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A few years back, I shared an apartment with my step-brother Mike and Nikki, the singer in my band. The
building was not modern, nor did it even resemble an apartment complex. I'm told it's about 100 years old, but
has been a boarding house of sorts throughout most of the century. During the forties a group of nuns owned
the building and rented it out.
The current landlords are nice, young folk (not younger than me, but they're young by landlord terms), so I won't
give the exact address. I'd hate to scare off any potential tenants. My few experiences there were mostly
non-threatening, and it was home for so long, I've never felt a tinge of fear being alone in the building.
I'll give you a quick tour. The basement contains two efficiencies, one of which I have seen a few times. Nothing too
remarkable about it, but the layout is quite nice. There are two apartments on the ground floor, two on the second,
and a final attic apartment, which is by far the least likeable of the apartments. This was the first we would stay in,
and I have never felt particularly relaxed here.
This building is old, but not rundown. While it's true there are some minor details which the landlords never
got the initiative to take care of, for the most part it's features are beautiful. Some apartments have high, arching
ceilings, some have french-pane glass windows and doors, all have hard-wood floors.
The attic floor, however... well, it was the ugly duckling. The apartment is essentially one long hall. A
staircase shares the main hallway, which enters into the kitchen, and ends abruptly at the living room. On the
far end of the hall is one of the bedrooms, and two side-doors in the hall lead to a second bedroom and a small
bath. The attic apartment's one saving grace is a large walk-in closet which runs the length of the hallway.
Mike shared the apartment with us, but not for long. He is essentially, a big chicken when it comes to
city living. I'm sure he was expecting a drive-by to end his fragile life every day he stayed with us, which would have
been just shy of a month.
Meanwhile, Nikki and I moved in. Oddly, the incidents at the apartment only occured shortly after we moved in
and just before I moved out. I half wonder if the first occassion was a warning of sorts. I had left for work, the last to
leave the apartment, the first to return. We usually left all the doors open in the apartment, because it seemed
kind of goofy to close them while we were away. When I came home, every door was shut. Not a window was
open that would have permitted a breeze, either. Every door was simply shut.
Continued...
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