Apartment 17

By Max St. John

Morgan Lang has made a mistake. After leaving home and having no where to sleep other than truck stop bathrooms, she has decided to look for a place to live. Unemployed and with few prospects of there being any change any time soon she meets with a realtor and looks at apartment 17 of the Almond Grove Apartment Complex. Her gut warns her she is making a mistake, her financial situation having nothing to do with it. 
The prospect of having a roof over her head is too good to pass up and she is offered a deal she can't refuse.

Morgan Lang has made a mistake, she has taken the apartment, she thinks her luck is turning, Finally, someone gives her a chance. She is off the street, safe and warm. 

Morgan Lang has made a mistake. She has signed on the dotted line.

Morgan Lang has made a mistake. She wont ever get out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Max St. John
• Release date: Dec 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201285951

Book preview

1

It wasn’t so much the prospect of a new beginning or the promise of a new home, it was the fact that there would be a roof over her head. It was the knowledge that four walls would supply shelter and maybe even a little insulation, although that would be an added bonus and she would be perfectly happy without it. The better question was affordability and affordability, in this case, was more a matter of how she would pay the rent at the end of the month rather than whether or not she could afford the place. The answer to that one was easy, she couldn’t. But it was perfect. Even if, at this point, just about anything would be better than the truck stop bathroom she had been sleeping in.

She didn’t have anywhere else to go. Sure, one phone call home, and there would more than likely be a wire transfer and she would be bailed out, but given how the last call home went she would rather not.

How had it gone? Hi mom, just wanted to let you know I’m ok. I’ll find my feet soon and everything will be ok. I don’t want you to worry.

The ‘worry’ part was her overcompensating for something that probably wasn’t there. In truth, she was fooling herself, there was concern, but not for her.

Why do you have to call, your holding up the line!

Her mother had been furious. She had spent the last seven years waiting for a call that would, at this point, never come. That call was not from her.

It was an older building, but it still had all its extremities intact and didn’t look like the kind of place you went to be killed in your sleep. There were stained glass windows on the two large doors, although it might just have been on account of the sun. Still, the entrance looked almost five star with the building’s name on the canopy. The Almond Grove. It even sounded fancy. There was no way this was even on the list of possibilities, forgetting the fact that she had nothing, but her soul to pay with.

Even the interior looked cozy, although the red carpet that led from the entrance and up the stairs looked like it was due for the cleaning it got once every hundred years. At the top of the stairs, a massive window let in so much light that looked to be one of heaven’s stage lights. The ones used when a choir of angels was on order. Given the location and the building’s size it seemed almost impossible, but still gave the place a homely feel. It wasn’t the most lavished looking place, but it was clean, the paint was relatively new and the wooden railings were polished even if they were cheap and made by the blind.

Morgan Lange took in all of it as she clung to her water-stained box filled with half-written manuscripts, motivational books and, maybe one or two by Tori Carson. But those didn’t belong to her.

She held on as if it was her only defense against the possibility of a poor decision that could result in some kind of disease. Then again, nothing could have been worse, disease included, than where she had been sleeping.

The building is old yes, but it’s kept very well. The caretaker will come by to introduce himself.

The realtor stood behind her and as she spoke Morgan jumped. She hadn’t heard the tall slender woman walk in and when she spoke, just for a moment, she had thought that an angel had stepped in when the spotlight was turned on.

Jumping just a little Morgan turned, clutching the box even tighter. The woman’s smiling face was framed with short pitch black hair and bright brown eyes. She wore a grey sweater over a snot pink pencil skirt. It was her whole demeanor. The way she walked and the way she carried herself put Morgan at ease the second she saw her, but it was a strange kind. A kind of unnatural calm that set off warning bells. Those warnings were eagerly dismissed as guilt for knowing she would be wasting the woman’s time.

You must be Morgan.

Morgan nodded, feeling like a little fish in a big tank.

She nodded as the realtor walked past her and led the way to the stairs, not stopping for a moment, but keeping a steady pace.

Morgan on the other hand had turned into a tourist and was too busy taking in the sights to pay any attention to her. She was inspecting the walls, the old carpet on the stairs, the lack of any other windows apart from the spotlight, and the wear on the cheap wooden railing. She didn’t know what she was expecting of the place given her budget, or lack thereof, but it didn’t look half bad.

Somehow not wandering off and getting distracted, Morgan followed the realtor up the stairs and to the right. Again the walls were clean and where the carpet ended at the top of the stairs the wooden floor, although a little worn, did not appear to be hiding corpses. The hallway was long and dark with doors on either side and a single window at the end allowing some light to make its way in. It wasn’t the spotlight the entryway had but somehow it still did the job.

Morgan was impressed, smitten with the place even. She was so impressed that when they got to the apartment she was sold. That was if she could manifest a paycheck.

Somehow even the door, a plain wooden door with the number 17 in red, was perfect. It wasn’t the first place she had looked at and given the last place she saw, this was paradise. To give a little perspective, the last one was not far from her truck stop resting place and the first step she took landed on a cockroach that had already been trampled into the ground. The only thing that could even remotely make it worse was that the shoebox was fully furnished. Imagine the stains on that mattress, which, for viewing purposes, was left uncovered. It could have been snot, shit, or blood, but whichever it was she wanted nothing to do with it. She might have been desperate, but she didn’t want to catch anything that might just spark the zombie apocalypse or an STD.

As for this apartment, it was the one in a million kind of score.

I’m sure you’ll love it.

The realtor pushed open the door and stood to the side to let Morgan inspect the apartment. She stood clutching her box, her grip tightening as she took a step forward and crossed the threshold. The door had opened without sound or protest and the inside was drenched with warm light, another spotlight had been flipped on as the angels probably got stage-ready.

The woman wasn’t wrong. Yes, the place was old, but at least here she wouldn’t be killed in her sleep by the guy down the hall who for some reason had a key to everyone’s apartment. We have all heard the stories about the guy who breaks into your apartment pisses in your sink and hides under the bed only to stab you with one of your knives while you sleep. That one.

This place didn’t look like anyone had ever even had a heart attack in it.

The place even smelled clean and Morgan’s eyes took in every inch, almost dropping the box in her hands. It wasn’t big, but it was spacious.

It was a large open room, off to the side was a small kitchen that consisted of a small counter and four cabinets. Off to the side were two doors. One was open and led to a small bathroom while to other looked to be a closet. To the right was a massive window that reached from the ceiling down to the floor and it was here that the spotlight shone in. It was a testament that she had been so struck by the place that she didn’t notice any windows on the outside of the building. A single safe stood in the middle of the room. And a red and black checker blanket hung over its side.

The sofa did clear Morgan’s mind just a little. She’d had a few bad run-ins with places that came with furniture but it looked so clean and when she walked up to it she couldn’t see a single spot on it. There wasn’t a single spot anywhere, not even a fingerprint on the window. Most importantly the place had no collapsed walls or mold colonies growing in the corners as the low rent would lead one to expect, the same low rent she didn’t have. 

The thought of "if it's too good to be true, it probably is" announced itself as she circled the room, something the realtor picked up on.

Why don’t I take that while you have a good look around.

Before any objection could be made or word of gratitude offered the realtor walked in and took the box out of her hands. Almost as if in a daze Morgan surrendered her item of security and further inspected the room as the realtor retreated and placed the box on the counter. Morgan knew she was fooling herself. The only reason she was still wondering through and running her fingers down the walls was she didn’t want to leave. 

The realtor, whose name had escaped her, stood in the doorway smiling. She knew what Morgan knew as well, which was that there was no way she would pass up on a place like this. Morgan turned to her, but didn’t say a thing, what could she say? That she wanted the place, but couldn’t pay and probably wouldn’t be able to next month either.

What had compelled her to go round looking for a roof she didn’t have the money for she didn’t know. Finally, she turned to the realtor, now having no other option than to come clean with the whole thing. Coming clean, of course, meant coming up with something along the lines of it being perfect and that she would be in touch or that she still had one more place to see. 

The realtor stood with one hand behind her back and the other stretched out towards her, the keys to the apartment resting in her palm. Morgan was slightly confused, but the prospect that lay in the woman’s hand was too much a temptation to resist.

You’re the first person to look at the place in a while, the economy isn’t doing too well. Why don’t you move in your things and get some rest.

There was something in the woman’s voice she couldn’t help, but think was too considerate and far too kind. Why would she let her stay the night without any prospect of her taking the place? Was she taking pity on her or was it that obvious? 

Reaching out Morgan hesitated for just a moment. She knew it was a mistake and it would be one she regretted. For all she knew it was a cleverly orchestrated scam and before she knew it she would be behind bars and/or in need of legal assistance, again, she couldn’t afford. But how could she resist? 

Her hand hovered above the realtor’s as something blurred her vision as if a dark shadow had moved in front of the woman’s hand trying to separate the two of them. All of a sudden she was exhausted. Staring at the key Morgan felt as if she could collapse.

It’s getting late. You must be tired.

Morgan was exhausted, in more ways than one even if it had been a while before she fully realized it. Her blurred vision was evidence of just that. So she took the keys from the woman’s hand, still unable to remember her name, as an uncomfortable thought popped into her head, she was making a deal with the devil. Don’t do it Morgan, this can’t end well. She told herself, but she was too tired.

I’ll come by in the morning so we can do the paperwork. Till then, settle in.

Again she was given no time for objection. The woman turned on her hot pink heels and walked out with that same uncomfortably compassionate smile. The more Morgan thought of the woman’s face the more her discomfort, with her and the situation grew.

She found herself standing in the center of the room looking around like a petrified animal. The only thing worse than her discomfort with all that had happened was how fast that discomfort was making itself scarce. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes when a new thought made its nest.

Technically she was invited to stay and there was no talk of payment. She had been sleeping at truck stops and on benches for close to a month, she deserved a good night’s rest.

As her internal argument swayed to the side she knew was wrong Morgan closed the apartment door and looked over the room. Her eyes landed on the sofa and how perfect it looked right at that moment. It was just one night, surely it would be ok?

She needed this. A warm safe place to sleep where some guy named Bob couldn’t get into the woman’s restroom just to jerk off to the picture of a woman she was sure came off some or other dating site.

Neither would she have to worry about the junkies and the pimps. Even if it was just one night she would be happy, but before that, she wanted to just have one more look at something, the bathroom. There was, despite the exhaustion, a lingering desire for running water. Bathing out of a sink wasn’t something she had much enjoyed.

The bathroom was cramped with a powder blue plastic shower concealed by a faded, but clean, white shower curtain. There was a sink in the same powder blue color and a white, again faded, toilet. Why she felt she had to check she would never know but, with a shaky hand, Morgan reached out and opened one of the faucets. Low and behold it not only worked but there was hot water. She just couldn’t help holding her hand under the water for a moment before rinsing her face. It felt good, knowing there would be no transmittable diseased in either the water or the sink. The other thing she was immensely grateful for at that moment was the box on the counter. She had been living out of it for the last month and it contained all she would need for a warm shower, the first of its kind in months.

It had been a rough time since she left home and tried to find her feet. So to be able to stand under hot water was the best feeling she could have imagined. She left her clothes in a heap on the ground as she stepped into the shower and under the hot water. Nothing in the world could feel this good. The longer she stood, the water washing away aches and pains and filth, the more her exhaustion grew. How had she not realized how bad it was? Had she been in survival mode, her only concern being her safety and not her fragile state?

Morgan stood under the water as long as her aching legs allowed before she closed off the tap and stepped out, grabbing the towel she had brought with her and quickly drying herself off. The little room was dark, but it didn’t bother her. It was a little cold but she chalked it up to having been under the hot water. When she was ready to leave the bathroom she had abandoned the jeans and opted only for her shirt. A clean set of clothes would have been nice, but she could survive without it.

Making her way to the sofa she didn’t bother having another look at it. She flopped down and felt it embrace her. The grey color was a little drab, but it was comfortable, beyond what she could have expected. She let her head fall back and listened to the delicate dripping that came from the bathroom. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and gave in.

She was gone from the world the moment she laid her head down. Lifting her legs onto the sofa she curled up on her side. She was so tired that she didn’t hear the dripping faucet in the bathroom get louder and sound all the more hollow. So tired that she didn’t hear the slow creaking sound emanating from the hallway beyond her locked door. She didn’t hear the heavy footsteps coming up the hall or hear them stop at her door as a thick black substance siphoned into her apartment.

She was so fast asleep she didn’t realize she was coughing as the room filled with oily smoke. What she didn’t notice either was the door handle turning and as it did the metal turning a dark red-brown. The rust on the metal handle turned to decay and spread into the wood sending splinters falling to the ground. In a moment the entire door was turning to dust, the floor was caving in and there was a putrid metal smell in the air. All the light slowly faded out as shadow filled the room and turned it into an apocalyptic scene. The window yellowed and the glass cracked, the paint peeled and the wooden floor splintered.

For a moment it was as if something stirred her and Morgan turned her head to better cradle herself into the sofa. The black muck that covered the floor turned into a river and filled the room before trailing up the back of the sofa. It inched closer but didn’t touch her, staying just off to the side.

Morgan slept so soundly that she didn’t hear the door, what was left of it, being pushed open and something walk to the foot of her bed where it stood watching her sleep. She had thought she felt something stroke her hair, but she had written it off as a dream. That and the low sound of growling.

2

It was overcast outside and looked like a nasty storm was on the approach. Once or twice she swore she even heard thunder. It was just another reason Morgan was grateful for the sofa and the blanket, even if the latter was a little prickly. She hadn’t slept that well in a long time. It was snug and warm and comfortable and she wouldn’t care if she stayed on that sofa the whole day. That was, if the cops didn’t come by, kick in the door and throw her out.

As the thought sneeked into her head she pulled the blanket up over her face. It smelled of dust. Just because she so badly wanted to stay didn’t mean she could go without paying the rent. That just didn’t happen, but that