eyes grew wider, the whites bulging, and CJ stifled a laugh. He felt childlike in these moments. “You will see it, it will be clear to you, but your tongue will be stuck to the roof of your mouth even as you fight to scream.”
The man would discover a new fear of darkened places over the following days. He would grow uneasy around things that he could not see. He would never understand the fear, and in his lack of understanding the fear would grow.
“I do not have all day!” CJ called over his shoulder as he walked away. As he followed the man mumbled something under his breath, but it took CJ a few moments to decipher.
“Unclean.” The police chief said.
“Indeed,” CJ replied casually. “But that is why we are here.”
Apartment 101 appeared completely doused in red and CJ found his feet pausing at the threshold. The subjects had been removed and were contained within two thick sacks ready to be disposed of. The third occupant was lying near the window, his hands and legs twisted and bound behind him. CJ was pleased that he looked like a hog being prepared for slaughter.
CJ stepped over the threshold and immediately felt something similar an earth tremor. His legs trembled beneath him and he felt his breath quicken as his muscles reacted to the energy in the room. He pointed to the black sacks, and they were removed. The anonymous crew knew where the subjects should be taken, they needed no instruction.
His cane clapped against the floor. The room was carpeted, but it was thin and cheap. He knew this well, as he would need to purchase its replacement. The bound man twisted his head to look at his approach. A leather strap had been fastened around his mouth, and the only noises he could make were feeble moans.
CJ used the cane to lean down. His hip popped, and his bad knee ached, but he ignored it. He placed the cane across his thigh within reach. What came next would be automatic, he would watch without acting and his body would respond to the situation without his conscious intrusion.
He took a handful of hair and pulled the man’s head back. His face was filthy, smeared in blood and the filth of many weeks, and the smell from him was rank.
CJ grabbed the handle of his cane and the slim blade concealed within it pulled free. The man saw it, the crimson light from the window reflected from the polished metal. The symbols etched into the blade reflected over the man’s face like a tattoo.
He tried to struggle, but his bound limbs had already become dead and useless. He twisted his head, but CJ had the advantage of experience.
The tip of the blade touched the man’s throat and then plunged through it. The thyroid cartilage cracked, and the point lurched deeper. Tears of terror and agony streaked the eyes that locked onto CJs gaze. The man’s face was pathetic in the acceptance of his fate. He would have begged, but it was far too late.
CJ pulled the man’s head back further as the tip of the blade popped through the other side. He sawed outward and the blade cut out toward the soft flesh under the man’s chin creating a wound that opened like a second mouth. The anatomy inside was revealed as the head flopped back before the blood flowed like a river.
The Gatehouse Apartments, 1984
(But That’s Why We’re Here.)
As the lights on the cinema marquee were extinguished Grady wondered why he had agreed to it. He was shaken, but his brother was ecstatic, gleefully recounting key moments of the gory tale. Grady walked alongside and wondered again why he put himself through it. He had never liked horror films and wouldn’t sleep well tonight. If his brother noticed he wouldn’t have a good day tomorrow either.
Brady would tease his brother on their dark journey home. Sometimes he would insult him. Occasionally even hit him. Often Grady would wonder if his brother hated him. He thought this as his elder twin bounced in exhilaration at what they had just witnessed.
They had watched the previous films in the series on VHS. The first one was in black-and-white and was creepy as Hell, but a black-and-white movie on a screen no larger than a box of cereal could only be so scary. The second one was worse. That one had been in colour, but it had also been funny in places. At least the clothes they wore made Grady smile.
The one they had just watched was different. One that Grady would not be in a hurry to repeat. He wanted to watch Cocoon instead, that one had looked fun, but the showing of Day of the Dead was a preview and it wouldn’t be out for another two weeks.
As usual, Brady won the argument.
As they walked away from the movie theatre Brady talked. Usually, they would discuss the movie, but Grady was in no mood to revisit what he had just seen, even to break up the dark silence around him. The final twenty minutes had been almost too much, and when one character was ripped in half, Grady thought he would throw up.
They passed the dark windows of stores, their reflections staring back at them. No one else was on the streets at this hour, and Brady’s voice seemed far too loud in the quiet surrounding them.
Brady loved the gory excess of modern horror movies. Grady preferred something more sedate. Over the following month, the Michael J Fox movie about the time-travelling car was being released. Grady was desperate to see it but knew his brother would find some way to bully him into watching old horror movies on video instead.
“I’ve got an idea,” Brady said suddenly and stopped walking.
Grady listened to his brother’s suggestion, noticing that Brady was already leading them to the building he wanted to visit. The younger brother suggested going home. They had plenty of movies on VHS, or they could see if Vale’s Video Rental was still open, but he could see Brady becoming more animated by his intentions and reluctantly he had agreed.
Grady wished he hadn’t when they got to the crest of the hill, and he saw the dark patch of woodland. Suddenly he wanted his dog by his side. He wasn’t sure what the animal could do against what he knew loomed ahead, but at least he could hold his dog and take comfort from his presence.
The large gateposts they had passed were normal enough. The road arched in between then from where it broke from the main road out of town. They followed it and found themselves on a broad unmarked stretch of asphalt. Trees stood on either side of it like sentinels at a funfair. They would have been unspectacular in the daylight but were unsettling under the moonlight.
Brady pointed to something ahead and Grady squinted into the darkness. All he could see was a curtain of black. Unconsciously he moved a little ahead, and Brady followed, letting him lead them.
When his eyes adjusted to the gloom he stopped in his tracks. He had seen the building all along, but he couldn’t make it out against the night sky. It was a cube of deepest black broken up by windows like the eyeless holes of a scorched skull. It felt as though it had been abandoned by more than just humanity. It had been abandoned by time, and space had also given it a wide berth.
Brady overtook his brother; his pace had slowed but his intention was clear. He would approach the building despite the things they had heard about it.
Reluctantly Grady followed, walking far slower than his brother. The black brick edifice loomed taller as they approached. It was far more imposing than its four storeys would suggest. If Brady had said it was a thousand Grady would have agreed.
They stepped onto a wide path that led to the glass doors that led inside. None of the windows had been boarded up against intrusion, but they saw no graffiti on the black brick, and none of the building’s windows were broken.
Grady looked over to his brother. They had been born fifteen minutes apart, and Brady thought this gave him authority over Grady. Neither of them understood it but they both lived by it. Brady grinned, but Grady was probably the only person who could see through the façade.
Brady was as scared as Grady was.
The black brick loomed closer, and Grady wondered if it had eaten any graffiti that had been daubed on it. It looked as though it could. The brick looked like burned skin and Grady thought that if he threw a stone, he would see it leave a bloody gash rather than shatter.
They walked along the wall towards the glass doors that led inside. Brady reached out as if he intended to touch the wall, then pulled his hand away.
He stepped onto the shallow step that led through the glass doors and raised his hand to open them. Grady wanted to tell him no, but he didn’t want to speak in front of the building. He knew it might hear him, and its eyes would follow him home.
Grady raised his hand to stop him, but Brady pushed on the door, and it swung open. He stepped inside and held the door open for his brother.
For a moment the brothers stood in tableau. Then Grady saw his brother’s eyes darken and knew he would not be immune to the edge of his tongue.
He stepped inside.
It was cold, but each step made it colder.
As they made their way deeper into the abandoned building, they saw none of the rooms had been used by miscreants searching for places of mischief. Grady saw no broken bottles or the remnants of makeshift camps in the empty rooms. There were no signs the homeless had made it their home, or kids had used the quiet rooms with the same intentions as Brady.
They came to a corridor, in front of them was a door with a wire-reinforced window embedded into it. Brady squinted through it.
“Stairs,” he said.
To the right was the tarnished chrome of elevator doors and beyond was a rectangle of darkness with a small square of light at the far end.
Brady looked to their left, took a few steps and then stopped. The brothers were only ten feet apart, but he could only see a vague impression of his brother in the darkness. Without speaking, they moved a little closer together.
“We’ll have to bring torches,” Brady said.
“You’re not still going through with it?” Grady said, he heard his voice tremble, and he was certain his brother heard it too. “There’s better places Brady. This place is terrifying.”
“But that’s why we’re here,” his brother said, “It’s gonna scare the girl’s silly.”
It scares me silly, Grady was about to answer but bit the words back, Brady wouldn’t hesitate to tell everyone that his little brother feared ghosts, and they were already looking at him suspiciously.
He wished he hadn’t thought of that, he wished he hadn’t brought the ‘G’ word into it.
“That way,” Brady said, pointing towards the speck of light at the end of the corridor. There was an eternity of black between them and it, and Grady almost broke down at the thought of it.
It was like a black hole, Grady thought, light, lives, hope, anything good would be pulled into it never to be heard again.
“Go on,” Brady said, “You first,” and pushed his brother by the shoulder.
He’s amused, Grady thought, he knows I’m scared, and he thinks it’s funny.
Grady steeled himself and turned towards the light. At first, his steps were slow, and he felt Brady’s hand press against his shoulder and slowly sped up his steps. He could make out the outlines of doors to his left and his right, and he estimated that the corridor was probably no more than thirty feet in length, probably less.
The walk was agonising. His feet crunched through debris that had fallen from the decaying ceiling. The sounds were as loud as gunshots, and he felt his body twitch with each sound.
He was glad it was too dark to see. He didn’t want Brady to see his fear. With each teasing comment they drew further apart, and Grady saw the distance as he would the space between stars.
Grady had things to tell his brother, confusing things that he knew would make his brother reject him. He knew everyone suspected; he had seen their sidelong glances when they were talking about their weekly conquests. Their whispers when they saw he would rather play with his dog than join in on their toxic behaviour.
His heart was racing, and his breath came in short gasps.
The light came from another rectangle of wire-reinforced glass in another stairwell. A faint light shimmered inside, illuminating the stairs leading up but leaving those leading to the basement in shadow.
The light was more frightening than the darkness.
He glanced back over his shoulder, in the gloom he could make out the light from the glass doors lighting the chrome elevator doors, but he could not see Brady.
“Brady?” He whispered, then he raised his voice slightly and tried again. The calls were paradoxical whispers as if Grady wanted to attract attention but only the right kind.
“Brady?” He said again, this time even more quietly.
Something moved between the light and his face, and Grady turned like a flower to the sun as the hand slammed into the glass making the door shake. The sound boomed through the corridor, making Grady’s ears hum.
The hand moved away, and a man’s face stared back at the boy. Grady felt like a boy, he felt tiny and vulnerable and scared beyond reason.
The man’s mouth opened in terror, his eyes bugging until Grady feared they would leap from their sockets. He turned, raising a shuddering finger to point. The quaking hand aimed towards the gloom leading down into the basement.
Grady’s scream grew from a groan. His frozen muscles held him rigid. He was an animal facing an unknown creature. His body knew it was a predator. While his mind had no idea what it was.
It hunkered down onto the concrete steps. Its chin resting on the top, one claw beside its face. Its eyes cast a light that bathed the concrete in an orange glow. It blinked and the light flickered. Its head was shaking slightly, and the light shook with it.
There was no light on in the stairwell. It was the light.
The man wrenched at the door, but Grady didn’t want that door to open, he wanted something between him and… it.
It moved. Its actions were so slow that Grady thought it was just the flickering light lending it the appearance of movement. Then it rose and Grady’s ears were willed with the cracked shriek of his terror as it leapt.
There was a brief image of something wet hitting the glass, but Grady had already turned on his heels.
“What’s wrong with you,” Brady shouted behind a laugh. He had been looking in one of the open doorways leading into an abandoned apartment. Grady pushed him aside and made for the light glinting off the elevator doors.
The younger brother didn’t stop running until he was at the end of the path that led to the glass door. The apartment block loomed over him, and his whole body shook.
“What is wrong with you?” Brady repeated as he let the glass door swing closed behind him. He was angry now, and Grady knew it was because he had pushed him aside so savagely.
Grady’s eyes moved to the building behind his approaching brother. Each window glowed with a light from within, and each held it in the shadow of a person, watching.
“I’m not going in there again Brady,” He said emphatically, “Never.”
Brady snorted derisive laughter.
“Well, I’m glad Dad had one son at least,” he shot back, and Grady had never wanted to hit his brother as much as he wanted to in that moment.
“I don’t care, Brady,” he said, “Only an idiot would go back into that building.”
Grady didn’t know how right he was, only the desperate entered through those doors into Gatehouse Apartments, and only the dead would remain inside.