The Dead Tenants

Surely the afterlife is more than this.

Ramiel Bauman has been awake for a while now, but it doesn’t really help his situation any. He was certain – very much certain – that he had died. It was nothing short of a surprise when he opened his eyes to find himself suspended in air and then, when he tried to wriggle, he actually fell down and managed to land badly. The pain in his leg was subsiding already, so he pushed himself off the stone cold ground.

His legs felt wobbly at least, but the blonde forced himself to stand still for a minute, before the feeling in them returned. It was nice to feel them again. He stretched his hands out – he was dressed in his clothes still, the same one he was sure he died in, and when he looked at his hands he noticed the chipped nails and blood all over them. There were no wounds, though. He looks further down, to his chest, and feels around with his hands – there’s a whole lot of blood and it’s still mostly fresh, clinging to his hands in sticky clusters, but there’s no wound behind it.

Aside from the awkward fall, nothing hurts.

It brings him back to the very idea fall and he turns around, but he sees nothing that could’ve held him up. Ramiel’s not sure how that’s possible. There’s only one thing he is sure of, however – and that is, that he should be dead.

But he’s always imagined... The hell or the heaven or some sort of judgement, something—even the ceasing of soul’s existence would’ve been fine. Finer than the uncertainty, but... it’s not his decision to make. Ramiel sighs in dissatisfaction, because for all of his religious devotion he never thought he would die young and he thought he’s had more than enough time to get into the afterlife and thoughts about it. Where he would go, what his destiny would be.

This seemed, however, like waiting. Waiting for the messianic power or something of sorts, except that this looked a whole lot like the apartment complex – the one in front of him, the one on the other side of the street and the one on the side and so on.

As far as he could see, most of the buildings were rusted. Stores and shops had dirty signs and their door gaped open, swinging soundlessly on the loose hinges. No signs of human life anywhere. He approaches one of the buildings, gets himself off the street and onto the sidewalk even though the cars lay broken by its side and there’s nobody in the vicinity who would drive them anyway, but—better safe than sorry.

Ramiel pushes his hands in the pockets of his coat, but he finds nothing of a use – only a paper with number 7 scrawled messily on it in black ink. He pushes the paper back inside with distaste and keeps moving.

His shoes echo as he moves along the rows of buildings and takes turn right the first chance he gets. The main street seems to follow. Somewhat slowly, he notices the movement in the building across the street, nearly missing it. The building looks like everything does around here, rusted and old and not fit for normal life, but there’s definitely something moving along the balconies there.

Ramiel wants to go and see, but he’s not sure how smart that is. He has no weapon to protect himself with and he hasn’t really seen the person moving. He’s noticed the movement but that is all, as the form was shadowed and rather quick, probably more accustomed to the place and in a better shape than Ramiel.

If he’s not dead, then he’s dreaming, so it doesn’t really matter much anyway.

Still, he decides to go anyway, but before going into the old building, he takes a look around. The most useful thing he can see a small bike and when he tries to shake the hand bar off, it comes apart beneath his hands. It’s not much of a weapon, but at least he can take a swing.

The building is old, the paint peeling off in layers. It must’ve been green once upon a time, but now it’s a strange mixture of washed out mint, yellow and orange. There are sounds he didn’t notice before coming in, the metal swinging and some sort of whining. It sounds like a small, wounded animal, but then it sounds like growling too, and he cannot tell where it’s coming from in the perpetual darkness. There’s a staircase leading up and light coming from there, the only source of it in the building.

The light seems to be of different transparency around the stairs and when Ramiel looks up, he notices the broken window, glass shimmering softly under the barely-there rays. He observes the stairs leading up before he ascends them. It’s light where the rays from window can reach and on the staircase; in the distance, he can see windows as shiny white spots. Everything else – blackness. The whining is quieter now, but he can still hear the movement of metal against metal.

He moves further in, letting his eyes slowly adjust to the dark, and he keeps the bicycle bar in front of himself, just in case. He goes left first, hand on the wall and he searches for the light switch. His hand runs across something sticky, but he ignores it until he reaches for the switch and the light floods the room.

It flickers in the beginning, shy and unsure, but soon the room is engulfed in it and the windows are now part of the brightness and not stars in the night sky. Ramiel doesn’t pay attention to them.

The sight in the room is sickening, even for him and even though he’s seen a lot of disgusting things in his life. This part of the building seems to be a parking garage, but there are no cars in it right now. There’s not much in it at all – plain white walls and grey floor. And, oh—the cage hanging from the ceiling, red blood dripping from it, and some sort of whimpering being inside. It’s shapeless from the all the blood and Ramiel cannot tell what it is, so he approaches the cage and hits the sides. Loud growl comes from it and he backs away, unwilling to free what might harm him.

He doesn’t know how it’s gotten there, though – he’s not sure what it even is.

The blonde grips the handle bar tighter, turns around, but he hears no other sound. The cage is still shaking from the time he’s hit it and the being is attempting to wriggle out fruitlessly. The attempt is stopped by the cage itself – Ramiel didn’t have a chance for the closer look, but he could only assume it was tightly closed.

From the corner of his eye, he notices movement – human-like shape descending down the stairs, staggering and stumbling, and Ramiel pushes himself back, shocked. He could stay here, wait for the thing to approach him and find out what it is, or he could try to run. It’s really the face that decides it, or rather the lack of. The skin’s stretched upon it until all features except for it have disappeared and Ramiel doesn’t want to find out how it sees, speaks or smells things.

He breaks into a run, legs awkward and unused to it yet, but he’s well aware that he’s surely die and gone to hell. It has to be it, because he’s certain he’s died, and now all he can do is run to avoid the eternal torture. He doesn’t waste the time as he runs down the same staircase he has come from, thing leaping behind him and chasing him. He could, technically, hit it with a handle... but it would have to get too close for comfort.

Once he’s out of the building, he looks around, unsure of where to go in the city where everything looks the same – tall, monstrous and rotten.

Then, he sees it.

Or, rather, he sees her. It’s a woman, on first look normal if a little bit pale, with long hair tied in a ponytail, walking down the street like nothing is happening. Like she’s not aware of the monster behind Ramiel (which she probably isn’t, he reasons), except for—except for the gun in her hand.

“Hey!” At the risk of calling out to another monster, he shouts anyway, nearly uncaring, and waves at the woman when she turns around, not stopping. He approaches her quickly, the thing behind him staggering due to its already awkward gait, but it will catch up with them if they don’t move soon. “Hey—“ He’s not sure what to say. A picture says a thousand words and the woman seems to be looking at him and the thing behind him rather intently.

She raises the gun, shoots at the window behind and above Ramiel. There’s a shriek and he turns around to see something fall down, but the shape is unknown to him. Then she shoots the thing behind him, too, and turns around. Ramiel is surprised, bewildered even – he follows after the woman but she pays no attention to him and when he tries to grab her by the arm, she turns around and points her gun at him.

His hands fly up immediately. “Hey—Hey, stop, no—I’m—I’m—“ What is he? He has nothing to say.

She watches him with sharp eyes narrowed, all visible cheekbones and ragged elegance. She doesn’t fit in the rotten, rusted surroundings, but she looks like she’s at home.

“Number—“ She growls, pistol still pointed at him. “You either have a number or I leave you here, for dead!” Her voice sounds firm too and he doesn’t doubt, not for a second, that she’ll actually leave him here.

“Seven!” He shouts faster than he could think about it, remembers the paper in his pocket. “It’s seven!”

“Prove it!” The gun’s not moving from his body and he wonders if he would be able to die again. With the rustling behind him and another gunshot directed at the creature behind him, he suspects not. It’s just something supposed to slow him down for a while. It’s a relief and shock, because it means he could probably be in pain – judging from the whimpers he hears behind himself.

“Okay, okay!” He rushes out, not turning around, and he keeps one hand in the air as he fiddles with his coat pocket with another, pulling out a piece of paper. The woman seems to pale – already pretty light in the face either way – and then motions behind herself with a gun.

“Not like that, you idiot! Do you see it?” Then, more forceful with pistol back at him: “Do you see it?”

He does see it. The white building, with the paint peeling off too, but in somewhat better shape than everything else he’s seen before. He’s not sure how come he didn’t notice it before now, but it seems obvious, somehow, that the woman must’ve been going there.

“What, the building? It’s barely in better shape than anything else here.” At least rust is not being cried out of it like with the rest and it doesn’t seem like wind or rain will knock it over.

But his answer is good enough. The woman lowers her gun and makes a motion with her hand that’s supposed to indicate towards the building.

“Let’s go, seven.”

Ramiel doesn’t correct her and he follows.