Neighbor
The cat is meowing loudly again. I can hear her from the hallway. I do not really mind it, but I worry the neighbors might. Quietly, almost into the void, I whisper: “Shhh.”
But she ignores me.
Suddenly a door slams loudly and my wife stands there staring at me, the cat in her arms. A voice can be heard, muffled slightly as if through a wall:
“I hate that cat. I’ll kill her. If she meows one more time, I’ll stomp her to death!”
I ask my wife what is happening. She stares at me in shock and only mutters: “...the neighbor...”
I hear fists pounding against the door.
Standing upright with my chest puffed out, I violently swing the door open and roar at the neighbor: “How can I help you?!”
He looks at me and only sighs: “Oh, not again.”
Then he turns around and walks back into his apartment to get something.
I slam the door shut and see my wife clutching the cat against her chest as she slides down into the corner of the room. She looks desperate. Terrified. The mood is contagious.
From the hallway I hear the neighbor throwing something against the door. Through the peephole I see it is some kind of food.
Relieved, I say: “Oh, he is not trying to hurt her, he just wants to feed her! He is an old lunatic, but good at heart.”
I open the door and the neighbor says: “This is our finest food. It only needs to be eaten.”
I do not trust him, but I take a few pieces and throw them to the cat. I thank him and begin closing the door.
At that exact moment, the expression on his face changes and he starts screaming that he will kill me if I do not open the door immediately.
His mood changes from second to second. He even talks to himself. Whenever he speaks to me he sounds calm, but once the door closes all I hear are curses and insults.
I look through the peephole and see him slamming something heavy into the door. The whole thing trembles.
I yell at my wife to call the police and see that she is already on the phone.
Another hit and the door begins hanging on by a thread.
I scream at him to stop. My head throbs from pressure and fear. But the neighbor continues his barrage against the door.
Then I see him carrying something sharp, aiming it straight at the peephole. At the very last second I jump away and watch an iron rod burst through the peephole into the exact space where my eye had been moments before.
The rod slowly slides back out. Carefully, I peer through the hole and see the neighbor preparing for a running charge to break the door down.
I prepare myself too and at the perfect moment slam against the door from the inside. The neighbor crashes into it, but the door does not move even slightly. The full force of the impact rebounds into him. He smashes his head and stumbles backward.
I quickly open the door and see the neighbor collapsing onto the stairs in pain.
I rush toward him ready to fight, but thankfully I can already see that he has calmed down. Probably dazed from the impact and exhaustion.
I begin speaking softly to him. Calming him down.
At that moment two police officers step out of the elevator. I silently gesture for them to stay quiet and wait. They understand. They stand there with hands resting on their pistols, only observing.
The neighbor is completely silent now. Sobbing. Confused.
I comfort him and explain that everything will be alright, but for safety I must put handcuffs on him.
He looks resigned.
One of the officers hands me the cuffs and I chain the neighbor to the railing.
I turn to the police and explain that I need to check on my wife and that it would be wise to search the neighbor’s apartment because he kept speaking in plural. I think he is schizophrenic, so perhaps he was only talking to himself — but perhaps someone is truly inside.
I tell them it would be better if we went together. I think there may be traps in there. It would fit someone like him.
I go to my wife while one officer follows me and the other stays behind with the neighbor.
That is dangerous, I warn them. They should not split up.
They answer that they are not letting me walk around alone either. They do not know who I am.
At least I tell the remaining officer not to speak with the neighbor. He is probably schizophrenic and will manipulate him.
The officer only replies that I should not worry about him.
I walk over to my wife. She is sitting on the floor, terrified. The cat is no longer beside her. I stroke her face and tell her everything is alright now.
She sobs that nothing is alright.
I tell her not to worry. The neighbor is gone now.
She slowly raises her eyes toward the officer and says: “He will never be gone. He never left.”
I stroke her face one more time and tell her we must inspect the neighbor’s apartment now. That she only needs to hold on a little longer.
She does not react.
We return to the staircase and I see the officer leaning over the neighbor as if he is about to remove the handcuffs.
I scream at him not to do it — this is exactly what I warned him about. The neighbor is manipulating him.
The officer looks confused. Almost trance-like. The neighbor only mutters nonsense to himself, staring blankly ahead like a madman.
The officer steps away.
More police officers emerge from the elevator.
They ask who is in charge here.
I tell them I am not in charge, but I strongly recommend that two of them stay with the neighbor and avoid speaking to him for now. Everything can be explained properly at the station. I point out that their colleague almost released him already.
I ask that someone check on my wife while I lead the others into the neighbor’s apartment. There may be someone inside. And I think there are traps.
Me and two officers walk past the neighbor. He begins muttering faster now, his face looking even more disturbed.
We enter the apartment. The smell of ammonia is overwhelming.
We continue into the room on the left. Inside it is completely dark.
The light bulb does not work.
I tell them I will search for some light while they begin clearing the room.
They simply nod.
I step back out of the apartment and the neighbor looks at me. Then at the officers.
And quietly says: “But that is his apartment.”
At that exact moment a scream of agony erupts from inside.
And suddenly I remember that this is the apartment of the other one I live there with. And that in the left room we store acid inside a bathtub hanging beneath the ceiling.
Then I see that disgusting loud cat from the neighbor hissing and meowing at me.
The door of the neighbor who now sits handcuffed to the railing has been broken open.
And lying on the floor, I see his wife.
Yours, - 9i7wo2 -
December 2020