J.Shields

Posts from author and musician Jennifer Shields about that sort of stuff. Author of Against the Current and Project Evasion. Musician under the name of Ash Shields and Open Eyes, works with Dyaltov, a third of Dionysian Productions. I produce a show at 95bFM, produce and present two at Fleet FM and write reviews and things for NZ Musician. Trans. she/her/hers or neutral (a/ath/athes preferred) pronouns. This blog isn't used all that often, check other links for a link to the personal one.
The Terrible Bastard of Death

polterface:

So one time, right, there was this big, I mean seriously big apartment building, mainly used for student housing. Anyway, in the middle of the day, on some day other than October 31, the students in room 65 get a phone call.

“There’s a new student going to be moving in next to you,” says the voice on the other end. They ask who it is, no answer. But sure enough, the next day, there’s boxes of stuff outside the room next to theirs. They hear movement and footsteps, but every time they go out, y’know, to introduce themselves, there’s nobody there.

Coupla weeks pass, right? And they start forgetting about it. There’s no new car in the parking lot, and nobody new on the bus to college. But then it starts to smell. Not just their corridor, not just their floor, the whole apartment block starts smelling of bad eggs and rotting meat. And when they’re going to or from their apartment, they notice some weird liquid trickling under the door of the room next to theirs.

But everyone buys some air freshener, and they start forgetting about it again. But then the screaming starts, in the middle of the night. Screams of horror, sounding really close by. They try putting on some music, but after a few nights, the lack of sleep starts really fucking them up. So they knock on their unseen neighbor’s door, to try and get them to shut up; no answer. They look through the keyhole. If it was red, they’d’ve been worried, they’ve heard all the stories, but no, they can see through fine, and it’s just a normal-looking apartment, basically the same as theirs.

Next day there’s a body in the parking lot behind the building. It’s clearly been thrown from high up.

‘Why does our bastard neighbour have to do all this fucking shit?’ asks one of them, looking out the window at the body. ‘He’s acting like a fucking nut!’

‘At least it distracts everyone from our murdering,’ replies another, forcing some mangled flesh into the food disposal.

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