Chapter 6 - a little trip, a little trope, a little bump in the nightMature

Knock! Knock!
Knock-kn-knock! knock!....knock!

Trevor knocks sarcasticly on the apartment door of his dealer.

(from the other side of closed door)
(Benny)
"Who is it...?"

(Trevor)
"It's me..."
"You know it's me."

(door opens)
(Benny)
"HmHm. Trevorrrrr, I know man. Just messin' with you. Lighten up."

(Trevor)
"Well, that's why I'm here. For the product, so I can 'lighten up'."

(Benny)
"Step into my office. Kick back, relax, lemme get to work on filling your 'prescription'."

Trevor lays sideways, haphazerdly on the quilt covered couch.

(Benny)
"Man, you gotta learn to chill. Spend some time with some friends, Socialize...Y'know...?

(Trevor)
"I don't HAVE any friends. They're all dead. That's why I'm here. Because the product he-"

(Benny cuts off and finishes his sentence.)
"'-Helps you to chill', yeah, I know, you always say that shit."
"Maybe you need a girlfriend, a puppy, a hobby or-"

(Trevor)
"Can I just get my shit please. I'm fucking dying here."

(Benny)
"How bad do you want this shit...? (smirking)"

(Trevor)
"STOooP!"

(Benny)
"Hahaha! You're a funny motherfucker. I like that."
"Yeah, lemme get you your shit...(under breath) not like it really helps or anything..."

(Trevor)
"What...?"

(Benny)
"Nothing, here you go. Enjoy. You're welcome...ba-doop ba-doop!"

(Trevor)
"THANK you. Your payment, dear sir..." (hands him a roll of cash)

Trevor removes the packaging and takes a hit.
(Reveling in the euphoric high it is transmitting to his brain, he daydreams for moments that seem like eternities, about happy times, blue clouds and white skies...among other oddities...)

(Trevor)
"Fuck...I'm so fucking tired. You know, I've been walking halfway fucking across town today. I missed the bus, the next one was an hour late and then THAT bus changed it's route while I was taking a nap and dropped me on the other side of town. So I basically fucking walked here."

(Benny)
"Damn, sucks mang. You know you can sleep it off here for a few if you want."

(Trevor)
"Wow, you know what, that sounds great. Really, really great about nowwww..."

Trevor begins slowly drifting off into sleep on the sofa, still muttering some nonsense.

(Trevor)
"Actually, I DID make a new friend the other day."

(Benny)
"Yeah?"

(Trevor)
"Her name's Katherine. I see her, sometimes in dreams." 

Dealer Benny looks over at Trevor drifting off on the couch as he cleans up the table and stashes away the product.
"Pshhh! Fuckin' out of it."

A smooth and mellow darkness quickly and blurringly engulfs Trevor as he slips into a deep sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------

"...I made a new friend the other day...hmhm."

Trevor groggily drifts back into consciousness, muttering to himself and rubbing his eyes as he slowly sits up.
Once his vision is focused and clear on his surroundings, he realizes how dark it is.
Not just in the room, but outside, as the curtains are covered by a very thin, sheer fabric.

"Uhhhhmmm, hello...? Anybody here?

There is no reply. Not a sound.

He walks up to a window, moves the curtain to the side to look outside. There is no 'looking outside', as there is a thick, rusty, old layer of something encrusting most of the glass.

He turns around slowly in the dark, making his way towards the kitchen and noisily half-stumbles over a coffee table.
"Son of a-"

He then remembers his fancy, chrome lighter in his front, left pocket.
He pulls it out, flicks his thumb to open it up and rolls the flint wheel to ignite the flame.

Suddenly, most of the room's visuals are taken in all at once, as he finds himself more and more perplexed in this now, unfamiliar setting of darker, aged and stained, brownish hues.
He begins to wander about the room, scanning the surfaces, the table and counter tops, looking for something, anything to reduce his growing confusion and panic.

On the half bar's counter, there is an old, half opened, dusty book that catches his eye.
a book and an old style, long dried up inkwell sitting next to it.
He draws near, hovering over it and taking in the aged details.

There is something messy 'written' messily and angularly over the text.
This 'writing' appears to be in something thick and reddish black, perhaps blood.

"A little truth, a little lie...someone else, to make you cry...a little you, a little me...we're in hell, so let us be...a little song, an alibi...someone else to help you die...-"

The rest is illegible.

As Trevor bends his mind around what the passage could mean, there is a loud unearthly, agonizing, deep throated and half angry wail, filling the outside hallway, emanating from the the first floor below.
Then after a few moments, a heavy plodding of something heavy or clumsy, on and off wailing that awful, other-worldly groan, while stomping it's way up some stairs to this floor, then down the hallway, stopping outside the door.

Trevor panics and searches desperately and quietly for a place to hide.

He finds a folded door closet on the other side of the room, turns out the lighter, quietly steps inside and closes the door.
He watches the apartment door through the slats in the closet door for what seems like an eternity.

Nothing...
An hour or two go by and nothing happens.
Not a single sound but the faint scratchings of insects somewhere else in the living room, magnified by the lack of any other sound whatsoever.

Trevor arches his back and slightly exhales from the soreness of holding an awkward stance for so long.

Then, that heavy, clumsy plodding is heard again, this time making it's way back downstairs from out in the hallway.
An awful wail is heard from the depths of the floor below as the plodding becomes vague, fading into the distance.

"The fuck is going on here?"

He pulls out his lighter, strikes a flame and almost breaks down the door to escape the closet, only a quickly placed hand to muffle a yell.

Three dried up, tied up cadavers with black, rubbery looking sacks tied tightly over their heads hang neatly in a row along the wall of the closet he was just in.
Their torsos wrapped up tightly in a tan, leathery material with thin ropes securing it around each appendage.

It's almost enough to make him gag, but he remembers the THING that was out in the hallway and brings his nausea under control rather quickly while slowly stumbling to sit on the edge of the sofa.

How to get out, he ponders. Where am I and How do I get out of here...?

The End

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