A Place to Rest (And Another Creepy Story)

For are unfortunate ones out there, the ones who need to break, the ones whose lives seemed to be speeding past them. Remember, sometimes all you need is a little rest, and I'll help you find it. My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story. A place to rest. Three months deposit to be able to rent the place, he said, Plus you have to give your dog away or find something else. Think about it, kid, It was more like a matter of principle that move for me to cust that guy out over the phone. I had been looking for an apartment for six weeks by that point, and the owners of the apartments and houses knew that there were few options out there. You could raise the prices or ask for whatever they wanted, and all we would do is accept it to not live out on the street. So imagine what I felt when I finally found a place one bedroom, Pet's okay, by the train station. Sure, I had to take some noise in exchange for the access that it gave me, so I decided to call the number. Back then, people would list their apartments in the newspaper, just like job listings and all that, So I had to clip the ads. So I wouldn't lose it. The man who answered didn't seem to know the place. I'm assuming an agent of some sort, or sometimes a relative of the owner, simply doing the other person a favor and taking the calls. I asked if it was available, what they asked for, issues with the place and all that. Yes, it's available, he said, in a serious tone. Is it for you? I explained to him that it was for me. My girlfriend had recently moved out and I couldn't afford the ranch for the place we used to have. But I didn't tell him that. Well, my man continues. It's old and kind of cold, but it's a nice place where you can rest, he said, struggling to bring out every word. I thought he had some type of breathing issue when he said it a place where I can d rest. Perfect, That's what I'm looking for. When can I go see it? I asked. I'm here all the time. Come on, buy whenever you want, whenever you want. How do you want to go? I'm going to walk there, I said, followed by an awkward silence. Hey, hungap. I stood up to look at the clock. Eight almost nine at night by then, from what I assumed, it would have taken me about thirty minutes to get there by foot. I decided to grab my jacket and then walk out right then and there, and if I changed my mind along the way, well I just turned around and walked back. So I walked, going through the metal fencing by the factories, the strange smell of the slaughter houses for Trevor Farms, and finally I was able to see what appeared to be a series of apartment towers in the middle of the fields in industrial parks, to see the train tracks, and they it's straight back to the city where I had come from. I get to my job easily. From there. Life was going to be different. I walked to the rhythm of my own shoes against the pavement, wondering how everything could have been different had my girlfriend not left me. I didn't notice a tear on the side of my face until it got cold. Four towers were there, maybe about ten stories tall each. Dark few scattered lights adorned the walls of these buildings. People most likely watching television and winding down before going to sleep. It was only the faint light source for miles, and yet there I was walking along this empty street. Its pavement cracked with yellow dried grass growing out of it. In patches. Unit B twenty eight, it said, Tower B, second floor. The tower seemed to be growing the closer I got, and the flashing blue lights from the windows of those four apartments in different floors seemed a little bit brighter. I could hear the televisions even from the outside. Two were watching the same game show, and there was a slight delay in their transmissions, creating this eerie echo through the darkness between these towers. Before I knew it, I was in front of the one that faced the street. Ay it said, right by the front door. There was the empty desk at the front with a faded old poster of the same towers and their full glory sunny skies, a montage of happy families laughing together by the dinner table. It looked on my right and found a footpath along the side of it. A light was flickering a few yards away in front of me. As I walked up, I could see the letter by the door. At first it looked like a thirteen, but I realized there was a bee with a vertical line separated. From the rest. Underneath it was a word tower I found it. I walked up and pulled on the door, fully expecting it to be locked, and yet. It swung open with that sudden jerk. It was loose. Hello, I shouted, hearing my echo reach back twice. On the right side there was an old set of buttons and intercom with two blinking lights. I looked up the handwritten numbers to the small plastic covering and finally found Unit twenty eight. I picked up the phone and pressed the button. A man picked up almost right away. He took a deep, crackly breath before saying my name, Brian, Come on up doors to the left. Then I heard a loud buzz, setting an echo throughout the entire apartment. That was so loud I thought I would wake up whoever else was in this dark building. I ran up to it, pulled the door and found the dark staircase. The paint was peeling from the corners. And yet, determined to finally land a place, I walked up floor two. The door set immediately up from where I was standing. I looked around the staircase the tunnel barely illuminated by the moonlight, before looking straight up. It seemed to coil up forever and vanish into the darkness. I opened the door and walked down the old carpeted floors that ones used to be the deep red, but were now gray from the middle all the way down to the end where the wall was. I walked until I found the number twenty eight and knocked on the door. There was no answer. It was then when I got a cold chill running straight through me. I could feel the wind on my shoes and shins was coming from underneath the door. In a desperate hum, I knocked again and waited. I looked around the dim hallways, but there was no sound, no movement, no more televisions with game shows, but a sudden, uneasy feeling in the air lurking around every corner. I could feel it staring at me. Walked thirty minutes to get there. This place was available, it said so in the newspaper clipping. Was it some kind of joke? Almost without thinking, I reached for the doorknob, and that's when my thoughts rushed in. Who was it about this place, This dark and cold and comforting place I was standing in front of. I twisted the door knob and it felt loose. It opened with a long and tired squeak. I stepped in and was met with the dim light of the moon shining through the living room window. A small table was off to the side of the entrance, a cardboard box with a slot at the top, a handwritten note in front of it, three hundred and fifty dollars cleaning fee, Thank you. I tried to shout hello, but all that came out was a whisper. I stepped in further into the living room and I saw another box on the counter to what appeared to be the kitchen. I walked up slowly and I saw it. It was a wooden block with the handles of knives, four of them. A self tour of the place, I thought, relaxing a bit, I had to do this on my own. I walked over through the kitchen and found the light switches. I flicked them on one by one. There at the counter, I saw the marks between the tiles, dark dry spots between the ceramic, but only in certain areas. Along the carpet by the knife block, I saw the stains I had been tried to be removed many times before, spread by what seemed to be brushes deep into the carpet. Dark brown and yellow colors I had seen before. I walked down the small hallway and found the bathroom. The light was off, but the fan had been left on, so I stepped in. I tapped on one of the switches and was met by pure silence. A small stand was by the bathtub, like a small reading table. I flicked both switches on again. And I saw it. Blades like those to cut cardboard boxes, all lined up and ready. I felt my heart beating them. It was a rush to get out of there as soon as possible. I went through a doorway and suddenly I was in another room. I walked over to the window to see where I was, but found only the dark side of another tower. I turned around, nearly dropping to the floor when I felt something against my knees. I could see it. There was just enough light to see that stool in front of me made of heavy wood, because it barely budged when I bumped into it. My hands and arms were cold. Now. I leaned toward the stool so I could feel my way around it until I felt something else graze aside of my body. I tried to swat it away, but it was heavy, scratchy, trying not to rush tover the exit. I flaked on the light, a rope tied in a perfect noose above the stool on a makeshift metal installation holding it up. Dark spots on the carpet underneath it. I ran at that moment. I went straight for the door, nearly bumping the cardboard box right out of the table by the entrance. I ran down the hall and then through the staircase. I felt my legs running by themselves as I felt the air from the outside again. I ran and kept running until I cleared the towers, stopping only to catch my breath and take on one last looked toward them. No other lights were on, except for the one on the second floor of Tower B. I watched as a figure walked up to the window. And disbelief. I looked over the windows of that apartment while taking out the newspaper, clipping from my pocket. A place to rest. It said. I looked back at the towers, but the figure was gone. I stood there in silence, watching as the lights turned off. I kept walking, not ready. To rest yet. The man in the fourthrow It was my brother's birthday earlier that week, and had promised to take them to see a play at a theater about some characters doing a live interpretation of a series he was watching. I'm actually not quite sure what it was, but Origins was in the name of it. Two of his friends had supposedly backed out of going because her parents wouldn't let them, saying that it was too late, even after I offered to take them and wait outside in the car while they went inside. Lots of kids were going to be there, and I'm sure board parents were also going to be in the mix. Either way, we ended up there. He got his commemorative soda cup and a limited edition holographic card, and we got in line. Not sure why we had done that, given that the seats were numbered, but then again, why was I even there in the first place, right right his birthday. Anyway, the doors opened, we stepped in, and let me tell you, this place was not what I was expecting, and not in a good way. Trash had been left on the previous showings and the once before those. The employees board teenagers were talking amongst themselves. By the entrance. Two guys were laughing with one of the girls who was holding a broom with both hands. So we stepped in. My brother quickly tried to find the row in the seat, and. I followed him. I looked around. That stale smell of popcorn and old socks was there, and the poorly painted ceiling was also covered in spider webs or dust that had been there long enough to form strings of it. I took a deep breath of that stale air and reminded myself that it would only be an hour. I was dozing off in the beginning when I felt my brother poking the side of my torso. Hey, he whispered, look at that guy. I looked to where he was nodding, and I saw only a group of kids with a woman at. The end of the row. No that way, he repeated. I followed his finger and saw a man at the end of the fourth row from the stage by the walkway at the end. His neck was bent off to the side, away from the seats in a really odd manner. I got close to my brother's ear and said, oh, yeah, what if he's a ghost. He turned his eyes toward me, and I could see them starting to widen. Just kidding, I said, looking away. Ghosts don't like this sort of stuff. He elbowed me again and went back to watching the play. It was surprisingly well done, with lights and pyrotechnics and all that they were at the scene where the man was getting his powers granted by a god or something. I was kind of into it by that point when I felt my brother elbow me again. What if he's passed out, he hasn't moved. I looked toward the man again. He was wearing a baseball cap, and I could see the silhouette of his beard from where we were, and yet still his neck was crane in the exact same position. At that moment, I did think for an instant that he might have been unconscious or something, and I sort of got lost in thought until I felt that elbow again. Never mind, he moved. My brother whispered look. I turned that way again and saw him. The man moved his neck up. He turned toward us and stayed still. I looked at my brother. He sort of smiled at me and said, Okay, he's not a ghost. The man noticed us, maybe he even hurt us, and lifted up his hand, wiggling his fingers in that strange way to say hi. I looked back over the stage and my brother turned toward me. Don't pay attention to him, I whispered. It was hard thinking about my brother like that. He was a little different, yet I felt proud to be with him watching this thing from one of his favorite shows. I've had to follow his ideas when nobody else wanted to. I've offered to take him places instead of helping him set up a birthday party and fear that nobody shows up. So I follow along with his ideas, even if there is crazy. As a guy was passed out during a play, I smiled to myself thinking of that as I slowly drifted back into it. When everything was over and the main character started a new path of victory or whatever, the lights came on. Everyone clapped. We were there again, in the middle of that dirty old theater, watching people pile even more trash on the floor. I noticed my brother hadn't moved, who was looking straight at the man in the forethrow. I could see his neck was bent again off to the side, and he was perfectly still. You have to help him, he said, What if something's wrong. I try to talk him out of it, but I knew how he was, so I promised I would go check on him. And then ask for help if something was wrong. My brother smiled and waited for me to get up. I took another whiff of that theater air and stood up, walked down just as everyone in that section had left, and I stood in front of him. The play seemed to be permanently dim, so it was hard to tea until I got close to him. You know what I saw still gives me nightmares. His face was stretched out, jaw dislocated off to the side. His eyes were white, but the color the color of his skin, it was a pale purple. I jumped back, nearly tripping on a bucket of popcorn, and I pointed at him, trying to get the attention of someone, anyone in that place, but nobody listened. The expression on my brother's face was complete shock, and it was too late for me to say that nothing was wrong. I shouted at him to stay where he was, and I ran up toward the exit, telling one of the employees of what was happening. They kept smiling with each other until one of them, the girl, agreed to come take a look. I went to grab my brother and dragged him quickly toward the walkway as a screen filled the entire theater. My brother was looking back as I kept pulling his arm, and we ended up outside, back to where the air was cool and didn't have to explain anything. We stood out there for a bit before two police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance arrived. Crowds were gathered as even more personnel got there and blocked some of the areas of the parking lot. Fortunately we were. Able to leave. I told my brother this eventually, but that next day the local newspaper reported an incident at that theater. A man had been found dead in one of the seats. They said that it. Had been reported to the proper authorities and that an investigation was underway. Who got me, though, and the part that still sends chills down my spine said. The report say that the man had a ticket stub in his pocket for a matinee showing at ten in the morning, and that he had been there for hours and nobody noticed the