The Red Death

Witness #1: Noah

     "It's been a really, really long day, man." I say out loud as I enter my room at midnight and toss my stuff and myself onto the small, comfortable bed by the corner. It's been a while since I've laid down—and rested. Today I had my last work conference after a tedious 3-day-long trip, where I had to talk for three hours straight about something related to analyzing the data of the I-don't-give-a-fuck-anymore decrease on the stock market.

     Why the hell did I study finance and public accounting if I don't even like any of that?, I think, regretting my whole damn life.

     I decide, before I fall asleep with my work clothes still on and my stuff not unpacked yet, to sit up and take my shirt, tie, and pants off and put my pajamas on. I take my briefcase and I open it to look at all the shit I had to use for the conference, I grab it and I throw it onto the small trash can I have next to the bedside table, hoping that I'll never have to use it again. No, I will never use it again, I declare mentally to my empty room, since I'm going to quit tomorrow first thing. I can't stand either my boss or my job anymore.

     I stand up trying to take deep breaths so I can take out every heavy weight I've been getting since I moved to the small, single apartment I bought for myself when I walk towards the window to look at the dark, starry sky. But what I see instead leaves me speechless: through the window in front of mine—the other building— I can see that there's some weird fight going on. No, not weird. Bloody. If my eyes are not deceiving me, someone's being murdered in front of me. I can't see their faces, neither the killer's nor the almost-killed one's, but what I can see is that the killer has a red mask and a bloody knife on their hands, shaking it as if they were messing around with the victim. What kind of killer does that?, I ask myself. "A really crazy one does", I answer back.

     "Awesome, now I got crazy too and I'm talking to myself out loud. Great job on this try-to-be-normal thing, Noah. Great job. I've got serious problems, no doubt."

     I decide, before I go crazy for real, to take the phone and call the police to try to at least prevent a murder successfully and do something good with my life for a change.

     "Pick up. Please pick up," I say desperately, fidgeting continuously while the call beeps. "Come on, stop eating that fucking donut in your car and pick up the goddamn phone for the first time in your fat, stupid life."

     Nothing. Not even a voicemail. I try to reach them again at least five more times but no one is picking up. Man, where are the cops when you finally need them? I need to do something about this.

     I put a coat and a pair of sneakers on, I take the house keys and my phone from the bed, and I run towards the door to go to the doorman's desk.

     Trying to not think about the cold weather and the tiredness I'm feeling, I sprint as fast as I can to let them know about what's happening, my feet hurting. When I get there, I open the door, trying to stop my head from spinning around after it crashed the door window and I get close to the building's lobby.

     "Sir, listen to me very closely—I speak to the man behind the desk. There's a killer in the building and they are murdering someone as we speak." I say as I try to catch his attention off the magazine he's reading.

     "Yeah? Don't say." He answers, without looking up.

     "Well, I do say. And I believe that it's very urgent that we both go to the apartment and save that person." I say desperately.

     "Listen, kid, I'm very tired and just wanna go home right after my shift ends so I don't have time for your midnight jokes."

     "And don't you think that I want to be sleeping calmly in my bed instead of being here? Believe me, I do, but man, aren't you listening to me? Someone is being murdered! And I'm not a kid, man, I'm 24." I speak irritated, mad.

     "You know what? Let's make this easy for the both of us." He says, bored and sleepy with his look now on me. "Go and search whatever you want in that apartment and leave me alone with my reading, would ya?"

     "Okay fine. But I don't even know what the apartment is". I say, agreeing with this shitty deal.

     "You live in that building?" He says, pointing it out.

     "Yes. Third floor. My window only looks at this building."

     "That would be apartment 3E, then." He answers, giving me the apartment keys and looking back to his magazine.

     I take them and run upstairs to get to the place so I can save whoever is being attacked. When I get to the door, I use the keys to open it up clumsily and, when I go through it, there's a body on the floor. Lifeless. Covered in blood. This is bad, this is very bad, I think. Shocked, I walk tiptoeing to get close enough to get a better view so I can know how bad the scene is. I can tell that the body has many knife wounds such as stabs on the chest and stomach; scratches on the face and legs—and no eyes.

     I'm speechless. "Who would be capable of doing such things to a person?." I say to myself. And just like it wants to answer me, I stare at the floor and realize the red stains next to the person's body, noticing that they are not the regular shapeless marks that stains usually are: it seems that they seem to form a word or small phrase based on the way they are on the floor.

     Instead of getting closer, I step back trying to catch a different angle, but it's useless. I try then to go and stand on the desk's chair—which is right next to the body's face, obviously— and when I do, I notice that I'm right: those are not normal blood stains but words. Words written with the dead's blood. "Beware of the dark and the night. -RD," is what they spell.

     No one needs to be a genius to know that this killer only works at night and, judging by the noises that never came out of this apartment— the walls of both buildings are really thin—, also in silence.

     Well, they can be as sneaky as you want, but I gotta admit that this person is intelligent enough to kill and get away with it, I whisper. Unless...

     Without thinking twice, I get off the chair and run to the halls to look for the killer and make sure that they're not on the floor anymore, for I saw no one coming downstairs.

     They probably just took the elevator, you asshole. My subconscious tells me as I look at the elevator's door.

     Obviously, they did. I whisper to myself again.

     Before I become the next victim, I decide to go downstairs and run back to my five-floor building so I can finally sleep. When I get to the doorman's desk, curiosity invades me. "Uh, excuse me, did you see anyone coming out of the building in the last few minutes?" I asked the man.

     "No, kid, I did not." He says, annoyed.

     Time to go home, then. I whisper to myself as I leave the place, disappointed.

     Tired, I open the door and close it behind me, trying to drag myself to my bed and get some sleep. "Oh, man, I hope I don't have any nightmares tonight. I already have enough with the quitting-work-tomorrow thing." I say to myself, right before I finally lay down and close my eyes.