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My head felt as if it had been cracked open, my eyeballs pushing themselves out of their sockets. I had woken up on the coarse wooden floors. I wish I hadn't woken up at all.
The quiet residents of Langham Manor had never indicated their presence through sight nor evidence of sound. I could have been the only tenant, though sometimes I heard a slight scratching and assumed a pigeon had perched itself upon my window. I don't know if any of that made me feel better or worse. I couldn't possibly feel more alone.
Until I found the photograph in my closet. Someone had burned holes through where his eyes would've been. I knew who did it. The crazy bitch known as Cyclone Sally who had died in my apartment before I moved in. The problem is, she never left.
And now she wants me out, except I have nowhere else to go. Not all our mistakes can be forgiven, especially when they are repeated and promises are broken. A broken life is a nightmare and I wish I could wake up. I know I've done some things wrong, but I can't remember what they were. All I know is they cannot be put right.
Welcome to apartment 503, my home, my nightmare.
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