I opened my eyes to the spinning ceiling fan that hung over my queen bed. The gray covers huddled at the footboard, crumpled beneath my bare feet. My alarm clock flashed its red numbers in my face, repeatedly showing 12:00. To my left, fog colored the windows and the curtains fluttered from the June breeze. I swiveled to an upright position, wiping sleep away from my brown eyes. My dirty blond hair stuck to my scalp from the constant pressure of my cotton pillow. I glanced up at the open window, but the outside world didn't exist with all the fog. Carefully, I stood up, making sure I didn't hurt my injured leg. Pressing numerous buttons on the clock didn't help fix the time. The white beater that twisted around my torso looked old and destroyed. I clenched and unclenched my fists, making sure I still had feeling in my hands. Cuts and bruises sat upon my knuckles from when I had to take care of some business.

The open window poured the summer scent into my face. I inhaled deeply, wishing I could see the rising sun. I leaned on the window pane, gazing into the cloudy environment. The apartment complex across the street was barely visible. The roads of the city vanished, but I could still hear cars and buses pass frequently. I glanced over my shoulder, observing my room. It was so bland; abandoned, colorless, and dead. My toes grew cold, so I slammed the window shut. Out into the hallway, the walls looked even more colorless.

The bathroom mirror showed my reflection. In the rectangular, parallel universe, I saw the face of a man; a man whose eyes showed no interest; a man whose hair needed a haircut; a man whose face needed a shave. And then I saw another man; a man who is lost, alone, forgotten. I brushed my teeth and exited the bathroom, thinking about getting rid of that mirror.

My tiny kitchen held enough food for me. I opened the fridge and nothing looked interesting. I sat on the couch and nothing was on TV. I opened a book and the words went through one eye and out the other. That's when a bang came from my door. It wasn't exactly a knock, but more like a thud. As I was standing up, the bang came again. I limped over to the eye hole and peered through it. No one stood before it. I unlocked the door and stuck my head out into the main hallway. The smell of feet and new carpet floated into my nose. Sighing with disappointment, I shut the door. I really wanted company that day.

The book I opened remained open, laying on my coffee table. The words continued to pour out, but I didn't have a bucket to catch them. My shirt slowly gathered sweat under my arms and on my lower back. The ceiling fan in the living room wasn't enough air. I walked over to the windows, but they wouldn't open. The locks were unlocked. They must have been stuck from humidity, I thought... I hoped.

An old, brown clock sat upon the shadowed wall, left of the television. It read: 5:30 p.m. My mind felt lost after the realization of the time. I sat back down on the couch, contemplating whether I should call someone. Quickly, I thought about Eileen next door. She always had that charm in her that I couldn't resist, no matter how annoying she could sometimes be. The white telephone sat on the end table next to me. Its raised numbers taunted me. I dialed her number.

"Hello?"

"Hey Eileen. It's Henry. How are you?"

"Hello?" she asked again.

"It's Henry. Can you hear-"

"NO! Don't-" she screamed. The line went dead.

"Eileen? Hello?" I slammed the phone on the receiver. I grabbed my shoes and bolted to my door.

Her room, #301, was to the right. Her shaky, golden doorknob wouldn't turn as I grasped its shiny body. Pounding on the door, I shouted, "Eileen! Open the door!" Faint footsteps were heard behind the white oak. I pressed my ear against its cold texture.

"Eileen!" I shook the knob once again, "Are you alright?"
The only response was a gasp and a thud. I panicked and ran back to my room, calling 911. When I picked up the phone, my ear was drowned with silence. The phone was dead. I checked the cords and everything seemed fine. Quickly, I spun around, ready to run and get help. My door was closed. How?

I turned the knob and it wouldn't budge. Pushing, pulling, twisting, the door remained closed. My hands grew sweaty as I backed away in disbelief. The door was open a minute ago. Frantically, I ran towards the window, but it remained shut tight. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I was trapped. My apartment was my jail cell, but I didn't know who the cops were. I felt exhausted. I figured I'd try the door the next day, keeping my self at ease for a little. My bed felt cold, but it cooled me down. I needed to relax. I hoped Eileen was okay.

The vision of similar gray clouds and white fog engulfed my retinas as they adjusted to the morning light. I kept having nightmares almost every night for the past two weeks. They made no sense to me, and I couldn't help but to wonder why they appeared so suddenly. My eyes widened as I remembered my door. I jumped out of bed and walked carefully into the hall. Taking a deep breath, I walked around the corner to face the door.

Shivers posessed my body. I couldn't breathe. My eyes must have been incorrect. The door was chained shut... from the INSIDE. The kitchen counter held my finest knives. I grabbed the butcher knife with ease, grasping its black handle.

"Where the hell are you?!" My voice boomed. I stood against the sink, on guard, "I will kill you!" I ground my teeth. Nothing responded. Someone had to be in the room. I sure as hell didn't chain up my door. Carefully, I side-stepped towards it. My knife now transferred to my left hand, protecting my open side. I ran my hand over the chains and locks then peered through the eye hole. The main hallway looked normal, but no one was around.

I started to panic again. Slowly, I returned to the kitchen. All I could do was search for the person. I didn't know how or when he or she got in there, but they needed to get out. I opened the laundry room door and everything was normal. I opened my bedroom door and everything was normal. I opened the bathroom door...

Not a person, but a giant, black hole was dug into my wall next to the sink. The pale blue tile that decorated the bathroom now lay in pieces on the faded floor. The hole felt cold, moist, and posessed as I slowly placed my hand on the inside of it. My heart began to pound. I was hesitant to move. Mysterious noises echoed far into it, and I didn't want to find out how far it continued. I swallowed, but the lump in my throat stayed. Whispers and cries continued to float out of the darkness and into my eardrums.

After I bolted out of the bathroom, I glared at my door, but this time, something was written in red ink just beneath the eye hole. I didn't know if I could breathe anymore. Someone had to have been in my apartment. The door said:
DON'T GO OUT!!
-Walter

I dropped my butcher knife. The huge, gray chest that sat next to the TV held my real weapons, my best friends: my Spas-12 and my Cult. 45. Alarmedly, I closed the chest, Cult. 45 in hand. Another search through all of the rooms and I was the only person. I ran my fingers through my hair with frustration, but mostly fear. The dark hole was my only escape; an escape to an even greater hell.